Page 88 of The Reaper's Vow
He hates this outfit, hates the idea of other wolves seeing me like this. Probably a little more when he fully sees what's under the jacket, but I'll reap the consequences of that later.
“Karina—” he starts, his hands moving to the zipper of my jacket like he's about to pull it down and discover exactly what I'm hiding.
A sharp knock interrupts us. Damien freezes, his fingers still on my zipper, head turning toward the door with a predatory alertness that reminds me of his true nature.
“Miss Greene, it’s time.”
I swallow hard, reality crashing over me. This is it.
Damien’s grip tightens for the briefest second, as if he could hold me back with sheer will alone. His eyes burn with a warning I know he won’t voice—not here, not now.
I force my legs to move, every step toward that door echoing louder than it should, like a drumbeat counting down to something I can’t escape.
On the other side waits the beginning of the end.
And once I cross that threshold, nothing will ever be the same.
Karina
Ican feel her under my skin, scratching and clawing, desperate to break free as the moon calls to her. It's an itch I can't scratch, a burn I can't soothe, and it's getting worse with each passing minute.
“Miss Greene, please,” Gabriel says, his hand firmly pressed against the small of my back as he guides me through the unmarked side entrance of Crimson Howl.
The heavy metal door closes behind us with a resounding thud that feels too final for comfort. The scents hit me immediately—sweat, arousal, expensive cologne, and beneath itall, the unmistakable musk of other wolves. My nostrils flare involuntarily, and I fight the urge to bare my teeth.
“This way,” Gabriel directs, steering me down a dimly lit corridor. “Mr. Marek was very specific about the arrangements.”
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to center myself despite the sensory overload. Then, before I can second-guess myself, I reach out along that strange, new connection that thrums between Damien and me.
How far away are you?
For a terrifying moment, there's nothing but silence. Then I feel it, a pressure against my consciousness, heavy and intense.
Close. Stay with Gabriel.
“Let’s go. We need to be in position before Lockhart arrives,” Gabriel grumbles under his breath.
I nod once, my throat too dry to speak as Gabriel's hand guides me forward. The club is pulsing with life around us, but Gabriel deftly navigates us away from the main floor, his movements precise and practiced. I catch glimpses of shadowy figures through doorways—bodies entwined, masks glinting in the low light.
A group ahead of us blocks our path. I shift to move around them, but Gabriel tugs me to the left, subtly changing our course.
I glance up briefly and immediately understand why. Along the far wall, a row of private booths house several alphas. I can smell their dominant pheromones even from here. Gabriel smoothly steers me down a different path, putting several dancing bodies between us and the alphas.
We reach a cordoned-off section marked with a subtle gold emblem—VIP only. A bouncer twice my size stands guard.
“We’re expecting Alpha Lockhart shortly. Make sure he’s admitted,” Gabriel orders the man standing guard before he pushes me inside.
Inside the VIP section, the room stands empty except for Gabriel and me, the plush couches and private viewing areas eerily silent compared to the throbbing pulse of the main club.
“Sit there,” Gabriel instructs, pointing to a black couch positioned directly in front of the one-way glass overlooking the main floor. “Front and center. That’s where he wants you.”
I hesitate only a moment before obeying, settling into the cool material. The seat faces outward, offering a perfect view of the chaos below while putting me on full display to anyone who enters this private room.
My fingers find the zipper of my jacket and pull it down with a metallic hiss that sounds far too loud in the stillness. I ease it off my shoulders, revealing the harness beneath. Thin black straps cross over my chest, leaving little to the imagination and even less to comfort. I tug one band higher, making sure it conceals the mark at my throat.
Gabriel’s sharp inhale breaks the silence. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, snapping his gaze away. “If Lockhart doesn’t kill me tonight, Damien sure as hell will for seeing you like this.”
“Not before he kills me for wearing it,” I reply, trying for humor and failing. My hands smooth down the straps, the gesture more nervous than I intend. “It’ll be fine. At least, it’s supposed to be. This is all part of the plan.”
