Page 72 of The Reaper's Vow
His gaze finds mine again, steady, certain. “You won’t be anyone’s ornament either. Not mine. Not anyone’s. You’ll stand beside me in every decision, every fight, every breath of this life.”
He says it like a vow, not of possession, but of equality. Of defiance.
And for a moment, I understand why my mother terrified men like his father. Because equality and love, in a world like ours, was the greatest rebellion of all.
“What happens now? What do I do with all of this?”
“Whatever you want.”
“That's the problem. I don't know what I want anymore.” I pull away slightly, needing space to think. “Yesterday, I was just trying to survive you. Now the daughter and heir to disputed territory, with an alpha who wants to breed me, and another who wants to use me to fulfill some decades-old political alliance.”
“You're more than your bloodline, Karina. You always have been.”
“Am I? Because it feels like that's all anyone sees now.” I stand up, moving to the window that overlooks the sprawling Marek compound. Pack members move about their daily business below, unaware that their world is about to be upendedby my existence. “Your father doesn't want me—he wants what I represent. The chance to finally get what he thinks he deserves.”
Damien's reflection appears in the glass behind me, his large build blocking out everything else.
“I'm just a vessel to all of them. A means to power.”
Damien reaches out, grasping my arm, and spinning me on my heels before pulling me against his chest. “Not to me, kitten. I marked you before I knew who you were, Karina.”
I lean into his touch, desperate for the connection. “I'm scared, Damien. I don't know how to be what everyone expects.”
“Then don't be. Be what you want. Take what you want. The rest will follow.”
“What if what I want is just you?”
“Then take me. The rest of it—the politics, the territory, the fucking bloodlines—none of it matters if it's not what you want.”
“But your father?—”
“Fuck my father.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “Fuck Lockhart. Fuck all of them. I've spent my entire life being what everyone else needed me to be. The heir. The enforcer. The Reaper.” His forehead presses against mine, our breath mingling in the space between us. “The only thing I want to be now is yours.”
Something breaks loose inside me—a dam of uncertainty and hesitation crumbling with his words. I surge forward, capturing his mouth with mine, my hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. This time, I’m the one taking control. I’m the one demanding.
He responds instantly, a growl rumbling from deep in his chest as his arms encircle my waist, lifting me against him until my feet barely touch the floor. His mouth is hungry, desperate, taking everything I offer and demanding more.
“I want you,” I gasp against his lips. “Just you. Nothing else.”
His hands slide down to grip my thighs, hoisting me up against him as if I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, my body knowing what it wants even if my mind is still reeling from everything that's happened. His mouth moves to my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin where his mark already burns.
“Are you sure?” he growls against my throat. “Once I start, I won't be able to stop.”
“I don't want you to stop,” I whisper, arching into him as his hands tighten on my thighs. “I need this. I need you.”
That’s all it takes. With a sound more animal than human, he carries me to the bed and lays me down with unexpected gentleness before lowering himself over me. His presence presses me into the mattress, a grounding force in a storm-tossed sea—the only thing keeping me from drifting away entirely.
His mouth finds mine again, hungry and demanding, as his hands slide beneath the borrowed sweater. I gasp as his calloused fingers meet bare skin, tracing patterns of fire up my sides until they reach the underside of my breasts.
“You're wearing too many clothes,” I pant against his lips, tugging at his shirt with desperate fingers.
He sits back on his heels, yanking his shirt over his head in one fluid motion that makes the muscles in his abdomen ripple. My breath catches as I take in the full sight of him—the broad expanse of his chest, the intricate tattoos that cover his torso, the raw power evident in every inch of his physique. My fingers reach out of their own accord, tracing the lines of ink that swirl across his skin.
“Your turn,” he growls, his hands finding the hem of my borrowed sweater.
I lift my arms, letting him pull the soft material over my head. The cool air of the bedroom kisses my bare skin, mynipples hardening instantly. I should feel vulnerable, exposed, but all I feel is wanted.
“Fucking flawless,” he says, his large hands cupping my breasts with reverent possession. His thumbs circle over my nipples, pulling a gasp from my lips that melts into a moan when he replaces one thumb with his mouth.
