Page 63 of The Reaper's Vow
Karina takes it all in, shoulders taut with the effort of composure. I see the house as she must, not a home, but a fortress, opulent and cold. Compared to this mausoleum, even the cabin’s sparseness feels warm.
“This way,” I say, guiding her toward the sweeping staircase. Pack members pause in their morning routines, nostrils flaring as they register her scent.
“Eyes down,” I command as heads bow in unison.
We reach the second floor, and I guide her down the east wing toward my suite. My childhood bedroom sits exactly as I left it a year ago—if you can call a space this size a bedroom. The suite spans nearly a thousand square feet, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pack's training grounds and a sitting area that could host a small dinner party.
Karina stops just inside the doorway, her mouth falling open as she takes in the king-sized bed, the stone fireplace, the walk-in closet that's larger than her entire apartment back in Eureka.
“This is your room?” she breathes.
“Was.” I close the door behind us, engaging the lock.
She drifts toward the windows, her fingers trailing across surfaces that have been dusted regularly despite my absence. My mother's orders, no doubt. Helena Marek doesn't allow anything in her house to fall into disrepair, even the room of her disappointing son.
“The bathroom's through there,” I tell her, nodding toward the door on the far side of the room. “There should be everything you need.”
She turns to face me, uncertainty written across her features. “What about you?”
“I'll use the guest bath down the hall.” I move toward my dresser, pulling out clothes. “Take your time. My father can wait.”
“Stay.”
The word hangs between us, soft yet unmistakable. I turn to find Karina standing in the middle of my childhood bedroom, arms wrapped around herself, looking somehow smaller amid the grandeur of Marek wealth.
“Please. I don't...I don't want to be alone right now.”
Something in my chest tightens at the vulnerability in her request. After everything she's endured—the attack, the escape, the revelation of who she might be—she's asking for me. Not safety. Not answers. Just me.
“Are you sure?” I ask, already knowing I'll give her anything she asks for. “You've been through hell tonight.”
She nods, a slight tremble in her lower lip betraying her composure. “That's why I need you close...it helps. When you're near, I can breathe.”
I know exactly what she means. When we're apart, it's an ache that nothing can soothe. Together, at least the pain becomes bearable.
“Okay,” I say, setting down the clothes I'd gathered.
Relief washes over her features, and through our connection, I feel the knot of anxiety in her chest loosen slightly. She turns toward the bathroom, then pauses at the threshold.
“I meant...in there.”
My mouth goes dry. The shower. She wants me in the shower with her. Every rational thought in my head blares that this is a terrible idea. I’m barely holding on as it is; seeing her naked under the spray of hot water will shatter what little restraint I have left.
But this isn’t about seduction. It's about trust. About needing me close when the world has tried to tear her apart again.
“I don't think that's wise,” I manage. The last thing I want to do is trigger her fight-or-flight response.
“I'm not asking you to touch me,” she interrupts, color flooding her cheeks. “I just...I only feel safe around you.”
The bathroom is larger than my cabin at the Bellandi compound, featuring all-black marble and chrome, with a walk-in shower that could comfortably fit six people. I follow Karina inside, keeping my distance as she turns on the water. Steam fills the space almost immediately, fogging the mirrors and glass shower doors.
She strips her bloody, torn clothes without hesitation, as if the act of baring herself means nothing compared to what she’s endured. The fabric pools at her feet, forgotten, and she steps into the shower. Steam rises around her as the spray hits her skin, plastering her dark hair to her back, water racing over every curve.
I shed my clothes quickly, letting the bloodied pile fall beside hers, and move in after her. I keep a measured distance, though every instinct in me strains to close it. “Is this all right?”
She gives a short nod, shoulders easing at my presence.
I reach for the shampoo, working the thick gel into my palms before stepping close enough to touch. “Let me.”
