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)
He had brushed his teeth.
Maybe he should be the one who just left? It was a good theory to try out, but come on. He didn’t have it in him—
The muffled shout was the kind of thing he wasn’t sure whether he heard in real time or imagined because he was, as usual, back in a past that had become his own because of who he loved, not because he’d lived through the trauma himself.
When the sound was repeated, he was hit with a cold wash of panic. Taking the stairs up two at a time, he burst through the door—
The hoarse moan of pain was coming from the bed, and with the door open, there was just enough light to see the wolven thrashing in the sheets: He was naked now, and for a split second, Apex was convinced that symphath had come over to give some more “advice.”
God, Callum’s body was beautiful—
But the ragged curse that rose up was not about pleasure.
“Callum,” he said as he rushed over. “Wake up, wake up—”
Another hoarse shout hit the air, and then Callum jacked upright on his hips, his white-rimmed, terrified eyes fixating over Apex’s shoulder, his chest pumping up and down, his arms straining as he held on to the covers.
“Callum.” Apex stroked the wolven’s shoulder. “It’s okay, you’re safe—”
“Apex?”
He moved his face into the light flowing in from the stairwell. “Yes, it’s me. Look at me—that’s right. That’s good. You’re not back there. You’re with me and we’re safe, at your place.”
“Oh, God . . .” Callum closed his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live like this any—”
“Just take a deep breath. Breathe with—”
“Fuck me.” The wolven grabbed on to Apex’s arms. “I need you to fuck me—fuck me!”
It was the last thing he expected, and Apex split in half in that moment: One part of him was an absolute no. He was not having sex with the male he loved for the first time like this, in this desperate, frantic confusion.
The other part of him, who had waited so long, instantly hardened.
And then Callum started kissing him, that mouth seeking Apex’s and plying, begging, talking even as his tongue licked out.
“Fuck me, I need you to fuck me . . .”
Over and over, he repeated the hoarse plea against Apex’s lips—until he broke the contact, undid Apex’s pants, and then rolled over so he was facedown. Looking around his shoulder, he was babbling while he arched his back and offered his ass.
“Fuck me,” he begged through tears. “You’ve got to fuck her out of me. Please—just fuck me—”
He reached back and pulled Apex forward. On top of him.
As soon as the weight seemed to register, the moan sounded different. Or Apex told himself it did. Who knew—
Callum opened his legs, and Apex’s cock fell in between like it knew what it needed to do. What its job was. What it was being used for, born for.
Licking his hand, Apex reached in between their bodies, and then he was finding—
The groan that came out of the wolven was ragged. “Fuck me.”
Something snapped as the penetration happened. In both of them.
Instantly, the rhythm was unhinged, Apex letting his hips loose to the point where he had to hold on to the iron slats of the headboard for leverage. With the bed banging, and Callum grunting, and their bodies moving together, Apex stared at the wall.
In the midst of all the passion, he died inside.
Even as they both orgasmed at the same time.
CHAPTER THIRTY–EIGHT
No, you can’t bring a clawhammer, either,” Tohr muttered as he went to Vishous’s glass door to leave. “You have to fucking chill if you’re coming to Whestmorel’s.”
“Fine. And as long as he behaves himself, I’ll behave myself, true?” V’s diamond eyes shifted over to his monitors. “Let me just sign out of—”
As the brother frowned and went silent, Tohr gave him a minute. Like . . . a whole frickin’ minute. “V? What’s going on?”
When there was no response, he raised his voice at the brother: “What’s happening?”
Okay, see, here was the problem with V. After all these centuries together, fighting in the war, keeping Wrath alive, getting through disasters and deaths that could not be borne, Tohr had seen this expression on the guy before—and it had never, ever been associated with good things.
“Vishous, son of the Bloodletter,” he snapped, “my nerves are fucking shot after the last two nights—”
“I don’t know what I’m looking at.”
Going around behind the desk, Tohr frowned. Then leaned forward—like that was going to do anything.
“What the hell is that?” he murmured.
On one of the massive screens, there was a composite image of . . . two-inch-by-two-inch tiles. And each one of them appeared to be a snapshot of a different part of a house that was—
“Jesus, could they use any more bark on shit,” V remarked. “And what’s with all the frickin’ animal heads.”