Page 91 of The Reaper's Vow
The lights go out.
Emergency lights flare to life a heartbeat later, flooding the room in pulsing crimson. In that blink of illumination, the energy shifts. Thomas’s grip on my throat tightens reflexively as his head jerks toward the door.
“What the fuck—” he starts.
The emergency lights flicker, stutter, then die.
Darkness swallows everything.
A body slams against the door. A gunshot cracks the silence. The muzzle flash sears the room in white light, and for an instant, I see it all. Gabriel crumpling and blood blooming across his chest, a slender figure looming above him, silver mask glinting.
Then blackness again.
My scream sticks in my throat as Thomas yanks me over the couch, his hand like an iron collar.
“Right on time,” Thomas hisses against my ear, smug and certain. “Did you really think I’d come alone? Unlike your pathetic protectors, I plan ahead.”
“Let me go,” I snarl, clawing at his arm. My wolf thrashes inside me, frantic, battering against the cage I keep her in. “Damien!” I cry, his name tearing from my throat, echoing both aloud and through our frayed bond. The connection twists, faint and broken, like static over a ruined radio. Something—or someone—is cutting us off.
The masked figure glides through the shadows, their outline barely distinguishable from the gloom. A thin spill of light from the upstairs windows catches on polished silver where their face should be. “We need to leave.”
Thomas’s grip on my throat slackens as he turns toward the newcomer. I seize the chance, slamming my elbow into his ribswith all the strength I can summon. His grunt of pain vibrates against my back, though his hold doesn’t break.
“Who are you?” The words rasp from my raw throat, every syllable scraping as my eyes strain to pierce the mask. The flickering emergency lights throw jagged shadows across the room, warping everything into something monstrous.
Before I can react, the figure lunges forward with startling speed. I feel a sharp pinch at the side of my neck, followed immediately by a warm, tingling sensation that spreads through my veins like wildfire. My limbs grow heavy within seconds.
“What did you...” My words slur as the room begins to tilt. Thomas finally releases me, and I slump against the couch, unable to command my muscles to fight back.
The figure steps closer. With deliberate slowness, they reach up and remove the mask, revealing a face I’ve seen before, sitting around the breakfast table.
Saloma Bellandi. Anselm’s Luna.
She smiles, slow and merciless, crouching close enough that I can’t look away. “We’ll make good use of you.”
And then, nothing but darkness.
Damien
Ifeel the moment Lockhart touches her.
My skin burns as if branded, rage exploding through me like wildfire. Across the crowded club floor, through the sea of writhing bodies and flashing lights, I can see him. His fingers gripping my mate's chin, forcing her to look at him. My wolf claws beneath my skin, demanding release, demanding blood.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
She's playing her part perfectly, keeping him distracted, but it's taking everything in me not to tear across this room and rip his fucking throat out with my teeth.
“Easy,” Elias mutters beside me, his hand gripping my shoulder. “Stick to the plan.”
I shrug him off, my attention never leaving the VIP section where my mate sits half-naked in that fucking harness and mesh shirt. We’d be discussing that later once she’s safe and after I’d pried that fucking outfit off of her with my goddamn teeth. The leather straps cross her perfect skin, drawing every male eye in the place, including Lockhart's. His hand moves to her throat now, and I feel my control slipping.
“If he doesn't remove his hand in the next five seconds, I'm going to remove it for him,” I growl. “Permanently.”
“Two more minutes,” Elias says, checking his watch. “That's all we need.”
Two minutes might as well be two years. I can feel Karina reaching for me through our bond, her consciousness brushing against mine like a lifeline. Lockhart is talking to her, his words making her bristle through our connection. I want to tear his tongue out along with his hands. The lights flicker—once, twice. Elias tenses beside me.
“That's not supposed to happen,” he mutters, scanning the room with sudden alertness.
