Page 8 of The Reaper's Vow
She doesn't notice my panic, too busy digging through her clutch for our invitations. “About six months. Best job I've ever had. The owners are loaded—some rich family that owns half the town. Super private people, but the pay is amazing.”
My mind races. Does Britney know what I am? Is this some elaborate trap? But no—her heartbeat is steady, her scent unchanged. There's no trace of deception. She genuinely thinks she's just bringing her repressed neighbor to a kinky human club.
“You okay?” Britney's looking at me now, head tilted. “You are like super pale. I promise no one's going to make you do anything you don't want to do. Consent is like the number one rule here.”
“Fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just a little nervous. I've never been to a place like this.”
Inside, I'm spiraling. I have to get out of here. Now. But my feet won't move. The pounding of my heart must be audible to everyone within a mile radius. My palms are sweaty, and I'm struggling to maintain my composure.
“That's totally normal,” Britney says, patting my arm. “First-time jitters. Trust me, after one drink, you'll be fine.”
One drink won't solve the fact that I'm in a literal wolf’s den. The moment I step through those doors, every wolf in that club will catch my scent.
“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” I suggest, trying to sound casual. “Get a drink at a regular bar first?”
Britney laughs. “No way! Do you know how hard it was to get these invitations? They never let us come in to play on our days off. Come on, it'll be fun.”
She practically drags me toward the entrance. I could break free easily—my strength would send her stumbling—but not without revealing myself.
A large man in an impeccably tailored suit stands at the door. Human, from the smell of him, but every movement radiates the calm alertness of someone who knows exactly what he’s guarding.
“Good evening, Miss Carr,” he greets, “And you must be the guest.”
His attention lingers on me a beat too long before he finally steps aside and gestures toward the heavy wooden doors behind him.
“Do you need my ID?” I ask, fingers fumbling through the small, chained purse I insisted Britney let me bring to hold my phone and small wallet.
He shakes his head at me. “No names are used here. Special invitations only. Masks are mandatory once you cross the threshold,” he explains, producing two elegant pieces from a velvet-lined box. “They remain on for the duration of your visit.”
The mask he offers me is a black leather mask with ears. Metal studs line the outline of the ears and the brow bones. It’s a cat mask.
I stare at the mask in his hands, my throat closing up. The universe has a sick sense of humor—dressing the predator as prey. But I can't refuse without drawing attention, so I take it with trembling fingers.
“Thank you,” I manage.
Britney gets a sleek black bunny mask with silver whiskers. She slips it on with practiced ease, transforming into someone mysterious and confident. The mask suits her perfectly.
“Your turn,” she says, her voice slightly muffled but still cheerful.
I lift the mask to my face, the leather cool against my heated skin. The moment it settles into place, something shifts. The anonymity should be comforting, but instead, it feels like I'm walking into a trap, wearing a sign that says,eat me.
“Perfect,” the doorman says, but there's something in his tone that makes my wolf's hackles rise. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”
The doors swing open, and the scent hits me. Pack. Multiple packs. The air is thick with werewolf musk, arousal, and power. Ancient, territorial power that makes my wolf want to both submit and run. I freeze in the doorway, every instinct screaming at me to run. But Britney's already pulling me forward, her excitement palpable as she leads me deeper into what I now realize is enemy territory.
The interior is all wood, shadows dancing in the amber light from wrought-iron fixtures. A bar dominates one wall, bottles of expensive liquor gleaming like jewels. The main floor opens into a larger space where I can see figures moving—some watching and some participating in activities that make my cheeks burn even through the mask.
But it's not the sight that overwhelms me. It's the scents. Layer upon layer of werewolf pheromones, so thick I can barely breathe.
“Isn't this place amazing?” Britney beams, completely oblivious to my internal crisis.
The air practically crackles with supernatural energy. I count at least a dozen different werewolf scents, maybe more. All male. All dominant. All now aware that a female has just entered their territory.
A low growl rumbles from somewhere to my left, and I turn to see a man in a wolf mask watching me from the bar. Even from this distance, I can feel his stare. My wolf whimpers, caught between attraction and terror.
“Let's go to the bar. I'll introduce you to Axel.” Britney starts toward the bar, but I catch her arm.
“Actually, can you get me something? I need a minute to...take this all in.”
