Page 4 of Cursed Bonds: An Alpha's Destiny

Three years ago, my father accidentally OD’d on something, and I’d gone to the hospital, still thinking that he would want me, need me. Even then, all he’d wanted was for me to sign him out so he could grab a case of beer or buy some pills off a dealer.

“You know,” I said, standing up, “I don’t know why I thought this would be different. I’ll be gone all summer. That means I won’t be here if you accidentally try to kill yourself again.”

Dad leaned forward, hands on knees, and looked me dead in the eyes. “I don’t need a babysitter. I don’t need anyone.”

It was almost as though he’d heard my own thoughts and decided to toss them back into my face. I shook my head derisively. All I could do was walk toward the door, unable and unwilling to be in that house a second longer.

“See you later, kiddo,” he called to me as I strode toward the door. “Have fun in that shifter hellhole this summer.”

Despite my wishes to exit gracefully, I slammed the door on my way out, rattling the frame. As I walked back to my car, I hissed expletives and curses under my breath. When I was slumped into the driver’s seat of my car, the rational, adult part of my mind took over again. The part that was and always would be a teacher. The kind of person who took care of people whether they deserved it or not.

Fingers trembling with rage, I pulled out my phone and called Harley.

“Hey, what’s up?” she answered.

“Oh, nothing. Just saw my piece-of-shit dad.”

There was a long pause before she responded. “I’m guessing he’s as pleasant as ever?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “Look, he’s a dick, and I hate him, but…” I trailed off, thinking.

“But?”

“But he’s still my father, and he’s all the family I have left, as bad as I don’t want to admit that,” I admitted. “Look, while I’m gone, can you check in on him every now and then? Make sure he hasn’t killed himself?”

“I can do that. Do you think he even remembers me?”

Something between a snort and a laugh erupted from my lips. “Probably not. But you’re a hot redhead. He won’t say no.”

“Ew, gross,” Harley groaned.

“You’re the best.”

“I’ll do it, but I swear if he even attempts to hit on me, you’re on the hook for buying me the most expensive dinner in town when you get back. Like, one of those places where they put gold leaf on the freaking dinner rolls and stuff. Got it?”

“Got it.”

After hanging up, I had nothing more to do. All that was left was to pack a few suitcases and head out. Not bothering to look back at my father’s house, I pulled away and headed toward my place. After all these years, I was going back to Crestwood.

Chapter 2

Jace

Voices reverberated back and forth, everyone talking over each other, trying to be heard. It took everything I had not to shout them down, but this was part of the process. The pack only had a full meeting once per year. This was not the happy and cathartic monthly runs we did together to blow off steam. This was where grievances were aired, problems were voiced, plans for the next year were made. And as the pack alpha, it was my duty to hear them all out.

The discussions played out the way they always had, though as the decades and centuries had clicked past, our vernacular had changed. Living as long as we did required us to keep up with the times. In my own life, I’d listened as people around me spoke first in Victorian speech patterns and slang, then the Edwardian era, the rabble-rousing speech used in the eras of the World Wars, then the modern era, switching and morphing along as the world turned around us. We weren’t just able to shift our bodies; over the centuries, we had learned to shift our habits and customs to fit in with the surrounding world.

Across the room, my best friend Waylan caught my eye and shook his head slightly with a sarcastic grin on his face. He knew how silly some of these issues were. For every true need or problem, there were a half-dozen ridiculous things that didn’t need to be discussed here. Waylan was on the council that helped me run things, and there were more important things on their plate than whether we should plant cucumbers or squash in the community garden next spring.

“All right,” I called during a lull in the conversations. “I think we can table the garden question until later.”

An older man shook his head. “Jace, if we don’t decide now, how will we—”

“Doug, we’ll enjoy whatever grows, whether it’s cucumbers or squash. I’m sure. Whatever else we need, we can get at the stores. The damn garden isn’t the end-all and be-all. We aren’t settlers on the frontier.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but I cut in before he could speak. “Tabitha, you had something you wanted to bring up?” I asked, pointing across the room.

The young woman stood, smiling hesitantly. “Yes, I wanted to talk about the children in the pack. I know we don’t have a lot of them, but the amount of extracurricular activities they have is pretty lacking during the summer months, which is where we find ourselves. I have to agree with that sentiment.”

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