Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Like he was a hollow shell.
“Come over here.”
Lucan’s words seemed to reach him, and Apex walked over and turned back around so he was facing the wolven as they uncoiled from their defensive crouches.
Meanwhile, Lucan’s DNA pool only cared about their kin. In the tense silence, as he was stared at, all he could think of was… how much he did not want his mate to get tangled up in this family reunion. And given the noses of his cousins and his clan, they’d sniff out Rio’s scent on his clothes in a heartbeat, even with all the nostril-distraction going on.
It was killing him not to look over his shoulder to check on her position. But he didn’t want to get her targeted. Rio was smart, well trained, and had experience with shoot-outs. He had to trust that.
Callum came forward. Not a surprise. He was the most dominant of the wolven on-site, and they would submit to that authority.
Meanwhile, Apex’s focus was trained on the male like he hadn’t run out of an interest in turning things into pincushions.
Lucan reached out and squeezed the guy’s biceps. “Don’t.”
The reality was, if he wanted to get his mate and fellow prisoners out of here alive, a battle with the other wolven was not the path of least resistance. It was the path to the graveyard.
And something was bothering him.
Why had the wolven attacked? It made no sense. They had no reason to take on the guards, no role within the prison camp—other than framing people and tossing them in there.
Callum stopped about five feet away. “Lucan.”
The name was hoarse as it left his lips—and then…
The wolven lowered himself onto his knees, his naked form resplendent in the glow of the headlights. Dropping his head, he shifted onto one hip. Stretched his legs out. Then rolled to the side to lie faceup on the asphalt with his palms on the bones of his pelvis and his legs crossed at the ankles.
His eyes stared up at the heavens.
Until he closed his lids.
Lucan’s chest got tight—and abruptly, his grip on Apex’s upper arm was no longer to keep the guy from doing anything aggressive, it was to help with his own balance.
A wolf never offered his belly to anybody, especially if he was undefended.
Unless it was his family… and he was seeking forgiveness.
By presenting the kind of atonement that, if it was refused, would lead to his own death.
Lucan didn’t speak. He couldn’t.
Instead, he took two steps forward. When his cousin’s eyes reopened, he thought about the murder he’d been framed for, and the years he’d spent in that prison, all because he’d been born a half-breed. As if he’d had control over that.
“I have hated you for decades.”
Callum’s pale blue stare gleamed. “I don’t blame you. My father ordered us, but that’s no excuse. It was wrong.”
Lucan thought about those fantasies he’d had as he’d lain in that hard bunk, behind bars. Then he glanced at the other four wolven. They were all standing still, their hands clasped behind their backs, a signal that they would not interfere. No matter what Lucan did.
Glancing over his shoulder, he checked on the Monte Carlo. Rio was standing in front of the bullet-riddled hood, her arms crossed over her chest, her body braced.
Lucan smiled as he refocused on his prostrated cousin. “You’re fucking lucky I met her because of that hellhole.”
On that note, he extended his palm—and when his relative took what was offered, he pulled the other male up… and held him close.
Callum shuddered as the scent of tears wafted up between them. “My conscience has never forgiven me those actions.”
“Good.” Lucan cradled the male’s head as it dropped down. “That’s a fitting punishment.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Several hours later, Kane awoke to the sound of burbling water and the smell of fresh-cut pine and good earth. As he drew in breath, he had the sense that his body had been carefully tended to. He was not pain free, but he did have enough distance between his sensory receptors and his brain’s capacity such that he could try to assess where he was.
His eyes opened. He expected to see the night sky, for he was certain that he was out of doors. Instead, there was some kind of draping over him, and not far above his head, but rather close to, by merely six inches.
Somewhere nearby, a fire crackled, and the flames cast yellow and orange flares across the sheeting. He wondered about the water, the flow like a small stream that traversed rocks, the chatter friendly. Welcoming.
“You wake.”
The voice was female, but he could not tell what direction it came from. Rather, it seemed to be all around him. Perhaps inside of him? But that was not possible.
What kind of drugs had they given him back at the prison camp?