Page 43 of The Reaper's Vow

The dining room doors slam open, breaking the taut silence. Elias strides in, followed by two younger males at his heels. My stomach knots as the trio approaches, their nostrils flaring in unison as they catch my scent.

“Father,” Elias says with forced cheer, “sorry we’re late.”

Anselm’s irritation melts into something far more calculating. He gestures toward the vacant chairs. “Not at all. You’re just in time to meet our…guest.”

The two who trail behind Elias can’t seem to look anywhere but me. Their resemblance to him is undeniable—same patrician angles, same proud bearing. But where Elias is sunlight and golden polish, these two are shadows. Chestnut hair, amber-tinted intensity, and movements too deliberate, too hungry, as they circle the table closer to where I sit.

“Matthew, Leo, this is Karina.”

“Is she for us?” asks the taller of the two young males. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply. “Can I have her, father?”

“She's mine,” Damien growls. “Touch her and lose your hand, Matthew.”

Matthew smirks, unfazed by the threat. “A mark isn't a mating, Reaper. Everyone knows that.”

I resist the urge to shrink behind Damien. These wolves are circling like sharks that have scented blood in the water, and I'm the bleeding seal in their midst.

“Enough,” Alpha Anselm demands. “We're here to break bread, not bones. Sit.”

Could have fooled me. Anselm is playing a game, and I’m the pawn.

I take the chair Damien pulls out for me, hyperaware of how every male in the room tracks my movement.

Damien takes the chair beside me, creating a barrier between me and the other wolves.

“Tell me about yourself, Karina,” Anselm asks as staff members appear with platters of food. His tone is conversational, but there's steel beneath the civility. “Your background. Your family.”

I glance at Damien, who gives an almost imperceptible nod. “My parents raised me in Eureka.”

“Eureka.” Anselm cuts into his steak with surgical precision. “And what did they tell you about your heritage?”

“Nothing.” The admission tastes bitter on my tongue. “I didn't know what I was until my first shift when I was sixteen.”

His eyes narrow at my admission, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.

“Sixteen?” He sets his utensils down with deliberate care. “And they never told you what you were before that?”

I swallow hard, feeling like I've just revealed a weakness I shouldn't have. “They wanted me to have a normal childhood.”

“Normal.” He says the word like it's poison. “There's nothing normal about denying a wolf their heritage. Their instincts.” His line of questioning shifts to Damien. “Did you know about this?”

Damien's thigh presses against mine under the table, a silent warning. “Yes.”

“Interesting.” Anselm takes a sip of his coffee, studying me over the rim. “And what pack did your parents belong to before they decided to play human?”

“I don't know.” Another admission that makes me feel naked under his scrutiny. “They never talked about it.”

Matthew leans forward, amber glint catching in the low light. “So, you’re pack-less and unmated?” Each word lands like a hammer strike. “Fascinating.”

“She’s mine to protect,” Damien growls, his hand finding my thigh beneath the table, heat searing through denim.

“Temporarily,” Leo smirks.

I feel Damien’s wolf clawing at the surface, demanding blood.

“It will be completed,” I hear myself say. The words spill before I can stop them, and silence crashes over the room—attention locks on me, heavy and suffocating.

“Why would he want you?” Saloma’s smile is pure venom. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a female.”