Page 9 of The Reaper's Vow

She studies my face through the mask, and I pray she can't see how badly I'm shaking. “Of course! What do you want?”

“Something strong. Not the Silver Bullet—just...whatever you think is good.”

“I'll be right back,” she promises, squeezing my hand before disappearing into the crowd.

The moment she's gone, I press my back against the nearest wall, trying to steady my breathing. This was a mistake. A catastrophic, potentially life-threatening mistake. I need to text Britney some excuse and get out of here before?—

“You smell like moonlight and honey, baby.”

The voice comes from directly beside me, low and rough with barely contained power. I turn to find a man in an elaborate wolf mask leaning against the wall, his towering presence radiating the kind of dominance that makes my wolf want to bare her throat.

“I'm sorry?” I manage, though my voice comes out breathier than I intended.

“Your scent.” He pushes away from the wall, moving closer. “It's...intoxicating. I caught it the moment you walked in.”

My heart hammers against my ribs. Panic floods my system. He can smell what I am. Of course he can. I'm broadcasting my scent like a neon sign to every wolf in this place.

“I don't know what you mean,” I lie, taking a step back only to find myself pressed more firmly against the wall.

He follows, closing the distance between us with predatory grace. “Don't you?” His head tilts, studying me. “You meeting someone here?”

My mouth goes dry. “I'm here with my friend. She works here.”

“Britney.” It's not a question. “Sweet girl.” He leans closer, and I catch his scent—tobacco and whiskey. “But you aren’t sweet, are you, baby?”

I can't breathe. Can't think. The space between us crackles with tension, and I'm hyperaware of how the black dress clings to my skin, how exposed I am in this den of predators.

“I should go,” I stutter.

“Should you?” His voice drops lower, and I feel the rumble of it in my chest. “Tell me, little wolf, what pack do you belong to?”

“I think you've confused me with someone else.”

When I try to slide past him, his hand catches my wrist, not roughly, but with unmistakable strength. Warmth radiates from his touch, a jolt of electricity shooting up my arm that makes my wolf whine.

“You didn't answer my question.” His voice drops an octave, the kind of tone that makes lesser wolves submit instantly. “What pack?”

“Let go of me.”

“What fucking pack are you from?”

I press myself harder against the wall, desperately scanning the room for Britney.

“None.” The word slips out before I can stop it, and I watch his entire body go rigid. “I don't belong to any pack.”

The silence stretches between us. Even through the mask, I can feel the intensity of his stare boring into me. Around us, the club continues its rhythm, but it feels like we're trapped in a bubble of tension.

“Impossible.” His grip on my wrist tightens slightly. “Every she-wolf belongs to a pack. Especially one like you.”

“One like me?”

He sniffs me again, smiling wide, “Fuck. Are you a desperate little wolf slut looking to be bred, baby?”

My blood turns to ice. Shit. I hadn’t noticed. I’ve been with a human so long that I didn’t even think about it much anymore. Travis was never the wiser when my cycle started. He only cared that our active sex life went into overdrive.

I have to get out of here.

“Let. Go,” I say through gritted teeth, struggling to keep my claws from extending.