Page 42 of The Reaper's Vow
The implication sends ice through my veins despite the fire still burning under my skin. “You think he would?—”
“Never underestimate an alpha with his kind of power, kitten. He seizes chances like a kid snatching candy on a parade route.”
My stomach knots as his words settle. “So, this breakfast isn’t about getting to know me. It’s about weighing me as a potential match for his son.”
“Among other things.” Damien’s hand slides up my back, settling at the nape of my neck in a quiet claim. “He’s also testing my restraint—watching how far he can push before I snap.”
“And if you snap?”
“Then I prove I'm not ready for the responsibility my father sent me here to learn. And you become fair game for any alpha strong enough to take you as theirs.”
The doors swing open before I can respond, revealing a uniformed staff member who bows slightly at our approach. “Alpha Anselm is waiting in the private dining room,” he says, his attention fixed firmly on Damien as though I don’t exist. “This way, please.”
We’re led through a maze of corridors that reek of old money and older power. Oil portraits of stern-faced wolves line the walls, their painted expressions heavy with judgment, the kind that makes your skin prickle. The hardwood floors gleam with a polish so pristine it reflects every flicker of the chandeliers overhead—wealth carved into every board, every step.
This isn’t just a house. It’s a fortress, a seat of dominance that has weathered decades of politics and blood. The intimidation is deliberate, thepresence of history pressing downuntil even my wolf curls tighter under my skin, uneasy beneath so much concentrated authority.
“Is this what all alpha homes look like?” I whisper, trying to distract myself from the growing anxiety churning in my stomach.
“Only the ones with something to prove,” Damien answers, his breath warm against my ear. “Anselm fought his way to power. He likes reminders of what he's built.”
The staff member stops before an ornate set of double doors, knocking twice before pushing them open. “Mr. Marek and his guest, Alpha.”
Damien's hand tightens at my neck, his thumb brushing against the edge of his mark in a gesture that's both possessive and reassuring. The contact sends sparks racing down my spine, and I fight to keep my expression neutral as we step into the dining room.
The space is dominated by an oak table that could easily seat twenty, though only three places are set at one end. Morning sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the man who rises from the head of the table as we enter.
The Alpha is exactly like what I expect from the ruler of a powerful wolf pack. Tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair that only enhances his authority rather than diminishing it. The scar across his left brow catches the light as he studies me with pale eyes that seem to see straight through to my soul.
My wolf immediately cowers, pressing herself flat against my ribs in instinctive submission. The alpha's presence is overwhelming, acrushing forcethat makes my knees want to buckle. I force myself to focus on his hands, clasped behind his back, just as Damien instructed.
Then Anselm’s lips curl into something far too close to amusement. “Before we proceed, you will meet the Luna of this pack, my Luna, Saloma.”
A woman glides forward from his side, her steps soundless, her presence sharp and merciless. Her beauty is undeniable, but it carries the same chill as a blade in moonlight. Saloma focuses on me, and the intensity of hergaze pins me more effectively than any alpha command. I keep my chin lifted, though the air feels thick with warning. Whatever this is, it’s not just ceremony,it’s a test. And failure will cost far more than pride. Beside me, Damien stiffens, his hand steady at my nape.
“Alpha. Luna.” His words come measured, respectful, but not submissive. “Allow me to introduce Karina. My mate.”
The alpha steps closer, nostrils flaring as he drinks in my scent. “I see his mark on her neck, Reaper, but that hardly makes her yours.”
My stomach knots as his scrutiny lingers on the bite.
“With respect, Alpha,” Damien says at my side, his words pulled tight with restraint, “the full moon is still two days away.”
“I am well aware of the moon’s cycle,” he cuts in with a snarl. “And I am equally aware that she’s little more than spoken for—for now. Until the ritual is finished, she remains untaken.”
The way he says it makes my skin crawl.
“And a female in heat, no less,” Saloma remarks. “How...convenient for you, Damien.”
She steps closer to me, inhaling as deeply as the Alpha did.
“I can smell her from here,” she continues, circling me. “Her scent is quite...potent. Most males would find such desperation irresistible.”
“Saloma,” Anselm’s voice carries a warning, though amusement curls at the edges. “Manners.”
“Of course.” She settles back beside him, her smile sharp as glass. “I simply find it fascinating how biology can…cloud judgment.”
The jab strikes exactly where she wanted it to. My wolf bristles under my skin, claws itching to tear through flesh, but I force myself to remain still. Damien’s thumb brushes once against my nape, a grounding stroke, a reminder to hold the line.
