The Viper (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #3)

by J.R. Ward

“I am sorry,” Apex croaked as he started to lose consciousness. His last thought as he died was that he’d never told the male he loved him. Probably for the best.

Lucan smiled as he refocused on his prostrated cousin. “You’re fucking lucky I met her because of that hellhole.” On that note, he extended his palm—and when his relative took what was offered, he pulled the other male up… and held him close. Callum shuddered as the scent of tears wafted up between them. “My conscience has never forgiven me those actions.” “Good.” Lucan cradled the male’s head as it dropped down. “That’s a fitting punishment.”

“The energy that needs a host is a fundamental and comes from the center of everything,”

“My dear friend is in search of a host.” The female came closer, floating over the earth as opposed to ambulating in the conventional sense. “You will find him a most hospitable guest, although he will do some redecorating. I don’t believe you will mind that, however.” Kane’s heart started pounding. “Host?” “You will get the rejuvenation you require. He will get a chance to see the world again. A fine bargain for both sides.”

“Fuck you.” Callum’s eyes traveled to the male’s mouth. “Is that an invitation.” He leaned in. “Or a demand.”

“Who are you?” Apex whispered. “This is not you.” Kane retracted his weapon. Then he turned it around and offered it to Apex, handle first. After the male took it, he blinked and put his free hand to his head. “I don’t know… who I am anymore.” “That I believe,” Callum said grimly.

Flailing around inside his skin, he clapped his eyes on the wolven. “What the hell are you waiting for.” There was a pause. Then the white-haired, blue-eyed wolven replied, “You. I’m waiting… for you.”

One thing he had learned was that it was easier to stay uncomfortable. What hurt was when you let your guard down, and then had to reenter hell. The burn on reentry was never, ever worth whatever eased you.

Sometimes, all you could do for someone was the simplest thing, either because that was all you had to give or that was all they could afford to take.

“Why do you care so much,” she asked. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he didn’t know, he really didn’t. Instead, the truth jumped out of his mouth: “I couldn’t save my shellan. I guess I’ve decided to try to save you.”

As she fell silent, he studied her, and when her scars and her baldness registered, he thought of how much he wasn’t aware of either. It wasn’t that he didn’t see her disfiguration and hated what it represented. It was that he saw through the damage. Attraction was physical. Connection was soul to soul.

Some rescues were too late. Even if the person remained alive.