Page 57 of The Reaper's Vow
A shadow moves between the cabins—too large to be Elias, too unfamiliar to be pack security. My breath catches as more shapes emerge, surrounding Damien's cabin with practiced precision. These aren't random intruders. This is a coordinated attack.
Hide. You have to hide.
The sound of footsteps circling the cabin jolts me into motion. I dart away from the window, scanning the small space for somewhere, anywhere, to hide. The bedroom will be the first place they check. The bathroom offers no escape. My attention snags on the weapons cabinet Damien opened earlier, now locked tight.
Think, Karina. Think.
The floorboards creak outside the front door. My hands shake as I back toward the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the counter. It feels pathetically inadequate against whatever's coming, but it's better than nothing.
A muffled thud from outside makes me flinch. Elias? Has something happened to him? I press my back against the wall beside the door, knife gripped in white-knuckled fingers.
The door handle turns slowly, silently. Whoever's out there isn't trying to break in—they have a key. My breath catches in my throat as the door swings open, revealing a silhouette I don't recognize.
“I know you're in here, little wolf.” The voice is male, unfamiliar, with an accent I can't place. “I can smell you. Your guard dog put up quite a fight,” the man continues. “Though I'm afraid he won't be joining us.”
The intruder moves deeper into the cabin, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. I catch a glimpse of his profile as he passes. I don’t recognize him at all.
“Lockhart sends his regards,” he says, moving toward the bedroom. “He's been very eager to meet Elena Rosewood's daughter.”
The knife nearly slips from my numb fingers. Elena Rosewood? I've never heard that name before, but the way he says it—like it should mean something to me—sends fresh terror racing through my veins.
“Come now, Karina,” he calls from bedroom, growing more irritated when he finds it empty. “We both know you're here. Your scent is practically saturating the air, and I can hear your heart thumping.”
The mark on my neck burns white-hot, I feel an echo of rage so pure it nearly knocks me to my knees.
Damien. He knows something's wrong.
The intruder's footsteps return to the main room.
My body moves before my mind processes what's happening. As he turns toward the kitchen, I lunge from my hiding spot, driving the knife into his side with all my strength.
He howls, a sound more surprised than pained, as the blade sinks between his ribs. His hands grasp at me, but I twist the knife deeper and rip it sideways. Hot blood spills over my fingers as he drops to one knee.
“You bitch,” he gasps, clutching his side as blood seeps between his fingers.
I back away, knife still clutched in my trembling hand. I need a distraction, something to buy me time to escape.
“She's in here!” the man calls out strained with pain. “Get in here now!”
I hear footsteps rushing toward the cabin. I’m out of time and escape routes.
My eyes flick to the front door, my only way in or out of this cabin. There’s no time for a plan, only for the simplest, stupidest thing that might point them the wrong way. I run towards the bedroom, making sure that the incapacitated wolf in front of me sees me go that way. It’s my only shot, hiding in plain sight.
Blood slicks my fingers as I run, every breath tearing at my throat. I stumble down the hallway toward the bedroom, smearing the doorframe as I pass. Each touch is deliberate—bright streaks that saythis way, leading them exactly where Iwant them to look. The carpet drinks my trail, uneven drops marking my path like breadcrumbs for monsters.
I shove the bedroom door open hard enough for it to slam against the wall and drag my hand down the edge, leaving one last swipe of red before darting inside. The smell of blood is strong, thick in the air. It’ll pull them right in.
But I’m already backing out, breath shaking. I slip into the hall again and reach the narrow closet by the kitchen. The space is barely big enough for me to squeeze into, crammed with cleaning supplies and old coats. I duck inside, leaving the door cracked just enough to see a sliver of the hallway.
My fingers brush over a bottle of bleach on the shelf. I grab it, twist the cap off, and pour a jagged line across the threshold—just enough to let the sharp, stinging scent swallow everything else. The fumes hit instantly, burning my nose, making my eyes water. Good. Wolves hunt by scent; if I’m lucky, this will blur the trail long enough to fool them.
The front door crashes open. Heavy boots hit the floor.
“She went towards the bedroom. Lockhart wants her alive, but I don't give a shit about her condition after what she just did.”
I press a hand over my mouth as they rush past, shadows slicing through the hallway, the air vibrating with growls and the scrape of furniture. The smell of bleach mixes with blood, sharp enough to make my head swim.
One of them snarls from the bedroom, “She’s bleeding—she’s right here!”
