Page 70 of The Reaper's Vow
I try to picture the woman who made me pancakes every Sunday morning sinking her teeth into someone’s throat, andthe image won’t come. It’s like trying to merge two strangers into one body—impossible.
Across from me, Damien studies his father with sharp suspicion, the shift in his posture betraying unease. Hudson, however, seems wrapped in memories of a woman I barely recognize.
“How well did you know my mother?” The question scrapes from my throat before I can stop it.
Hudson blinks, dragged back to the present. For a flicker of a heartbeat, something fragile crosses his face, gone as quickly as it came beneath the impenetrable mask of alpha composure.
“I knew her quite well,” he says finally, rolling the amber liquid in his glass before swallowing a mouthful. His next words fall like stones in a pond, rippling outward, disturbing everything I thought I knew. “Better than most. She was meant to be mine. Before your father came strolling in with his idealistic notions and pretty words. I was…sidelined.”
Hudson Marek wanted my mother. Still wants her, judging by the bitterness lacing every syllable.
“Our families had an arrangement,” he continues, his gaze roaming over my features like he’s cataloguing every hint of Elena he can find. “The Rosewood and Marek bloodlines were to be united through marriage. The match was decided before either of us came of age.”
I stare at him, the truth clicking into place. The bitterness in his words isn’t about land or politics—it’s about my mother. Hudson Marek loved her, and she chose someone else.
“But she didn’t want you,” I say before I can stop myself. “She wanted my father.”
His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking hard beneath his skin. “Marcus was a nobody. A beta with pretty words and reckless ideas. He filled her head with nonsense about challenging the old ways, about females leading as equals.”
The disdain in his tone makes my blood heat. I see it clearly now—the pride she wounded, the jealousy he’s nurtured for decades. It’s not just old politics. It’s an obsession.
“Those ‘reckless ideas’ worked for them,” I shoot back, steadier now, defending parents I barely had time to know. “They loved each other. They had me.”
Hudson’s composure cracks, just slightly. “And look how that ended,” he snaps. “Both of them dead. Their land splintered. Their daughter raised blind to her own bloodline.”
Beside me, Damien stiffens. The air shifts with him, heavy and lethal, like the seconds before a storm breaks.
“Enough.” His words slice through the room, cold and final. The effect is immediate—Hudson falls silent, his authority undercut by the force of his son’s fury. “You don’t get to speak about her parents again.”
“Watch yourself, boy?—”
“No.” Damien steps forward, placing himself between me and his father. “We didn't come here for your approval or your politics. We came here because Karina is being hunted, and I need to keep her safe.”
My heart hammers against my ribs as I watch the standoff between father and son.
“You forget your place,” Hudson snarls, rising from his chair.
“And you forget yours. She is mine to protect. Mine to defend. Not your second chance at securing a Rosewood.”
Hudson's nostrils flare as he scents the challenge in the air. “You dare?—”
“I dare everything for her.” Damien's hand finds mine, his grip warm and steady. “We're done here.”
I squeeze his hand back, drawing strength from his touch as the tension between father and son crackles like electricity in the air. For a moment, I think Hudson might actually lunge at Damien.
“You would choose her over your family? Over your pack? Over everything I've built for you?”
“Without hesitation,” Damien replies.
My wolf stirs beneath my skin, recognizing and savoring his loyalty. For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel something other than dread and uncertainty. A fierce, protective joy that this man, this predator who intimidates everyone else, has chosen me above all.
“Then you're a bigger fool than her mother was,” Hudson spits. “Very well. Take her to the east wing. She'll stay there until the full moon.”
“She stays with me,” Damien counters.
“You know our traditions. It’s better for her to be sequestered. Kept under lock and key.”
“I don't give a fuck about traditions.” Damien's grip tightens on mine. “She doesn't leave my sight. Not with Lockhart's people still out there. Where she goes, I go. End of fucking story.”
