Page 56 of The Reaper's Vow
“Mated?” He laughs, the sound surprisingly gentle. “No. But I watched my father with his current Luna. He didn't complete the bond for almost a month,” Elias continues, his back to me as he drains the pasta. “It was ugly. My father was practically feral by the end.”
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to contain the shivers that have nothing to do with cold. “Why would anyone put themselves through that?”
“Politics.” He shrugs, as if that explains everything. In his world, maybe it does. “Her pack wanted assurances before allowing the full mating. My father agreed to their terms, thinking he could handle the wait.”
“And could he?”
Elias's expression darkens as he turns to face me. “Let's just say there's a reason Matthew is...the way he is. Children born from an incomplete bond carry the strain of it.”
My stomach drops. “Children?”
“Shit.” He winces. “I forgot you're new to all this. It’s possible to conceive, though it's rare. The offspring tend to be unstable.”
Great. Another complication I hadn't considered. As if this situation needed more potential disasters.
“Has Damien told you what happens if you don't complete it?” Elias asks, setting a plate of pasta in front of me.
I nod, picking up my fork without any real intention of eating. “Pain. For both of us.”
“It's more than pain.” He sits across from me, placing a second plate of steaming pasta in front of him. “It gets worse the closer you are to your mate without completing it. Like an addiction where the drug is right in front of you, but you can't take it. For both of your sakes, I hope it doesn’t come down to that.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask, pushing the pasta around my plate.
“Because Dom is the closest thing I have to a friend in this godforsaken place.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t have friends?”
“I have allies. Associates. People who want something from me.” Elias takes a bite of his pasta, chewing thoughtfully. “Dom is different. He doesn't care about my position or my family's power. He just...is who he is. Though he’s more than that now with you in the picture.”
“You make it sound like caring about me is a weakness.”
“In our world?” Elias laughs, but there's no humor in it. “Caring about anyone is a death sentence waiting to happen.”
“Is that why you don’t have a mate?”
“I don’t have one because my father thinks I should marry for politics, not for love.” The fork scrapes softly against the plate as he twirls the pasta with more force than necessary, jaw tight. “He’s already in talks with three different packs—negotiating my hand like I’m some bargaining chip.”
“That's barbaric,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“That's pack politics.” He shrugs as if it doesn't bother him, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. “The same politics you've stumbled into by catching Damien's attention.”
“It's not just about politics,” I say, my fork still pushing the pasta around. “It's about choice. Shouldn't we all have the right to choose who we?—”
A sharp crack from outside cuts through my words. My head snaps toward the window, wolf senses immediately on alert.
Elias is on his feet in an instant, his relaxed demeanor vanishing. “Stay here,” he commands. “Don't move. Don't make a sound.”
Before I can respond, he's moving toward the door, his movements fluid and predatory in a way that reminds me this isn't just Damien's friendly acquaintance—this is the heir to a criminal empire, born and raised in violence.
Elias disappears outside, closing the door behind him with barely a sound. I strain my enhanced hearing, catching the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel, then silence.
My wolf paces anxiously beneath my skin. Something's wrong. The air feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. The scent of unfamiliar wolves drifts through the cracked window.
I should stay put. That would be the smart thing to do. But my wolf is howling now, sensing danger with an instinct that bypasses rational thought.
Rising from the chair, I move silently toward the window, my bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor.
The compound looks eerily quiet. Too quiet. Even the normal sounds of night patrol are absent, leaving only the whisper of wind through the trees. My wolf whines, pressing against my skin with increasing urgency.
