Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Baggage, indeed.
Reaching in, he took out a bundle housed in a plastic supermarket bag. And as he turned the tightly tucked twist over in his hands, he glanced across and tried to figure out what he wanted to say.
“It’s okay,” Apex murmured. “Whatever it is.”
Callum unwrapped the thing. The black fabric inside, on its most basic level, was just a black nylon long-sleeved shirt—and not a big one. One that would fit a female. And it could be used for a lot of things, like running, for instance, the thin fabric moisture-wicking, whatever the fuck that meant. It could also have been appropriate for hiking, water sports, rowing.
To him, it was radioactive. Because it had been worn while he’d been defiled.
“When I left that night,” he said roughly, “I put on some clothes that were in that room. There was a stack of them, I don’t know whose they were. I took guns and ammo. I . . . didn’t know whose they were, either. But this . . . was hers. I found it wadded up behind some boots. It smelled like her and I took it because . . .”
He turned the shirt over and over in his hands. “I wanted a piece of her to remind me that I got out and she didn’t. I thought maybe I could own something of hers like she owned me when she’d had me. But it didn’t . . . it didn’t work like that. This has just been a reminder that, like so much else, I haven’t been able to let go of.”
“And now?”
“It’s time.” He nodded. Nodded again. “It’s . . . time to get rid of it. But I don’t know in what way?”
By way of answering, Apex walked over to the hearth. And when he pointed to the cold ashes, Callum thought, of course. Why hadn’t he—
“Yes,” he breathed.
With a nod, Apex knelt down on the hard stone. There was some kindling next to the stack of fresh logs, and he took the former and then layered it down with the latter. Up on the shelf, there was a box of long-stemmed matches and also a long-armed lighter. He chose the matches.
The sound of the strike was a shhhcht that seemed loud as a sneeze.
Apex’s hand was steady as he penetrated the pile with the tiny flame—which caught and did its job. Smoke curled up first, then orange tongues licked around, tasting their meal. A moment later, the fire burst to life, throwing out proper heat and light.
Apex poked it a couple of times, making sure the base kept the top stable. Then he just stared over his shoulder.
Callum rose and walked forward, the pain in his ankle nothing but an echo. Standing in front of the hearth, standing . . . next to the male who had been with him all these years, just as that female had as well . . . he became sad to the point of tears.
The two had become what he and his wolf were. Separate, yet trapped together. Inseparable, even though unalike.
Apex was nothing like that malevolent bitch.
Abruptly, Callum thought of his other side—and how much he had worried for its suffering, too. He had tried, back in the beginning, to just let the wolf part of him take over. Surely, if all he was was the background consciousness of that predator, it would be easier because the abuse had been done to another body.
The trauma had been a poison, however, infecting them both.
Just like it had gone toxic for Apex, too.
“You’re allowed to let the past go,” the vampire said on a rasp. “It’s all right.”
Callum stared into the flames, and fell into the struggle that was starting to feel familiar: He wanted to move on, but couldn’t fight the emotions, the fear, the memories, that kept him prisoner.
At least wanting to move on was a new thing. A good thing.
And he had Apex to thank for it.
“But like burning a shirt will really make a difference?” he heard himself say.
“So then just toast it because it takes up space in your suitcase.” Apex shrugged. “If there’s a larger meaning, let it come to you later. Or not at all. But you may as well start here—”
Callum’s hand flicked forward, and justlikethat, the shirt went into the hearth. There was a split second of a pause, and then came a bright flare. As the flames licked even higher, he could have sworn he saw the female’s face in them, the precise composition of her features dulled by time, the impact of his brain’s conjuring them immediate as his heart rate tripled.
And then . . .
It was gone.
The shirt and the vision.
Wiping his face with his palm, his eyesight got wavy. And wavier. And—
He started crying. Not in a discreet way, not in a manly fashion where most of the shit was kept in. He wept. Openly. Until his eyes and his lungs burned, and his throat was raw, and his brain finally went quiet.