The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #2)(95)

Shaking her head, she murmured, “I can only guess what I’m like right now—”

“You’re perfect.” As she glanced at him sharply, he took another drink. “We’re more than even after what you did, Rio. You saved me out there.”

“Nah, Mayhem was the one with the code. He opened the door.”

“You picked me up off the ground and carried me inside. I don’t know how you did it.”

“It was more like a drag, and I was motivated, what can I say—”

“Thank you.” As emotion came over him, he looked away from her. “Hey, there’s a shower. And I don’t mind if I do.”

Putting down what was left of the Sprite, he got to his feet, and gave his body a chance to collapse. When his balance held, he zeroed in on the tiled corner of the room. There was a partition to stand behind, and after he started the water, he stripped his sweatshirt off—carefully. His skin was still red across his chest, and especially on that one hand.

Good thing it wasn’t his dagger—

Rio stepped into view down at the other end of the room. She was by the gun rack, her head lowered, her hand hesitating by the rifles that were lined up, soldiers ready for their shooting orders.

“You can look at me,” he said in a deep voice. “I don’t mind it.”

Not in the slightest.

Her head came up and around. Then she ducked her eyes again. “I’m just worried that you’ll slip and fall.”

“There’s an easy solution. Join me.”

What the fuck was he saying here?

As the silence stretched out, he felt like his body had reinflated with strength—and it was not coming from the calories in that soda. Amazing how the mating instinct could kick the crap out of all kinds of minor aches and pains.

And with Mayhem and Apex right outside? And things still momentarily quiet . . .

When she didn’t reply, he smiled sadly. “I’ll be okay in here. You can just take a load off and relax a little—I won’t be long.”

“I wish we were different,” she said with a defeat he did not associate with her.

We are, he thought. More than you’ll ever know—so you’re making the right decision here.

And yet that didn’t stop him from wanting her.

“Just so you know,” he said, “I wouldn’t change a thing about you. Even in this god-awful light, with everything we’ve been through . . . you’re still the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen.”

Her brows went up high as if she thought he was insane. And then her fingertips traced her own face.

“I feel so old,” she whispered.

“That’s life, not how many calendar years you’ve lived.”

When she put her palms to her cheeks and tears glossed her eyes, he stepped away from the falling water and went to her.

“I’m not very good when things are okay,” she croaked out. “I’m better when they’re bad.”

Well, they were still in the prison camp. And not on vacation. But why fly the reminder?

Lucan reached out and brushed her hair. “Unfortunately, I can promise you that this quiet is not going to last. This . . . moment . . . is not going to last long at all.”

As he stared at her, he wanted to hold her. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to touch her body so he knew he really was back from the dead and so was she.

“We’re like cockroaches,” she said as she dropped her hands. “You and me. We just keep going.”

Following her lead, he lowered his arm as well. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment, but considering you included yourself in it and you have a healthy ego, I’m thinking there has to be a positive spin on the cockroach thing.”

“We can’t be killed.”

He remembered the sunlight on his skin—and did not agree with that. But again, he wasn’t going to inject reality into her insect optimism.

When she refocused on him, her eyes were full of shadows.

Lucan waited for—ohhh, maybe a split second. Then he went back into the shower stall and canned the water routine.

As he returned to her, she laughed awkwardly. “How is it that you always smell so good?”

I’ve bonded with you, he thought.

“Give me your hand,” he commanded.

The fact that she didn’t fight him made him realize how exhausted she was. And as the contact was locked in by their grips, he drew her over to the bed.

“I’m not tired,” she said as she sat down. “I feel like I’m never going to sleep again.”

Lucan parked it next to her. “Tell me the story.”

Her eyes flared. “What story?”

He had to touch her hair again, he couldn’t help it. “The story of your pain.”



As Rio sat next to Luke on the bed, it seemed absolute bonkers fricking insane that she was having trouble holding it together. Considering everything that had gone down in the last—how long had it been? Five years? Twenty-five? A century? And now, after getting hit by a car, kidnapped, assaulted, and taken in by the drug dealers she was trying to bust, now she was losing it?

But something had happened when Luke had woken up and really looked at her properly. And then held his own can of soda. And then asked for another. The humanity of his suffering and recovery had made her forget all about the cop/criminal thing. They were just two people in a shitstorm, trying to survive, and she was so glad he had not—