Page 11 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow (Eternal Oath Saga #2)

Katherine

I wake up slowly, the hazy edges of sleep fading as my mind catches up to reality. My body protests even the smallest movements, every muscle humming with a dull, pleasurable ache, a reminder of the night before. I twist under the blanket, and the memories hit me like a tidal wave.

It was passionate. It was… primal, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Alex wasn’t just a lover last night—he was something untamed, something wild. My skin heats up just thinking about it, and my heartbeat kicks up a notch. I close my eyes again, letting myself relive it, even though it makes my chest tighten and my breathing quicken.

The way he looked at me… God, that look. It was so intense, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. His eyes were dark, stormy, but there was this strange softness too. And his body—every movement was powerful, like he knew exactly how to drive me insane. He was relentless, like he couldn’t get enough of me, and I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t let him stop.

My fingers trail over the sheets absentmindedly as I remember the way his hands felt on me—calloused, warm, commanding. Every touch sent sparks racing through my skin. My body still remembers it, still craves it.

But then the other memories start creeping in. The car crash. The sight of him hurling that tree branch out of his chest. My stomach twists, and the warm glow of last night fades just a little. He’s not… human. I still can’t wrap my head around that. Alex, the quiet janitor, the man who I’ve been having dinner with in my office… is a wolf shifter.

A shiver runs down my spine, but it’s not the good kind. It’s the kind that prickles at the base of your neck, makes your instincts whisper danger. I don’t even know why I feel it. He hasn’t hurt me, hasn’t given me any reason to think he would. But still, there’s that tiny spark of fear.

What else do I not know?

I turn my head, watching him laying beside me. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, his face relaxed in sleep. He looks so peaceful, so…. normal.

And those words he said to me—they’re on a loop in my mind. “Fated mates.” It sounds so ridiculous, like something out of a story, but when he said it, his voice was so steady, so sure. Like it wasn’t a question or an opinion but a fact. I’m bound to him. We’re bound to each other.

The golden thread. That’s what he called it. I thought I was losing my mind when I first saw it—this shimmering, glowing thread that seemed to connect us, even when we weren’t touching. But he saw it too. He knew about it. And last night, as we… as we made love, I saw it again. Over and over, it flashed before my eyes, brighter every time. Like it was binding us closer with every breath, every touch, every desperate kiss.

My throat tightens as I stare at him, my mind racing in circles. What does it even mean to be fated mates? Is it just some shifter thing, or does it change… everything?

Alex stirs beside me, his body turning under the blanket. My heart skips a beat as his eyes flutter open, those stormy eyes locking onto mine.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” I reply, keeping my voice steady even though Alex’s deep, rough baritone, warm from sleep, sends a ripple straight through my stomach. It’s ridiculous how even something as simple as his voice can unravel me, but here I am, lying in bed with my heart racing.

He looks at me. It’s not just a glance—it’s more, like he’s drinking me in, soaking up every detail. My messy hair, the way I’m half-buried in the blanket, probably looking like a disaster. And yet, his gaze is so tender, so consuming, it makes my chest ache. His hand moves, slowly, gently, like he’s afraid of startling me. His fingers brush against my cheek and it sends a warmth crawling up my spine.

Then he leans in, closing the small space between us, and plants a kiss on my cheek. It’s warm, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to savor the moment. And that little quake in my stomach? Yeah, it’s full-on tremors now.

“Last night was amazing,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear.

I bite my lip, trying to keep the heat from creeping all the way up to my face. The memories crash over me again, sharp and vivid. The way his hands felt on me. The way his body moved. The way he looked at me, like I was his entire world. My skin tingles just thinking about it. Last night was incredible.

But still. There are questions. So many questions.

I turn on my side to face him more fully, drawing in a breath as I try to steady my thoughts. “Last night,” I start, my voice quieter now, “you said I’m your fated mate. You also mentioned this… golden thread. The one I’ve been seeing for a while now, especially every time we….” I hesitate, searching for the right word.

His lips curl into a knowing smirk, and his voice dips lower, teasing. “Make love?”

My cheeks flush, and I roll my eyes a little, but I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah…” I say softly, “that.” I exhale slowly, pushing past the embarrassment. “I don’t understand it.”

He sits up slightly, his hand resting against the pillow as he looks at me. His expression changes—serious now, thoughtful. He inhales deeply, like he’s gearing up to explain something monumental.

“It’s a lot to explain,” he begins, his voice steady and calm, “but to put it simply… sometimes, two souls are bound to each other. Like they’re made for each other. Crafted just for each other. And they feel it—it’s not just an idea or a feeling; it’s like a force. A pull that draws them closer, whether they understand it or not. That’s what fated mates are.”

I can’t look away from him, even though my brain feels like it’s stuck on pause, trying to process everything.

“And the golden thread,” he continues, his voice softening as he speaks, “it’s a signal. A sign of the bond between us. It’s rare—most people never get to see it—but when you’re fated, it’s there. And every time we’re together, it strengthens that bond.”

He stops, watching me, like he’s waiting for the gears in my head to start turning again. And they do—slowly. His words click into place like puzzle pieces, explaining so much, and yet… it still feels surreal.

I’ve seen the thread. I’ve felt the pull. Hell, I’ve been feeling it ever since I met him. But hearing it laid out like this? It’s a lot. Too much, maybe.

And then my mind goes somewhere darker, somewhere sharp and jagged. The accident. The jeep. The fact that someone—Frank, probably—tried to kill me. My breath catches as the image of Alex, pierced through by that branch, flashes in my mind. The sight of him pulling it out, his hand changing into a claw, still burns in my memory, clear as day.

It’s all too much. My head starts to throb, and I press my lips together, trying to keep my emotions from spilling over.

I must not be doing a great job of hiding it because Alex reaches out, resting his hand on my arm. His touch is steady and his voice is soft, careful. “Katherine… are you okay?”

I nod, but it’s a weak gesture, almost hesitant. “It’s just…” My words falter, and I look away, searching for the right way to say it. “You’re saying all this, and then there’s the fact that I find out you’re a wolf shifter… and someone out there might want me dead. I just…” I trail off, my voice barely a whisper now. “It’s a lot.”

He nods, his face softening even more, his eyes filled with understanding. He understands.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he says, his voice low but firm, laced with an unshakable confidence. And the way he says it, the way he looks at me, leaves no room for doubt. He means it. Every word.

I believe him. I know he can protect me—he already has. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t even be here right now.

But still… “I just need some time,” I say quietly, my voice trembling just a little. “I need to make sense of all of this. It feels like my entire life’s been flipped upside down.”

His eyes stay on mine, and he nods again, slow and deliberate. “I understand,” he says, his voice as gentle as his touch. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll be here.”

His words settle over me like a blanket, warm and comforting. He’s giving me space, letting me figure it all out.

But one thing is crystal clear in my mind now. If I’m going to make sense of this—of any of this—I need to start by finding out who wants me dead. And why.

Careful. That word’s been hanging over my head like a cloud these past several days. It’s become the theme of my life, my mantra. I’ve always been careful. Careful in my work, careful in my personal dealings, careful in navigating rivalries and vendettas. I’ve dealt with challenges before—ruthless competitors at work, bitter ex-friends, even the occasional schemer with a grudge. But this? Waking up every morning with the gnawing thought that someone might want me dead? That’s uncharted territory.

I can’t stop my mind from circling back to the crash. The Jeep. The way it came at me, no hesitation, like a predator locking onto prey. A part of me wants to believe it was nothing more than a horrible accident, that the driver lost control, panicked, and slammed into us. But the odds? They don’t feel in my favor.

My gut keeps pointing in one direction: Frank. His name lingers in my head like a bad taste. My suspicion grew sharper when I learned he’d conveniently left the city just one day before the incident. A sudden trip, it doesn’t sit right with me. And then, days later, a Jeep tries to ram me off the road?

Sure. Totally random.

But suspicion alone isn’t enough. It’s flimsy. It doesn’t get me closer to the truth, and it certainly won’t hold up if I want to get justice. I need answers. Hard, concrete facts.

That’s why, a week ago, I reached out to James.

James is my go-to private investigator. He’s discreet, reliable, and sharp enough to pick up on details most people overlook. I’ve used him in the past, usually for mundane tasks—background checks on potential business partners or a little light digging on someone who felt off. Hell, I even had him look into Alex briefly when things started between us. Just a precaution.

But this? Asking him to dig into something that feels like a matter of life and death? This is a whole different ballgame.

James is meeting me at my office today. He has an update, and I don’t know what to expect. I’ve spent the morning pacing between anticipation and dread, alternating between wanting answers and being terrified of what those answers might be.

I’ve tried distracting myself with work—emails, spreadsheets, the usual grind—but my focus keeps slipping. My eyes skim the words on my screen, but they don’t stick. It’s like my brain is stuck on a countdown, ticking off the seconds until James gets here.

The hum of my office is its usual mix of white noise: the distant murmur of voices in the hallway, the occasional click of a keyboard, the soft whir of the air conditioning. Normally, it’s soothing. Today, it feels like static.

I glance at the clock. Ten more minutes. My foot taps restlessly against the floor, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My fingers drum against the desk as I stare at my screen, the words blurring together.

I need clarity. I need to understand what’s happening, who’s behind this, and why. Because until I do, there’s no way I’m going to feel safe again.

The knock comes, slicing through the heavy quiet of my office. I draw in a deep breath, steadying myself even though my pulse is hammering in my ears. “Come in,” I say, my voice tight but firm.

James steps inside. He’s a wiry man, the kind whose presence never screams for attention but somehow manages to command it anyway. His face is lined with creases that make him look older than he probably is, and his gray hair is combed back neatly, giving him a polished but weathered air. He walks over to the chair opposite my desk with a measured stride, carrying a slim briefcase.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Lockhart,” he greets, his tone professional but laced with a softness I don’t miss.

“Good afternoon, James. Please, have a seat.” I motion to the chair in front of me, trying to appear composed, but my fingers are curled too tightly around the edge of my desk.

He sits down, placing his briefcase beside him, and looks at me with a seriousness that immediately sets my nerves on edge.

“So… what updates do you have for me?” I ask, skipping any pleasantries. I don’t have the patience for them right now.

James nods, like he expected me to cut straight to the chase. “We did a full sweep of every street CCTV camera in the area surrounding the crash site,” he begins. “Every camera that might’ve caught footage of the Jeep that evening. Unfortunately, the ones closest to the site had no footage from that day.” He pauses, letting the words land, before adding, “It looks like they’ve been tampered with or outright deleted.”

I stare at him, the weight of his words pressing against my chest. “So what you’re saying is, we’re no closer to finding out who did this,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended.

James stirs in his seat, his expression calm but cautious. “Not yet,” he admits. “Aside from the description of the car you provided, we haven’t been able to track the vehicle.”

I clench my jaw, frustration bubbling just under the surface.

“But,” he continues, and I catch a flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation, maybe? “I broadened the scope of our search. If someone’s after you, there’s a good chance they’ve been watching you. Keeping tabs on your house, the routes you take to work, anywhere you frequent. So, I had the CCTV footage from those areas checked, dating back weeks… months, even years.”

I nod slowly, my anticipation rising. “And?”

He exhales, like he’s bracing himself. “We didn’t find anything suspicious near your house or your usual routes. But…” His voice falters slightly, and he leans forward, folding his hands in his lap. “I did find something.”

The way he says it, carefully, sends a chill crawling up my spine. My patience, already thin, is hanging by a thread. “What did you find, James?”

James hesitates for a moment before speaking, his tone almost apologetic. “This is going to be difficult to hear, Ms. Lockhart,” he says softly. “While reviewing footage, I decided to include the routes to your parents’ villa. Given the nature of what happened to you, I thought it was worth looking at footage from the day of their accident.”

My blood runs cold.

“The footage from that day was scrambled,” he explains. “It raised red flags immediately. So I took it back to my team. We’ve been working on unscrambling it, and now we have a clear view of exactly what happened.”

He reaches down, pulling a laptop from his briefcase. He sets it on my desk, turning the screen toward me. On it is a black-and-white feed of a familiar road, the one leading to my parents’ estate.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Lockhart,” he says quietly, his face lined with sympathy. “This won’t be easy to watch.”

He clicks play.

My eyes lock on the screen, my pulse pounding in my ears. My parents’ car appears, moving fast, too fast, as if they’re being chased. And then I see it. A black Jeep, no license plates, speeding behind them, slamming into their rear bumper with a sickening force.

My breath catches. My nails dig into the wood of my desk.

The Jeep rams them again, relentless, like a predator toying with its prey. My parents’ car swerves, struggling to stay on the road, but the Jeep doesn’t let up. It pulls up alongside them and slams into their side. The car veers off the road, spinning out of control before disappearing into the trees.

The footage cuts off.

My vision blurs, and for a moment, I can’t move, can’t breathe.

I never questioned it—not once. I believed what they told me, that my parents were in an accident. That the car lost control. I saw the wreckage, it was so mangled, so unrecognizable, there was no reason to suspect anything more.

But now… Seeing this…

Everything I thought I knew shatters like glass.

James’ voice breaks through the haze. “I’m sorry, Ms. Lockhart,” he says, his tone heavy with regret. “Your parents didn’t die in an accident. They were murdered. And whoever is responsible… we believe it’s the same person who targeted you last week.”

I can’t speak. My throat is too tight, my chest too heavy. My hands tremble against the desk.

James offers a few more apologies, but they barely register. He packs up his things quietly and slips out of the room, leaving me alone with the crushing weight of what I’ve just seen.

Mom. Dad. They were murdered.

The words echo in my mind, over and over, until I feel like I’m going to shatter. My heart pounds erratically, my breathing shallow and ragged.

I can’t stay here. I can’t sit still, not when every nerve in my body is screaming to move, to do something.

I rise from my chair, my legs shaky but determined. My mind clings to one thought: Alex.

I need him. I need his arms around me, his voice grounding me, his strength holding me together when I’m about to fall apart.

Without another thought, I grab my bag and head for the door, my steps hurried, my vision blurred with tears. The hallway feels endless as I push through it, desperate to reach him. To tell him. To not be alone in this unbearable moment.

I drive faster than I should, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles start to hurt. The tears keep coming, no matter how much I try to blink them away, blurring the road ahead. My chest feels like it’s been cracked open, raw and exposed, and my mind is spinning with too much—too much grief, too much anger, too much confusion. I need Alex.

When I pull up to my apartment, I don’t even bother parking straight. The car jerks to a halt, and I’m out the door in an instant, not caring about the slam of metal as it shuts behind me. My legs feel unsteady beneath me, trembling as I climb the stairs, but I push through. My breaths come out shallow and uneven by the time I fumble the key into the lock, hands shaking so badly it takes longer than it should.

The door finally swings open, and I rush inside. The air feels still, the apartment too quiet except for the sound of my own ragged breathing.

“Alex?” My voice cracks, but there’s no answer. My heart is racing now, my pulse a steady drum in my ears.

The living room is empty, but my feet seem to know where to take me. They carry me down the hall to the bedroom, and I stop at the door. It’s slightly ajar, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of him inside.

I hear his voice before I see his face.

“Katherine is not as important as our mission, Jack.”

The words knock the air straight out of my lungs. I freeze, my hand hovering over the doorframe, my heart suddenly pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else.

Did I hear that right?

Through the small gap, I can see him standing with his back to me, his phone pressed to his ear.

“I tipped her about her cousin,” he says, his tone calm, calculated. “The one that’s been stealing from the company. But now, it’s time for me to return. I have everything I need from Pinnacle Group. It’s time for the usurper to pay.”

The words feel like they stab into me, sharp and jagged.

The file I found on Frank. That was Alex?

My mind scrambles to make sense of them, to connect the dots, but nothing adds up.

What is he talking about? Who is Jack? What mission?

He exhales audibly, and his shoulders sag slightly before he ends the call and lowers the phone. The movement breaks the spell holding me still, and before I know it, I’ve stepped into the room. My feet move without my brain catching up, like they’re acting on their own.

He turns at the sound of me, and the look on his face when he sees me—it’s like a mask slipping. His eyes widen for just a moment, then his expression smooths out into something unreadable.

“Alex…?” His name escapes my lips, fragile and unsteady, as I step toward him with measured caution. My heart feels like it’s splintering in my chest. “What’s going on?”

Silence. Not a flinch, not a blink. Just the intensity of his gaze, fixed on me, piercing through me in a way he’s never looked at me before. It’s not the look of the man I know. The man I have come to care deeply for.

“What mission, Alex?” I ask again, my voice trembling now, betraying the confidence I’m trying desperately to cling to. “I heard you on the phone. You said… you said I wasn’t as important as your mission.”

Still nothing. No response, no explanation. He’s a fortress, impenetrable and unyielding. He doesn’t even step close to me, doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t try to soften the ache his silence is carving into me.

It feels like I’ve been dropped into a dark, endless chasm, clawing at nothing, searching for a lifeline that isn’t there.

I swallow hard, my throat tight with emotion. “The file I saw,” I manage, my voice cracking through the words. “The one that exposed Frank… that was you?”

Finally, a response. A single nod. It’s quick, almost dismissive. Cold. Detached. It’s not him. It’s not Alex.

My breath hitches, then quickens, the pieces of whatever fragile calm I had left shattering all at once. Confusion and pain churn inside me, the video Jame’s showed me replays in my mind like a haunting slideshow. But now, anger starts to boil up from the depths, rising, sharp and hot, cutting through everything else.

“Alex!” I snap, my voice breaking, the sound ricocheting between us. “What the hell is going on?”

The question hangs there, trembling in the space between us. But it’s not just a question. It’s a plea, a demand, a desperate cry for something—anything—to make this make sense.

For a long moment, he just looks at me. His eyes are dark, intense, like he’s weighing something in his mind. Then, slowly, he straightens his posture. His entire demeanor changes in front of me—his shoulders pull back, his chin lifts, and suddenly he seems even taller, broader, more commanding.

The man I see now feels like a stranger.

“This isn’t how I wanted to do this,” he says at last, his voice steady, unnervingly calm. Too calm. It’s like he’s turned into stone, unmoving, unfeeling. Even his tone is different—sharper, more precise. And his accent—it’s… foreign. Completely foreign. It’s like I’m staring at a stranger wrapped in Alex’s skin. “But I don’t have a choice.”

He pauses, letting the his words linger, letting them coil around me like a tightening noose. My pulse spikes, and every muscle in my body tenses as I wait for him to continue.

“It’s time,” he says. “It’s time for you to know who I really am. And where I really come from.”

My stomach twists, and my legs feel like they might give out beneath me. The words barely register at first, like my mind refuses to comprehend them.

“My name is Alex Valkov,” he says, his voice carrying an authority that feels centuries old. “And I am the Prince and heir to the European Wolf Kingdom.”

For a moment, it feels like the world stops spinning, the air pulled from my lungs. I can only stare at him, this man I thought I knew, as the truth shatters everything I believed.

The words are so absurd, so completely out of left field, that for a moment I think I’ve misheard him. “Wh-what?” The word stumbles out of me, barely audible.

“I am not some janitor, Katherine. I never was,” he says, his voice steady and detached. “For the past year, I’ve been undercover at your company. Gathering the information I needed for my mission.”

The words slam into me, sharp and painful, my mind spinning so fast I can barely hold myself upright. “What mission?” I ask again, somehow managing to get the question out despite the lump in my throat.

“That isn’t something that is of any concern to you,” he replies curtly, his tone colder than I’ve ever heard it.

What the hell is happening? I can’t wrap my head around it. This man, this Alex—my Alex—is unrecognizable.

“Everything you told me… everything that happened… it was all lies?” My voice breaks, the fury and anguish bleeding into every word. “All part of your mission?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even flinch. He just stands there, immovable, a statue of indifference.

The silence tears at me, infuriating and unbearable. “Damn it, Alex!” I shout, my breath ragged, my anger bubbling over. “Was I just some pawn in your mission? Were you using me this entire time?”

There’s a beat, a moment where the world seems to hold its breath, and I find myself hoping—for what, I don’t even know. A denial? An explanation? Something to pull me back from the edge of despair.

But when he finally speaks, it’s like he takes whatever fragile hope I had left and shatters it beyond repair.

“Yes, Katherine,” he says, his eyes unwavering and merciless. “I have been using you.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, and my heart… it doesn’t just break. It collapses, shatters, and burns in the same instant.

“You… You said we were fated. You said we had a bond.” My voice comes out lighter than I want it to, weaker. “You talked about the thread I’ve been seeing, the things I’ve been feeling.”

He looks at me, his expression unreadable, void of anything I can hold on to. “Some things are just more important than that, Katherine.”

My heart stumbles, then plummets. “What are you saying?”

He stands there for a moment, silent, as if giving me one last second before the blow lands.

“I’m saying that this, you and I… it doesn’t matter anymore.”

It’s like an anchor drops in my stomach.

“I just found out my parents were murdered… and now… this,” I whisper, the words tumbling out like I’m talking more to myself than anybody else.

For a fleeting second, something flickers across his face—remorse, guilt, something. But just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone, buried beneath that same impenetrable mask. Whatever part of Alex I thought I recognized is gone. And it’s never coming back.

I force myself to stand taller, bracing against the storm raging inside me. “Well,” I say, my voice trembling but determined, “I hope you’ve gotten everything you need, Alex. As for the contract, you can consider it over.”

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move. He just stares at me with that same cold, unyielding expression.

“Leave my house,” I say, my voice firmer now, stronger than I feel.

The silence that follows is almost unbearable. He doesn’t move at first, just stands there, staring at me.

“I said leave!” I shout, my voice raw with anger, with something far more painful beneath it. “I never want to see you again. Ever!”

He inhales deeply, his chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate motion. Then, without another word, he turns and walks toward the door. He brushes past me, his steps heavy. The sound of the door of the apartment clicking shut behind him is like a final blow, sealing the space between us.

And then, I fall apart.

My legs give out, and I sink to the floor, my back hitting the wall with a dull thud. My head falls forward, and the tears come in full force now, uncontrollable, unstoppable.

I weep. Loud, ugly, heartbroken sobs that wrack my entire body. My chest aches, and my hands tremble as I clutch at nothing, grasping at the empty air where my heart used to be.

The apartment feels colder now, emptier. Like all the warmth has been sucked out along with him. I lean my head back against the wall, my tears sliding down my cheeks and pooling at my chin, but I don’t bother wiping them away.

Everything hurts. My chest, my throat, my head—it all feels like it’s on fire, and I can’t make it stop.

I thought I knew him. But now, I don’t know anything. And I’m not sure I ever did.