Page 56 of Bound

My wolf apparently was less than pleased about the lack of Topher Greer in its life. Not that I could blame him.

In the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the street, dry summer lightning tore a jagged wound across an inky sky. Thunder rumbled, rattling the water glass next to the sink. I slumped to the cold bathroom tiles, sweaty and weak. Out in the living room, the ceiling fan whirled dispassionately overhead. My phone snarled from the edge of the coffee table, threatening to nosedive and cost me a couple hundred bucks I didn’t have getting the screen replaced. Because thank you, public education funding in this state.

Swiping to bring up the group chat with my brothers, I squinted at the screen.

August: Everything’s in place. You need anything?

Brody: We’ve got a narrow window on this one. I need you to make sure Topher’s on board.

I let my head thump back against the couch.

West: He’s fine.

Brody: That’s not what I hear.

West: Oh FFS. Quit gossiping and go repaint Major’s toenails.

Fifteen minutes later I was dressed in skinny jeans, a gray v-neck and an old pair of Vans. The music pulsed from down the hall, a dark throbbing beat that made me want to storm down to Topher’s apartment and slam him into the wall. Which was not a conversation that was going to end well for either of us. And curse all that was fanged and holy, now I was hard. With a growl, I pulled out my phone.

West: Hey. Eddie Vedder. Not that everyone in the building doesn’t love a guitar solo loud enough to wake the undead, but if you get kicked out, Brody will have my ass.

No answer. Resisting the urge to throw my phone into the wall, I pounded out another text.

West: Whatever. It’s time to go. If you’re not downstairs in five, I’m leaving without you.

Still no answer. I reached out through the bond and felt sharp resistance. Gritting my teeth, I pushed harder. Topher was blocking me. No, that wasn’t true. It was worse. He was shutting me out entirely, and after the way I’d gone radio silent for the past three days, who could blame him? Except he didn’t get that I’d only done it to protect him. Being just down the hall, unable to go to him when he was hurting felt like someone was carving out my insides with a rusty blade.

Growling, I pocketed my phone and stormed down the hall to Topher’s unit. The music grew louder with every step, the bass pulsing in the space just behind my temples. I raised my fist—

—and caught the scent of blood.

“Topher,” I shouted. Panicked, I pounded on his door, unable to stop seeing the gaunt, filthy brindle wolf who’d dragged me over Bluff Point that terrible night a year before. I backed away to kick the door in, just then remembering that I had Topher’s spare key. Fingers shaking, I dropped the ring of keys twice before managing to work the right one into the lock. I’d been fast enough back in December when he’d tried to run, that terrible icy night out at the Christmas tree farm, Topher’s eyes vacant as he stretched out his fingers towards the injured vampire lying in the snow, the undead who’d been waiting to carry him away from us forever. If something had happened, if they’d gotten to him—

The lock clicked open.

Empty takeout cartons from Wok and Roll were strewn across the bar. A pizza box lay open on the coffee table by the sofa, two half-empty bottles of Dr. Pepper beside it. The television was on mute, the meteorologist from Austin tracking a snarling wall of red and orange barreling its way across the Hill Country. Steam curled from beneath the bathroom door, laced with the coppery scent of blood. Crossing the room in two strides, I wrenched the door open.

“Toph—”

I stopped short. Naked to the waist in low-slung jeans, Topher was bent over the bathroom sink, holding his palm under the tap. The counter was strewn with bloody gauze, bits of glass, and a pair of tweezers. He turned at the sound of my voice, a furrow forming in his brow as he leaned over to gingerly shut off the water with his uninjured wrist.

“What the hell?” Grabbing his phone off the dock, I shut off the music. “I thought you were—”

He leaned back against the counter, holding his hand out to me. His dark hair was curled at the ends from his shower, dripping water that smelled like Irish Spring over warm, damp skin.

“Broke a glass.”

“Okay.” I reached for the tube of first aid cream, choosing my words carefully. “Okay. You, um, cut yourself?”

“That’s what I just said.” When I reached for his hand, he frowned. “It’s not deep. You don’t have to—”

Ignoring him, I examined the wound. Three shallow cuts along the inside of his palm, just over a line of fang marks, were already knitting closed. The glass hadn’t gone deep. And just like every other time I’d bandaged his wounds, the sight of him hurt never failed to tear my heart in two. Breathing through my nose in an attempt to calm down, I applied a thin strip of ointment, then two butterfly bandages.

“Look at me, Caldwell.”

Except I couldn’t. As I tossed the bandage papers into the trash, my heart hammered so hard I thought I would be sick. I’d done this. By trying to protect Topher, I’d abandoned him when he needed me most. “I’m sorry.”

“You know I didn’t—” He heaved out a breath, running his uninjured hand through his damp hair. “I wasn’t cutting. Another goddamn text came in and I lost it. Broke a glass and was trying to clean it up.”