Page 95 of The Reaper's Vow

“Then you need an army, not a suicide mission.” My father's tone brooks no argument. “I'm mobilizing our forces now. Meet us at the old logging station on Route 16. We'll coordinate from there.”

“I'm not waiting?—”

“You are.” The alpha command hits me. My foot hesitates on the gas pedal for only a second before I press it harder to the floor. “That won't work on me anymore.”

“It wasn't an alpha command. It was a father asking his son not to die needlessly when we can save her together.”

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. Since when does Hudson Marek care about anything beyond his legacy and his pack?

“Twenty minutes,” I concede finally, rechecking the tracker. The red dot has slowed, turning off the main highway onto what looks like a service road. “I'll give you twenty minutes to mobilize. Not a second more.”

“We'll be there in fifteen.” The line goes dead before I can respond.

I toss my phone into Elias's lap, focusing on the road ahead. The speedometer climbs past ninety, the engine roaring as I push it to its limits. Through the windshield, the moon seems to mock me—so close to full, so hungry for what's mine.

The hum of the tires fades into a steady rhythm, a war drum beneath my chest. I can almost feel her, a faint thread tugging at the edges of my instincts, pulling me closer.

Elias clears his throat, but I cut him off before he can speak. “Don’t. Not now.” Words would only slow me down, and I don’t have the luxury of slowing.

The tracker pings again. The red dot is still moving—sluggish, like a wounded animal—or a lure meant to look that way. Either way, I follow.

For a heartbeat, it feels like the whole world holds its breath.

I push the accelerator down, harder. Not for him. Not for the pack. For her.

Whatever waits for me at the end of this road, I’ll face it head-on because monsters don’t get to take what’s mine and walk away.

And tonight, they’ll remember why they call me the Reaper.

Karina

I'm drowning in a sea of shadows, my consciousness bobbing like a cork in black water. Up, down, surfacing for seconds before plunging back into inky blackness. The world spins without me, somewhere beyond the thick cotton that's replaced my brain.

“...still out cold. How much did you give her?”

The sound cuts through the fog, muffled and distant. I try to force my eyes open, but my lids may as well be glued shut. My limbs hang useless, heavy as stone, every muscle refusing to respond. Only my wolf stirs, howling beneath my skin, clawing frantically against the chemical cage holding us both prisoner.

Damien?

I grope for the tether between us, finding it faint but still there. The effort of pushing along that thread stabs through my skull like knives, but I don’t stop.

Damien, please...

A jolt runs through my body, something hard beneath me shifting. Not a floor. A seat. The low growl of an engine and the steady vibration under my cheek confirm I’m in a car. My wrists are cinched tight behind me, plastic biting into my skin.

“...almost there. Make the next turn.”

Saloma.

My wolf surges at the sound of her, snarling, fighting to burn off the drug in our blood. The fog is thinning. My fingers twitch against the restraints—unyielding, but not unbreakable.

“She’s coming around,” another voice observes from the front. Lockhart. Heavy, guttural. “Good. I want her awake for what comes next.”

Ice floods my veins despite the drug's warm haze. I keep my breathing steady, my body limp, playing unconscious while I gather what information I can. We're moving fast—highway speeds. The dashboard clock glows 11:47 PM when I manage to crack my eyes open the tiniest fraction—less than an hour until moonrise.

“The clearing's just ahead,” Saloma declares. “Everything's been prepared according to your specifications.”

“Excellent.” Lockhart's satisfaction makes my skin crawl. “And the witnesses?”