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)
Thirty years disappeared like they’d never been.
Shoving his hands into his leathers, he took them out again. Finally, over the din of the wind and the thundering in his chest, he said, “You know I’m here.”
There was the sound of the door shutting . . . and then the wolven walked down the side of the truck. His profile was like a knee in the gut. None of his features had changed, even though his hair was much shorter now, a brush cut standing those platinum waves straight up: His cheeks and jaw were still carved from a good base of bone, the nose straight, the lips full, the eyes deeply set.
The bare shoulders were a surprise.
The pecs were . . . a shock.
And when the male rounded the back bumper, the full-naked was an overwhelm that just shut everything down.
Except come on, all those clothes that Callum had undoubtedly been wearing before he’d shifted had been destroyed on the change. Unless he’d ditched the wardrobe first and decided not . . . to . . .
. . . put it all back on.
“Put what back on?”
Apex blinked a couple of times as that voice went in one ear and hit his brain with a Cuisinart blade. But then he caught up to the conversation.
Shit, he must have said that out loud. “Hell—” He cleared his throat. “—o.”
Callum’s pale blue eyes were steady in the way a wolf’s were, unblinking, fixated—and unbothered by all the nudity. The male showed no embarrassment at the fact that his rather . . . impressive . . . attributes were out in the breeze.
The cold breeze. Which wasn’t diminishing things in the slightest, not that Apex was looking directly.
“This is a surprise,” Callum said.
“Yeah. It is.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I work for Whestmorel.”
Callum nodded over his shoulder at the truck. “I’m the groundskeeper here.”
“I’m doing some logistics for him. A special project, you might call it.”
Well, look at all this compatibility going on. Who needed horoscopes when you could just covet your coworker . . .
In the silence that followed, the storm’s gusts blew around them, the swirling snow completing the embrace that Apex was sure only he wanted.
“You saved her life.” When there was no response, he couldn’t bear the awkwardness. “Mahrci’s.”
Like there was any question who had nearly been Purina Coyote Chow? Fuck.
“Are you okay?” he heard himself say.
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be.” Callum nodded at the main house. “You staying the night?”
His heart skipped a beat. Even though it had no reason to. “I am.”
“We lose power with storms like this. If it goes out, I’ll make sure to start the generator so you don’t have to come get me.”
There was a brisk nod, and then some kind of generic see-ya or something.
Callum walked off, moving with that fluidity that was more lupine than human.
“You’re bleeding,” Apex said loudly. “Your ankle.”
A dismissive hand was raised over the shoulder as the wolven disappeared through a side door. Ten seconds later, the second story of the six-bayed garage lit up, light streaming out of the row of windows.
Apex stayed where he was, his head tilted back, the snow falling in his eyes and stinging, as he watched the male close heavy drapes one by one, down the line.
Until not even a glow showed from that which had blazed with such light.
CHAPTER SIX
Callum closed the last drape before the collapse happened. He hadn’t expected to go down to his knees, but without warning, there he was on the floor. Like he was praying.
Except he wasn’t.
He didn’t believe in higher powers that listened to mortals anymore. And while he was on the subject of not believing . . . how was Apex here?
“You came back to Connelly,” he reminded himself in a hoarse voice. “You chose to return.”
So how could he be surprised he ran into the male?
Lowering his head, he rubbed his eyes. “I thought he’d be gone by now, that’s why.”
His hand braced against the carpet as he sagged to the side, and then he just fucked the effort right off and let himself fall over onto his back. As he lay there, he stared up at the exposed beams overhead. They were a nice honey color, their rough cut flanks full of the character that came from hand-tooling. He imagined they were just as they had been when this outbuilding had been constructed around 1911, after the initial one had burned down. With the windows low to the floor and the roof’s overhang, there’d been no fading to the wood because the sun couldn’t reach that high up into the peaked roof.
The walls were finished with boards of the same honey hue, the flooring as well. If he’d had any soul left, he’d have appreciated the pine-scented, open quarters very much. With the galley kitchen and bathroom having been done over recently, it was the perfect meeting between the built-to-last past and the mod cons of the present.