Page 14 of The Reaper's Vow
But I did. A man with eyes like liquid mercury. A corpse with a hole where a face should be. A gun still smoking in the killer's hand.
The monster inside me—the wolf I've spent my entire life hating—saved me tonight. The irony isn't lost on me, even as I push my four legs harder, faster, desperate to put miles between myself and Crimson Howl.
My muscles scream in protest as I approach the edges of Blackridge, where the forest thins and civilization begins. I slow my pace, ears swiveling to catch any sounds of pursuit. Nothing but the typical night chorus—owls, insects, the distant hum of the occasional car.
I've never been more grateful for the tiny garden shed behind my apartment building. Slipping inside, I force my body to shift back to human form, the transformation sending waves of agony through my body. Bones crack and reshape, fur recedes into skin, and I collapse onto the dirt floor, naked and shaking.
Every shift is torture—a reminder of what I am—a reminder of what I've spent twenty-seven years trying to forget.
I reach for my handbag with trembling fingers, fumbling for the spare key to the shed where I keep emergency clothes. My teeth chatter uncontrollably as I pull on sweatpants and a hoodie, the fabric rough against my hypersensitive skin.
“Breathe,” I order myself, pressing my back against the wooden wall. “Just breathe.”
But the images won't stop flashing behind my eyelids—the silver-eyed killer, the dead man's face, the way that other wolf had looked at me like I was prey. And worst of all, the inexplicable way my wolf had responded to the killer. Like it recognized something in him that I couldn't see.
It has to be my heat cycle. That’s the only explanation. It has to be.
My phone buzzes inside my bag—Britney, calling for the fifth time. I silence it without answering. What would I even say? Sorry, I disappeared. I was busy witnessing a murder and then turning into a monster.
I force myself to my feet, legs still wobbly from the shift. I need to get inside my apartment, lock the doors, and figure out what the hell I’m going to do. Every survival instinct roars at me to run—to pack a bag and disappear before they find me. Because they will find me. Men like that always do.
I slip out of the shed, scanning the yard before dashing toward the back entrance of my building. The key trembles in my hand as I unlock the door, slipping inside and taking the stairs two at a time.
Once inside, I slam the door shut, engaging every lock before sliding down against it. My legs finally give out, and I wrap my arms around my knees, trying to stop the violent shaking that's overtaken my body.
“Think, Karina,” I whisper to myself. “Think.”
My options are limited. I could run—I have enough savings to disappear for a while. But how long before they track me down? And where would I even go? I've spent my entire life hiding what I am. I have no pack, no connections to the wolf world. Just the curse I've carried since birth.
My phone buzzes again. This time, I answer.
“Oh my God, Karina!” Britney's voice pierces my ear. “Where the hell did you go?”
“I just...I wasn't feeling well. I went home.”
“Without telling me? I've been looking everywhere for you!”
Because I went out as a wolf through the back exit, I think grimly. “Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just needed to get out of there.”
There's a pause, and I can practically hear her frowning. “You sound weird. Are you sure you're okay?”
No. I'm the furthest thing from okay. I witnessed a murder, nearly got cornered by some alpha asshole, and my wolf is still pacing restlessly under my skin like it's searching for something. Or someone.
“I'm fine, Britt. Just tired. Can we talk tomorrow?”
“I guess...” She doesn't sound convinced. “But you're buying me coffee and explaining why you bailed on me.”
I end the call and toss my phone aside, burying my face in my hands. The normalcy of Britney's concern feels surreal after what I've just experienced. She has no idea that the club she works at is a front for monsters. That her employers are killers who execute people in soundproof rooms.
I should shower. Wash the scent of the club off my skin, try to scrub away the memory of what I saw. But my legs feel like jelly, and I can't bring myself to move from this spot against the door.
The wolf inside me is still restless, pacing like a caged animal. She's been more active tonight than she's been in months, and I hate it.
A sound from the hallway makes me freeze. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. They pause outside my door.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I press my ear to the wood. The footsteps continue past, and I hear Mrs. Chen's door open and close. Just my elderly neighbor coming home from her late shift at the hospital.
I'm paranoid. Jumping at shadows. But can I really blame myself? I've never been exposed to that world before—the world of wolves who embrace what they are instead of hiding from it. The world where violence is currency and death is just another business transaction.
