Unlike Lucan, the guard had plenty of bullets left in his chamber.
All things considered, Lucan could not be surprised about the carnage. Apex had always had a nuclear switch, some level over and above what any normal male brought to a fight. And the fact that in this instance, what he was doing was more a case of mutilation of a corpse didn’t seem to matter.
The unhinged SOB stabbed that dead guard with some kind of knife, the arms and legs flopping each time a new entry was made, the blood splattering his prison tunic and loose brown pants until it was like he had joined the leaking artery club.
When it was finally over, the prisoner just stayed where he was, straddling the hips of the mess, his own chest pumping, his blood-speckled face something out of a nightmare.
“Good job,” Lucan muttered. “He’sreallynot coming down for breakfast now.”
The vampire looked over and there was a lack of recognition that, for a moment, was concerning, considering what he’d just done. But then Apex blinked, dismounted what was left of his prey, and seemed to wait for some kind of direction.
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 herposition. 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.”