Page 102 of The Reaper's Vow
“You put a tracker in me without telling me?”
“Yes.” I don't sugarcoat it. Don't try to justify what we both know was a violation of trust. “I did what I needed to do to keep you safe.”
“You should have told me. We're supposed to be partners, Damien. Equals.”
“I know.” I tighten my grip on her hand, afraid she'll pull away completely. “I was wrong not to tell you. But I'm not sorry I did it. Not when it meant the difference between finding you and losing you tonight. The second we’re home, I’ll remove it if it survived your shift.”
She's quiet for a long moment, processing my words. “We'll talk about this when I'm not naked in a forest covered in blood.”
I nod, accepting the reprieve she's offering. We both know this conversation isn't over, but she's right—now isn't the time for it.
We reach the cars where one of my father’s enforcers waits. He tosses me a set of keys without a word, understanding that I need to be the one driving us home.
I guide Karina to the car, opening the passenger door and helping her inside. Her body feels fragile under my hands, though I know better than anyone how strong she truly is. The shift has exhausted her—especially her first complete transformation after years of suppressing her wolf. I grab a gym bag from the trunk and find a spare t-shirt for her to wear.
“Here,” I say, handing it to her. “It's not much, but it's better than a blanket.”
She takes it with trembling hands, her eyes downcast. The blood on her skin has begun to dry, cracking like macabre paint as she moves. I want to help her, to clean every trace of this night from her body, but I know better than to push right now. She needs space to process what's happened. She slips it over her and wraps the blanket around her for added warmth. I close the door and head back for the trunk, pulling on a pair of my workout shorts before closing the truck and walking around to the driver’s side.
I slide into my seat and start the engine. The heater kicks on, pushing warm air through the vents. Karina huddles against the door, my shirt drowning her slender frame. The silence between us stretches, heavy with everything we're not saying.
The road hums beneath us, the heater filling the car with warmth that still can’t quite chase the chill from my skin. I want to say something. Anything. But the words knot in my throat, heavy with everything that’s happened tonight. So, I keep driving, letting the silence stretch between us like a fragile thread neither of us dares to break.
Her hand shifts under the blanket, fingers brushing the seat between us—so slight I almost think I imagined it. But I don’t.
And for the first time tonight, I let myself believe.
The worst is over.
Karina
Idon’t know what hurts more—the bruises throbbing across my face, or the truth I can’t escape. I was hunted like prey for a bloodline I didn’t even know I carried until days ago. That my existence alone is enough to shatter worlds, to tip the balance of power, and spark wars.
I never asked for this. For any of it. And yet wishing it all away feels like another kind of lie. Because in the chaos of these past days, I’ve unearthed parts of myself I never knew existed...and found someone who feels essential to the marrow of who I am.
Damien.
Losing that connection was like being split open, like having half of my soul torn away. And I realized then that some truths, no matter how terrifying, are worth holding onto.
Because the truth is, no matter how much I wanted to deny it, the tie altered me. It carved itself into the deepest parts of who I am, reshaping everything I thought I knew about strength, about belonging, about myself.
And now I cannot imagine a world without it. Without him.
Maybe that’s what terrifies me most. That for the first time in my life, I have something to lose. Not my bloodline. Not the war it threatens to ignite. But Damien. The piece of me I didn’t know I was missing until he was here.
The drive back to the Marek compound passes in silence, each mile putting distance between us and the clearing where Damien tore out Lockhart’s throat. I can still taste blood in my mouth, can still feel the phantom pressure of Lockhart’s fingers around my neck. My wolf paces anxiously beneath my skin, exhausted from her full shift but too restless to settle, her energy feeding the hollow ache still thrumming through me.
When we finally arrive, Damien guides me from the car with a gentleness that feels at odds with the predator I watched tear a man apart an hour ago. His hand on the small of my back is steady, grounding me as we move through the quiet compound. Dawn is still hours away, and the house sleeps around us, unaware of the night's violence.
“Almost there.”
My body feels like it belongs to someone else—heavy, foreign, marked by hands that had no right to touch me.
He opens the door to his bedroom and ushers me inside before he closes it. The light flicks on, and I wince at the sudden brightness. My eyes feel swollen, my face tender where Lockhart's hands left their mark. I can still feel him on my skin, the phantom pressure of his fingers around my throat. I lowermyself onto the edge of Damien's bed, my legs too weak to keep standing.
From the bathroom comes the sudden rush of water—not the sharp spray of a shower, but the heavy pour of a bath being drawn. The sound is unexpectedly soothing, like rainfall on a metal roof. I didn’t even noticed Damien disappearing into the bathroom.
“I thought you might prefer a bath,” he says, emerging from the doorway. “The heat will help with the soreness.”
