Page 16 of The Reaper's Vow

My wolf whimpers. My blood runs cold. I've spent my whole life hiding in plain sight, and in one night, he's unraveled my carefully constructed normalcy.

“So you can put a bullet in my head like you did to that man?” The words escape before I can stop them. “No thanks.”

There's a pause, then a soft sound that might be a sigh. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't be standing at your door asking to come in.”

He has a point, but I'm not about to admit it.

“Open the fucking door.”

There's no scenario where opening that door ends well for me.

A horrible splintering sound makes me jump away from the wall. He wasn't joking.

“Jesus Christ!” I gasp as I watch one of my door hinges pop free, metal screws flying across my apartment floor like confetti. Claws—actual fucking claws—are visible through the gap where the hinge used to be.

“Don't make this difficult,” his voice rumbles through the damaged door.

Another hinge groans as his claws work at it. I've never seen a wolf strong enough to do this—to tear through metal like it's paper. My parents certainly couldn't. Neither can I.

“Stop!” I lunge for the door, fumbling with the locks with trembling fingers. “I'm opening it, just stop destroying my door!”

The claws pause, withdrawing slightly. I take a deep breath, steeling myself as I unlock the deadbolt and chain. My hand hovers over the knob for one last second before I pull the door open.

The Reaper fills my doorway, blocking my escape. He's even more imposing up close, towering over me at what must be six and a half feet, shoulders broad enough to cast a shadow across my entire entryway.

I stumble backward, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged bird. Up close, he’s even more terrifying. His shaggy black hair falls across his forehead, shadowing features that radiate an unnerving intensity, as if nothing about me is hidden from him.

His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, his expression shifting from threatening to stunned in an instant. He goes still...and utters a single word.

“Mate.”

My breath catches in my throat as his pupils expand, swallowing the silver until only a thin ring of mercury remains.

“You’re my fucking mate.”

Damien

The moment my wolf identifies her, my world splinters.

Her scent slams into me—honeyed vanilla and sharp fear— buried underneath something feral. Something mine. Every cell in my body responds, bones humming, skin stretching too tight. The recognition is instant, undeniable.

Not here. Not now. Not her.

She’s backed against the kitchen counter, breathing hard, eyes locked on mine like she expects me to tear her throat out. And maybe I was about to. I’d come here to silence a witness. She saw too much at the club. Saw me.

“What did you just say?”

I don't answer.

I step farther into the apartment, letting the door swing shut behind me. The place is wrong. Wrong in ways that make my skin crawl.

Everything is pristine. Air-freshener clean. A plug-in hums faintly in the wall, pumping out artificial lavender and something citrusy, cloying and sharp. It’s an attempt to hide what she is. A poor one.

Wolves don’t live like this.

The walls are lined with curated, meaningless art. Generic photos in generic frames—smiling people at parties, someone’s arm around her shoulders. I don’t know who. I don’t care.

Then I smell him. Human. Male. Recently here.