Page 112 of The Reaper's Vow
Her smile transforms her entire face, erasing the last shadows of worry. “Seven days of just us?”
“Seven days of me worshipping every inch of your body,” I promise, my voice dropping to that rough register that makes her shiver. “Seven days of showing you exactly how much I love you.”
She laughs, the sound pure and joyful in a way that makes my chest tight with emotion. “That's quite an ambitious schedule, Mr. Marek.”
“I'm very motivated.” I capture her lips in a slow, thorough kiss that tastes like promises and forever. Her smile lingers against my mouth, soft and sure, and for the first time in days, there’s no trace of fear hiding beneath it. Just her. Just us.
“I never pictured my life ending up here,” she admits softly, a smile curving her lips. “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
“You won’t ever have to,” I promise, threading my fingers tighter through hers. “It’s you and me, kitten. Always. Whatever future we build, we build it together. And in the meantime…” I let my mouth brush hers, teasing, “I fully intend to make good on those plans.”
Seven days. Seven lifetimes. It makes no difference. However, much time we’re given, I’ll spend every second proving my love for her.
And this time, nothing—and no one—will ever come between us.
Damien
Ifeel hundred eyes on me as I step into the clearing. These wolves, Blackwood's former pack, have gathered for what they believe will be a simple formality. Instead, they're about to witness a challenge that will determine their future.
My future. Our future.
Karina walks beside me. She's dressed for war in black leather pants and a jacket that hugs her curves, her hair pulled back in a tight braid that exposes the mating mark on her neck. Let them all see it. Let them know she's mine, and I am hers.
Three days since we made our decision. Three days of preparation, of strategy, of enjoying each other’s bodies likethe world might end tomorrow. Because for some of us in this clearing, it just might.
“That's him,” someone states from the crowd. “The Reaper.”
The name slides off me like water. I've been called worse. I'll be called worse before this day is done. My father taught me that a name is just a weapon others use against you unless you claim it first.
“Damien Marek,” a voice calls out, silencing the murmurs that ripple through the gathering. A man steps forward from the front of the crowd—tall, broad-shouldered, with a shock of white-blond hair and eyes so pale they're almost colorless. Frost. Thomas Blackwood's Beta. The man who's been running this pack since his alpha's death. “You have no right to be here. This territory belongs to the Blackwood pack.”
I step forward, feeling my father and his enforcers move into position behind me. The Marek pack, standing as witnesses to what is about to unfold. At the edge of the clearing, I spot Elias and his father, Anselm. The Bellandis have come too—though whether to support me or to watch me fail remains to be seen.
“This territory belongs to me by right of conquest,” I state. “I killed Thomas Blackwood. The law is clear.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Some nod in acknowledgment of pack law, while others bare their teeth in silent challenge. Frost remains unmoved.
“The law is clear when an alpha dies without an heir,” he agrees, taking another step toward me. “But Thomas wasn't without an heir. He named me his successor before his death.”
Lies. I can smell the deception on him like rancid meat.
“Blackwood died with my teeth in his throat,” I growl, letting my wolf rise closer to the surface. I let my canines lengthen just enough to be visible when I speak. “He had no time to name an heir between his begging and his dying. You are nothing morethan an opportunist. A coward who fled into the trees while his alpha bled out.”
Frost's face twists with fury, but he doesn't deny it. He can't. Too many witnessed his retreat that night.
“Blackwood would never name you heir anyway,” Karina speaks up. “You were just a tool to him. Useful, but disposable.”
I feel a surge of pride as several wolves in the crowd shift uncomfortably, recognizing the truth in what she says. Karina may be new to pack politics, but she understands the power of perception.
Frost turns his head toward her, his expression tightening with open contempt. “And who are you to speak of pack matters?”
I take a step forward, my wolf surging with protective rage, but Karina's hand on my arm stops me.
“I am Karina Rosewood,” she announces, her voice carrying across the clearing. “Daughter of Elena Rosewood. True mate to Damien Marek. And by right of both blood and conquest, I stand before you as your future Luna.”
The nameRosewoodripples through the crowd like wildfire. Shock registers in faces both young and weathered. Some of the elders lean forward, recognition dawning as they piece together the lineage they thought long extinguished. Others bristle, lips curling back, unsettled by what her existence means for the balance of power.
Frost is the first to recover. His surprise hardens into contempt. “Rosewood?” His laugh is sharp, humorless. “That line was erased decades ago.”
