Page 18 of The Reaper's Vow
She doesn’t know. Of course she doesn’t—living like this, masking what she is, drowning her scent in artificial bullshit. Raised human. No pack. No guidance. No idea of the blood running in her veins.
“It means you belong to me,” I growl, my wolf clawing forward at her denial. “The only one who’ll ever carry my mark. The only one who could ever carry my children.”
“That’s—That’s insane,” she stammers. “We don’t even know each other. You’re a murderer. I saw you kill someone.”
“And yet your wolf recognizes mine,” I counter, inhaling deep. “I can smell it on you. The way your body reacts to me, even while your mind tries to fight.”
Color blooms across her cheeks, spilling down her throat in a flush that makes my mouth water. I want to follow that trail with my tongue, taste the burn of her skin.
“I don’t have a wolf,” she hisses. “You’ve got the wrong person.”
The lie is so blatant it nearly makes me laugh. “I can smell you, Karina. Beneath all this—” I gesture at the air fresheners, “—manufactured bullshit.”
Her flush deepens, crimson with embarrassment and anger. “Get out of my apartment.”
“I’m not leaving you unprotected,” I snap. “Not when Lockhart saw you. Not when your cycle is this close. Do you have any fucking idea what that means? What danger you are in?”
“I've handled my cycles for ten years without your help,” she fires back, her brown eyes flashing with defiance. “I don't need your protection. I don't need you calling me your mate like I'm some...some possession.”
“You think this is about possession?” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “It’s about keeping youalive.”
“The man who grabbed you tonight? That was Thomas Lockhart. One of the most dangerous alphas in this territory. He’s not going to forget your face,” I continue. “He’ll come for you just for brushing off his advances. And, if he discovers your connection to me, he will use you for far more than breeding purposes.”
I pause, jaw clenched.
“I am not your mate!” she shouts, shoving at my chest again. “Stop saying that. I don’t even know your name.”
I capture her wrists in one hand, pinning them against the counter. My patience is fraying, thread by thread, with every denial that leaves her lips.
“Damien Marek,” I say, stepping into her space until there's barely a breath between us. “You’d better remember it, kitten.”
She stiffens, jaw tight, but I can feel her body react—tense, alert, alive.
She opens her mouth, but I cut her off before the first word forms.
“Mate isn’t some label I’m throwing around. It’s what you are. What weare.” I let the pause drag, just long enough for the reality of it to sink in. “The sooner you accept that, the sooner I stop worrying about keeping you alive...and start thinking about what I’m going to do with you.”
She struggles against my grip, her strength impressive for someone her size, but nothing compared to mine. Her scent shifts to something hotter, angrier. My wolf responds instantly, surging forward with a need that obliterates rational thought. I'm drowning in her—the scent of her skin, the defiance in her eyes, the pulse hammering in her throat.
I crash my mouth against hers.
The kiss is brutal, desperate. Her lips are soft beneath mine, parting on a gasp that I swallow hungrily. I release her wrists to cup her face, fingers tangling in her curls as I angle her head to deepen the kiss. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, tasting her, devouring her. She tastes like cinnamon and wine and something wild that makes my blood sing.
Her hands fly to my shoulders, nails digging in through my shirt. For one glorious moment, she kisses me back. Her body arching into mine and a soft moan vibrating against my lips that nearly brings me to my knees.
Then her hands flatten against my chest, and she shoves hard, breaking the kiss with a force that surprises me. I stumble back a step, my wolf howling in protest at the sudden distance.
“Don’t,” she pants, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from my kiss. “Don’t you dare touch me like that again.”
Her defiance only makes me want her more. The way she stands there, chest heaving, fury radiating off her—it’s intoxicating. My wolf vibrates beneath my skin, demanding I take what’s rightfully mine.
But the fear beneath her anger stops me cold. I can smell it, cutting through her sweet scent. She's terrified of me. Of what I am. What I represent.
And she should be.
I drag a hand through my hair, fighting to pull myself together. “You felt it too. When I kissed you. Your wolf responded.”
“I don't have a wolf,” she repeats, but her voice lacks conviction now. Her fingers touch her lips unconsciously, and I catch the way her breathing hasn't quite steadied.
