Page 100 of The Reaper's Vow
I prowl around Lockhart, cutting off his path to Karina. His chest heaves, flanks streaked with blood, yellow irises burning. More of my father’s wolves close in from the tree line, hemming him in. The wound I carved isn’t fatal. Not yet. And for everything he’s done, I won’t settle for less than final.
He feints left, then lunges right, trying to get past me to Karina. I meet him in midair, our bodies colliding with bone-crushing force. My teeth find his shoulder, tearing through muscle and tendon. The taste of his blood fills my mouth, metallic and satisfying.
Behind us, Saloma drops the knife and begins to tear at her clothes. I can smell her desperation as she tries to shift, her body contorting awkwardly as she struggles to call her wolf. It's almost unnatural how slow her transformation is—especially for a Luna who has supposedly lived her entire life in our world like her body seems to resist the change.
Lockhart tears free from my grip, his claws raking across my muzzle as he spins away. Pain flares, but it only fuels my rage. I shake my head, blood spattering the ground, and bare my teeth in what might be called a smile if wolves could smile.
Come on, I think, circling him slowly. Show me what you've got.
I glance over at Karina’s wolf, who has Saloma pinned to the ground, claws pressed into her chest. Saloma writhes beneath her, caught mid-shift, her body jerking and twisting in unnatural rhythm. Fur ripples across one arm, recedes from the other. Bones crack, reset, and crack again. Her face flickers between human and wolf, teeth too long for her mouth, fingers half-formed into claws.
It isn’t a transformation. It’s a fracture.
She’s wrong, Damien. She smells wrong.
Fuck. Saloma is a fucking crossbreed. It explains everything. Why she was willing to forsake her protected position and align with Lockhart. She needed her sons to be alpha to protect her and their secret.
I roar down our bond.Do not kill her. Incapacitant her, but do not fucking kill her. Leave her for Anselm.
Lockhart must notice my distraction and lunges again, desperation making him sloppy. I duck under his snapping jaws and drive my shoulder into his chest, sending him sprawling. He rolls with the impact, coming up with dirt and leaves clinging to his fur. I lunge at him. My teeth find the soft flesh where his neck meets his shoulder, and I clamp down with every ounceof strength I possess. Lockhart howls—a sound that splits the night and sends birds scattering from the trees. I feel flesh tear, arteries rupture beneath my jaws. His blood floods my mouth, hot and metallic, fueling the rage of my wolf.
I shake my head violently, tearing deeper into his flesh. Lockhart thrashes beneath me, his claws raking desperately at my sides, but I barely feel the pain. All I can focus on is the scent of his fear, the taste of his defeat, and the knowledge that he will never touch my mate again.
With one final, savage twist, I tear away a chunk of his throat. Blood sprays across my muzzle as I release him, stepping back to watch him stumble. He tries to maintain his wolf form, but the damage is too severe. His body convulses, the shift reversing against his will as his wolf retreats to preserve what little life remains.
Where the brown wolf stood moments before, Lockhart now lies in human form, naked and bleeding out on the forest floor. His hands clutch futilely at the gaping wound in his neck, blood seeping between his fingers in rhythmic pulses that grow weaker with each beat of his failing heart.
The shift tears through me, bones grinding as my wolf recedes. The rage doesn’t leave—it simmers, a fire under my skin.
Flesh knits, fur vanishes, and I rise in the moonlight, naked and streaked with blood. Lockhart lies crumpled at my feet, chest heaving in ragged bursts. His lips twist into a grotesque smile, crimson bubbling at the corners. “She’ll…never…be…safe.”
“She’s safe from you.” My hand clamps around his throat, fingers digging deep as I rip his throat from his body. His thick blood drips down my hand in warm waves. I hold it up for him to see as his eyes glaze, and the forest swallows the silence of his end.
A sharp crack splits the air behind me. I turn in time to see Karina’s wolf folding back into human form, her body trembling with the effort. She lands hard on her hands and knees, breath ragged, hair tangled and matted with dirt and blood. Some hers, most not. A few long scratches mar her beautiful skin.
Saloma lies several feet away, half-shifted and barely conscious, one arm twisted unnaturally beneath her. A deep gash runs along her shoulder, pulsing sluggishly but not fatal. Her eyes flicker once, unfocused, before rolling back as her body slumps against the ground.
Karina’s gaze locks on the fallen Luna. There’s no triumph in her expression.
I crouch low, cupping her face. My thumb wipes a smear of blood away, uncovering the ugly bruise blooming beneath. Fury ignites in me again at what she endured, but I shove it down. Lockhart’s corpse is proof enough of justice served.
Karina leans into my touch, her lashes lowering for an instant of stolen peace. “Is it over?”
“Yes.” I gather her against me, uncaring of the blood that paints both our bodies. Her skin is cool against mine, her heartbeat a frantic flutter that gradually steadies as I hold her. “It's over.”
The forest shifts with the sound of men returning to themselves—bones cracking, fur receding, low groans filling the air as wolves give way to flesh again. Gabriel emerges from the tree line, limping heavily, his chest bound in rough bandages where Saloma’s bullet struck. He looks worn and pale with blood loss, but alive. Relief flickers across his features as his gaze meets mine, and he inclines his head.
“Thank you,” she rasps. “For finding me. For coming for me.”
I press my lips to Karina’s forehead, tasting sweat and salt, copper and iron. “I’ll always come for you, kitten. Always.”
My father strides toward us. He carries two folded blankets in one hand, his expression hard as stone. Without looking directly at Karina, he extends them. I accept with a curt nod, wrapping one carefully around her shoulders before securing the other around my waist.
“Lockhart’s forces have broken,” he reports. “The cowards fled into the trees. Those who bent the knee are being held.”
“And Saloma?”
“Anselm has been notified.”
