Page 28 of The Reaper's Vow
“Like what? Homicidal? Overprotective? Brooding? Yeah, pretty much.” Elias grins, but there's something cautious in his expression as he studies me. “Though I've never seen him claim anyone before. That's new.”
“He hasn't claimed me,” I snap, though my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
He turns to look behind him, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “And now I know why Dom threatened me.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” I ask, glaring at Elias as he leads me toward a cabin at the edge of the compound. His cryptic smile only irritates me further.
“It means you're spicy. I like it.” He unlocks the door with a key from his pocket. “Most women who encounter Dom either run screaming or fall at his feet. You're doing neither.”
“I tried the running part. Didn't work out so well.”
He chuckles, pushing the door open and gesturing for me to enter. “Ladies first.”
I hesitate at the threshold, my wolf suddenly alert and wary. This is Damien's space—his den. Entering it feels like crossing a line I can't uncross.
“It's just a cabin,” Elias says, misreading my hesitation. “Dom keeps it clean, I promise.”
Taking a deep breath, I step inside. Damien’s scent hits me immediately — pine, smoke, and something darkly male that curls through the air and wraps around me. My wolf stirs beneath my skin, restless and alert. The warmth that’s been simmering inside me surges, and I have to lock my knees to keep from swaying.
The cabin is sparse but inviting, the kind of space that feels lived in without ever being cluttered. An open kitchen lines one wall; the opposite side holds a sitting area furnished in dark wood and soft leather. A single door at the back likely leads to the bedroom, though I don’t dare look too long in that direction.
“Make yourself at home,” Elias says, shutting the door behind him and turning the lock with a quiet, deliberate click.
The sound makes my pulse jump. The air feels thicker here, saturated with Damien’s scent until it’s almost tangible. Eachbreath drags more of it into my lungs, clouding my thoughts, quickening my heartbeat.
“So,” Elias drawls, sinking into one of the armchairs like he owns the place. “Want to tell me how you managed to almost mate yourself to the most antisocial wolf in Northern California?”
If only I knew that answer myself.
Damien
Anselm's eyes burn into me. The temperature in his office seems to drop twenty degrees as he leans forward, palms flat against his mahogany desk.
“Explain to me,” he says, each word a carefully measured threat, “why I had to hear about Marco's death from Viktor? He’s the head of my club’s fucking security, not your clean up crew.”
I stand at rigid attention, my face a careful mask despite the storm tearing through me. Every part of me aches to get back to Karina, to make sure Elias is keeping his word. My wolf prowls beneath my skin, restless and unsettled by the distance between us.
“I was handling a witness, Alpha.” No point lying to him, his senses are too sharp, his experience too vast to be fooled.
“A witness.” He repeats the words slowly. “And this witness was more important than reporting directly to me after executing one of my orders?”
The air thickens with his displeasure. At fifty-three, Alpha Anselm Bellandi is still a force of nature—six-foot-five of pure muscle and ruthless intelligence. The scar across his left brow twitches as he waits for my response.
“The witness saw everything. I had to contain the situation.”
“An interesting choice of words for someone who left a corpse in my club and a witness running free.” Alpha Anselm rounds his desk, closing the distance between us until I can smell the scotch on his breath. “Viktor tells me that Thomas Lockhart claims you threatened him over some female. Is that true?”
My jaw clenches. “He was harassing her.”
“Harassing.” Anselm's laugh is cold, mirthless. “He says you nearly broke his wrist over some masked bitch then disappeared.”
My hands curl into fists at his description of Karina. “Lockhart exaggerates.”
“Does he?” Anselm stops directly in front of me, his height allowing him to look down at me despite my own considerable stature. “Would this be the same female that Kenny reported as your guest?
“She's under my protection.”
“Your protection?” Anselm's eyebrows rise. “Not the family's protection? Interesting distinction.”
