Page 97 of The Reaper's Vow
His hand cracks across my face, the slap echoing through the clearing. I taste blood, metallic and warm, as my lip splits under the force of the blow.
“The alphas of her time didn’t see her potential, but even as a pup, I did. Your mother could have strengthened our species had she picked the right mate. I won’t chance that happening again.”
The circle of masked onlookers tightens around us, their collective energy feeding the tension in the clearing.
“You could be the start of a new era, Karina. Strong females bred properly, loyal to the ones who shape them. Do you understand what that means? Every alpha from here to the northern border would pay to have what your blood can create.”
“You mean pay you.”
“Precisely, little wolf. Through you, and our pups, you will give me what your mother should have given her generation. The ability to create a pack that will rule everything.”
“Enough words, Thomas,” Saloma interjects. “Every second you waste goading the bitch, you risk being discovered.”
Lockhart’s jaw tightens, irritation flashing across his face at being interrupted. “You forget your place, Saloma,” he says without turning to her.
“I helped you find her,” Saloma hisses, stepping closer to Lockhart. “I drugged her. I got her out of that club under the Reaper's nose. And now you dare to speak to me of my place?”
“Your assistance has been noted,” Lockhart says coldly to Saloma. “You'll receive what was promised once I've completed the bond.”
“Then do it.”
“You’re denying me my fun, but I see your point.” He turns his attention back to me. “The moon is calling, little wolf.”
Lockhart drags me by my hair now, the sharp pain drawing a gasp from my lips as he pulls me toward the altar. The stone surface is cold against my back as he shoves me down, my bound arms crushed painfully beneath me.
“Keep her still,” he commands, and two masked figures step forward, their hands pinning my shoulders and ankles to the unforgiving stone.
I struggle against their grip, but my drugged muscles are still too weak to overpower them. The moon peeks through the canopy of trees above, its silver light falling across my face. Mywolf howls at its touch, surging closer to the surface with each passing second.
Saloma takes a step forward towards me. I bare my teeth at her, letting my wolf rise closer to the surface. “Does Anselm know what his Luna is doing?”
Her laugh is sharp as the blade in her hands. “My husband is an old fool, too blinded by notions of honor. He chose me because I was the only option after I killed his first wife.”
My blood turns to ice at her casual admission of murder. This woman standing before me isn't just helping Lockhart. She's a monster in her own right.
“You killed Elias’s mother?” I gasp, the pieces falling into place. She was murdered by the woman who replaced her.
Saloma's smile is evil incarnate. “Accidents happen to those who stand in my way. Just as they'll happen to my stepson if necessary. Matthew and Leo are my blood. They deserve the Bellandi legacy, not that arrogant firstborn.”
“That’s why you’re doing this. He’s going to make your son alpha.”
She answers with a smile and shrug.
“Begin the ritual,” Lockhart orders.
She approaches with the knife, its edge catching moonlight as she raises it. “The old ways require blood. Her blood must anoint the altar.”
My wolf surges forward with renewed panic, lending me strength I didn't know I had. I buck against the hands holding me, twisting violently as Saloma brings the blade toward my exposed collarbone.
“Hold her still!” she commands.
The hands on my shoulders tighten painfully, the grip strong enough to bruise. I can feel my power fading as the knife descends. I twist desperately, throwing my head back with all my strength. The movement jerks my neck into the firelight,exposing my throat, as the harness covering my mark breaks under the strain.
Saloma freezes, the knife hovering inches from my skin. Her eyes widen, fixed on a point at the base of my neck.
“Wait,” she hisses, leaning closer to inspect whatever has caught her attention. “She’s mated.”
“Impossible,” he snarls, shoving Saloma aside to see for himself. His grip clamps around my jaw, forcing my head to the side until the mark at my throat catches the torchlight.
