When there was no answer, Apex turned and looked at the male. As the features of the face registered one by one, starting with thoseincredible, icy blue eyes, it was like seeing a painting come to life… or maybe a sculpture. The wolven was just that beautiful, his features strong and even, his shoulders broad under the flannel shirt he’d put on, his jeans-covered thighs powerful. And that white hair. The stuff was so thick he didn’t even have a part. It just seemed to grow in waves and settle off his high forehead.
What would his blood taste like on the back of the tongue?
Flushing, Apex dropped his eyes to the cigarette he didn’t really want and refocused on the real priorities. “If that old lady kills him—”
“You’re going to what? Go in there like a hero? Avenge some guy who’s a nobody to you?” The wolven gestured in the direction of the hut with his cigarette. “What a Samaritan—and hey, you’re welcome to have at it. I’ll even give you a gun. A knife or two. You want a grenade?Boom.”
As he flared the fingers of his free hand, his chuckle was the kind someone made when a toddler threatened to take a car and drive away because they had to eat their carrots before dessert.
Except then “Callum” suddenly wasn’t laughing. He straightened up on the stupid fucking log and looked really goddamn serious.
As Apex went to glance at what had caught his attention, the male grabbed on to his face. “Shut up,” the wolven snapped. “Listen to me. He looks like your friend, but he’s different. Do you understand me? He’snotthe same anymore. You need to respect that.”
Apex jerked out of the hold and burst to his feet. But when he saw what had come out of the hut, he… didn’t have any fucking clue what he was…
Some version of Kane was staring out across the encampment, his eyes vacant, his face showing no emotion. He was naked, which wasn’t a surprise. But he was whole, which was the kind of shocker that made a vampire’s brain freeze up.
Somehow, some way, Kane’s injuries had healed, his skin now healthy and covering a musculature that the prisoner hadn’t had evenwhen he’d been relatively well. And he even had his missing fingers back.
On a blind flail, Apex grabbed on to something to steady himself. The fact that it was the wolven, Callum, was immaterial.
“He only looks like who he was,” the guy warned.
“Shut up.”
Pushing himself free, he stumbled forward, and as he approached Kane—or whoever it was—he couldn’t believe it. No more burns. No more raw skin. Nothing but a perfectly unmarred body, all that muscle backed up by the erect carriage of someone who had never been hurt, never been ill, never been anything but totally whole his entire life.
The urge to run and embrace the prisoner was so strong, he started to jog on his aching feet. Yet when he got into immediate range, he slowed. Then stopped.
The face was the same. But the eyes were different somehow, even though they were the same silver color, set in the same sockets.
Maybe it was because they didn’t look at Apex, they stared right through him, as if it wasn’t a case of the male not recognizing him, but not even noticing him.
In spite of the fact that he stood directly in front of the guy.
“Kane.”
He spoke the name with the kind of hoarse entreaty he was goddamn glad no one else was around to hear—
All at once, like sense had been slapped into him, Kane came awake, his eyes blinking, his head jerking back, his heavy shoulders and long arms bouncing as he jumped. And then he properly focused at Apex.
“Oh… my God,” he said.
The voice was the same—and then those arms were around Apex and holding on so hard, there was no breathing. But that was okay. Who cared about that.
Apex shook as he embraced the male carefully. Except then he realized, he didn’t have to think like that anymore. Tightening his grip, he stared out over Kane’s shoulder at the red hut… and the old female who was standing off to the side, looking like her handiwork had come out even better than she might have hoped.
Who thefuckwas she, Apex wondered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
All Kane could do was hold on to Apex. That was it. But it wasn’t because his balance was bad. Or because he was losing consciousness. Or because he was in pain or weak or dizzy or nauseous.
No, he felt like he had traveled a vast distance, as if he’d been gone a full decade. It was as though he had embarked on a trip and gotten lost somewhere along the way—and however much he’d been sure he’d never return to his fellow prisoners, to the world as he knew it, by a miracle of unfathomable origin, he had.
The closest thing he had to compare was the trip over from the Old Country all those years ago, and even that failed to properly encompass the dislocation and confusion he had. And dearest Virgin Scribe, the second he’d seen a familiar face, he’d become overcome with gratitude and amazement—
He shoved Apex back, his brain sharpening abruptly, his urgent mission helping him prioritize. “I need weapons. I need guns and ammo and—”