Page 116 of A Bloom in Winter

V bent over and picked up a suit of white snow clothes. Then he reached into a duffle and brought out something that gleamed gold in the light.

Apex, the male who by all rights should be dead, said, “I did it. I killed Broadius . . .”

“We know,” V said as he unsheathed a black dagger and started cutting all kinds of zip ties. “I heard it all, on the feed you sent me.”

And then Apex seemed to pass out—or maybe that was his death confession.

Meanwhile, that white wolf wheeled around and leaped over two dead bodies to get to the male.

The great predator whimpered and nudged at Apex’s arm. Then he lay down, and a set of ice-blue eyes looked over at Tohr, begging for help.

“It’s on the way,” he told the animal. “We’re going to take care of him.”

If he lives, Tohr tacked on to himself.

CHAPTER FORTY–FOUR

The first thing Apex smelled was a flower.

In the dense darkness of all his wounds, he couldn’t identify what kind of rose it was, or even where it was around him. But he knew that someone had brought him . . . a rose.

Opening his lids was like lifting a car, but he was so compelled to answer the mystery of where he was and why—

“It’s . . . you,” he croaked.

Callum was sitting at whatever bedside this was, right beside him. And as the wolven came to attention, those gleaming, husky eyes were luminous with unshed tears as they locked on his own.

Or rather, the one that he was able to see out of.

“You’re awake.” As Callum took his hand, that touch, that connection, did more for him than any drug ever could. “You’re back.”

Apex tried to nod, but holy hell, his neck hurt. So he just said, “You brought me a rose?”

Callum moved to the side so that the bloom, in its slender vase, could be properly seen. It was not white. It was red. The color of . . .

“You remembered that I liked white flowers,” the wolven said roughly. “So when I went to the florist’s for you, I thought . . . what would he like. What flower would he choose, this vampire . . . of mine.”

That was when he saw the others. There were yellow daffodils, and blue something-or-others, and pink sprays. All in little slender vases.

“Beautiful,” Apex wheezed. Although he wasn’t sure whether he was talking about the buds . . . or the male. “Where am I?”

“The Brotherhood’s training center. The clinic there.”

Apex looked around, seeing all kinds of medical equipment surrounding a hospital bed. Very nice sheets, smooth and soft, had been folded over his bare chest, and the pillows under his head registered as quite luxurious.

“How long . . .”

“Three nights.” Callum ran his thumb back and forth over Apex’s inner wrist. “And it’s going to be a while before you can be safely released. ”

“Were you here—”

“The whole time.” Callum stifled a sob. “And I’m not leaving unless you tell me to—”

“Never.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I know.” Apex tried to sit up, and couldn’t manage it, so he just slumped back down on all the very nice bedding. “Why did you come back to the big house? How did you . . . know?”

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