The Reaper’s Vow

1. Karina

Karina

The monster inside me doesn't growl when Travis dumps his cheap cologne into a cardboard box—it purrs.

“You sure you want me gone, babe?” Travis's voice slithers across the apartment, wrapping around my throat like it has for the past eighteen months.

He sets down the box and stretches, making sure his t-shirt rides up just enough to show the abs he spends more time admiring than I ever did. “We had some good times.”

I fold my arms across my chest, keeping my distance near the kitchen counter, “Come on, Karina.” He steps closer, and I catch the scent, arousal mixed with desperation. My heightened senses make it impossible to miss. “One last time for the road?”

“I’ll pass.”

His smile falters, then returns with an edge. “Still playing the ice queen? That's why we're done, you know. You're always so...distant.” He runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “Except in bed. That was the only time you seemed alive.”

The monster inside me stirs, not with desire but with rage. If he knew what lived beneath my skin, what prowled beneath the surface on full moon nights, he’d be clawing his way out the door.

“I said no.” I flick a glance at my watch, “You’ve got thirty more minutes before my lunch break ends.”

Travis snorts and grabs another box, shoving his gaming console inside with far too much force. “You’ve been saying ‘no’ a lot lately. Disappearing in the middle of the night. Coming back smelling like the woods.” His jaw tightens, suspicion hanging heavy in the air. “Who is he, Karina?”

“There’s no one.” The lie slips out easily, familiar on my tongue. Not because I’m unfaithful, but because my entire life has been built on half-truths.

“Bullshit.” He slams the box down. “Normal people don't just vanish at 2 AM.”

I bite back the response that burns in my throat. I'm not normal. I'll never be normal.

“I have insomnia,” I say instead, the same excuse I've used a hundred times. “I go for walks.”

“In the fucking forest? In the middle of the night?” He laughs, but there's no humor in it. “You expect me to believe that?”

The monster inside me paces restlessly. Three days until the full moon. Three days until I have no choice but to let it out again. My skin already feels too tight, like I'm wearing clothes a size too small.

“Believe whatever you want, Travis. It doesn't matter anymore.”

He moves toward me suddenly, and I tense. Not out of fear—though I've learned to act afraid when appropriate—but to keep the wolf at bay. She doesn't like sudden movements, especially from men who reek of anger and testosterone.

“You know what?” Travis takes another step closer, invading my space. “I think you've been lying to me this whole time. I think there's a lot you haven't told me.”

If he only knew how right he is.

“Back up, Travis.”

“Or what?” He cocks his head. “You gonna call the station and report me to my sergeant? Who do you think they'll believe?”

The monster inside me is fully awake now, clawing at my ribs. She wants out. She wants to show him exactly what happens when you corner a wolf.

“Three minutes,” I say, forcing my breathing to slow. “Then I'm calling someone to remove you.”

He laughs but takes a half-step back. “Who? Your mystery man?”

“The property manager. I've already spoken with him.”

Something in my tone must finally get through to him. Travis's expression shifts, the facade of confidence cracking just enough to reveal the insecurity beneath.

“You'll regret this,” he mutters, turning back to his boxes. “When you're alone in this place at night, you'll miss me.”

I almost laugh. I'd rather face a thousand lonely nights than one more with him. But I keep that thought locked behind my teeth as I watch him pack. The air in the apartment feels charged, like the moments before a thunderstorm breaks. I've become good at weathering storms.

“You'll call,” Travis says with the certainty of someone who's never been told no. “When you're done playing hard to get, you'll call.”

“I won't,” I say simply.

He slams the last box shut, tape screeching across cardboard. The sound hurts my sensitive ears, but I don't flinch. I've learned to hide the little tells that might give me away.

“You know what your problem is, Karina?” Travis hoists the box, biceps flexing obscenely. “You're afraid of letting people in. Of letting yourself feel something real.”

The irony nearly makes me smile. If I truly let him in—if I showed him what lives beneath my skin—he'd run screaming. The real me would terrify him more than any ghost story.

“Maybe,” I concede, just to speed things along. “Or maybe I'm just tired of pretending.”

He doesn't catch my meaning, of course. Travis only hears what he wants to hear, sees what he wants to see. Travis stops at the door, balancing the box against his hip. For a moment, I think he might actually leave without another word. Then he turns back, that familiar smirk playing at his lips.

“You know what? I'm glad we're done.” His tone carries that particular brand of cruelty men deploy when they can't get what they want. “Whatever freak you're hiding in the woods can have you. I can do better than an ice queen like you.”

The words should sting. A year ago, they would have. But now they bounce off me like rain on glass. The monster inside me has gone still, almost amused. She knows what real power looks like, and it isn't this.

“Goodbye, Travis.”

He wants a reaction. I can see it in the way he lingers, the way his shoulders tense with expectation. But I give him nothing.

“Fucking weirdo,” he mutters, and finally—finally—he's gone.

The door clicks shut behind him, and I slide the deadbolt home with shaking fingers. The apartment already feels different, like I can breathe more deeply. The wolf inside me stretches luxuriously, no longer cramped by his presence.

I lean against the door and close my eyes. For the first time in eighteen months, I'm truly alone.

I push away from the door and walk to the living room window, pulling back the curtain just enough to make sure Travis's Camaro is leaving the parking lot. My shoulders relax as the red taillights disappear around the corner.

I move through the apartment, throwing open windows to remove the stale air, Travis’s cologne dissipating bit by bit. My phone buzzes on the counter—a patient needs help finding transportation to their dialysis appointment.

I straighten, slipping into my work. Calls, confirmations, arrangements. The jagged remnants of Travis fade behind the professional mask of competent, composed Karina. The one who never snarls, never bares her teeth. The one the human world trusts to keep everything running smoothly.

If only they knew.

By the time I finish, the afternoon sun has shifted, casting long shadows across my living room floor.

I should eat something. The closer we get to the full moon, the more ravenous my wolf becomes.

I open the refrigerator and stare at the contents—mostly vegetables, some yogurt, a package of raw steaks I'd been saving.

My mouth waters at the sight of the red meat. I grab the steaks and set them on the counter, my fingers lingering on the packaging. The wolf inside me whines softly, wanting me to tear into the plastic and devour them raw.

“Cook them like a human,” I remind myself, but I only sear them for a minute on each side. The center stays bloody, the way both parts of me prefer.

I eat standing at the counter, savoring the taste of iron on my tongue. The protein settles something restless in my chest, and for the first time today, I feel almost normal. Whatever passes for normal when you're a monster pretending to be human.

My laptop chimes with another work email, but I ignore it. My lunch break ended twenty minutes ago, but I can't bring myself to care. Today feels like a turning point, like I'm finally stepping out of a cage I didn't even realize I'd locked myself into.

The afternoon stretches ahead of me, empty and full of possibility.

No Travis coming home early to complain about my “weird” eating habits.

No need to explain why I'm restless, why I keep checking the moon phase app on my phone, why I sometimes pause mid-conversation to listen to sounds only I can hear.

I finish the steak and lick my fingers clean, not caring that it's undignified. The wolf approves, settling deeper into my bones with satisfaction.

A sharp knock at the door makes me freeze in the middle of cleaning up. My heart rate spikes instantly, and the wolf bristles beneath my skin, hackles raised.

Travis?

My body goes still, senses heightening as I catch a trace of scent seeping through the doorframe. Not Travis’s usual cologne or that stale note of resentment. This is softer—coconut shampoo, vanilla, and a whisper of nail polish in the air.

Britney.

My shoulders relax as I wipe my hands on a dish towel and head toward the door. I unlock it and pull it open to find my neighbor standing there in yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, her blonde hair piled into a messy bun.

“Hey girl!” she chirps, already sliding past me into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. “I saw Officer Douchebag loading up his car earlier. Please tell me he's actually gone this time.”

I close the door behind her, inhaling the cloud of scented products that constantly surrounds her. To human noses, it probably smells pleasant. To me, it's overwhelming, but still preferable to Travis's lingering presence.

“Yeah, he's gone,” I confirm, watching as Britney makes herself at home on my couch, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. She's been in my apartment maybe five times total, but she always acts like we've been best friends since childhood.

“Thank God,” Britney says, reaching for the TV remote like it's her own. “That guy gave me the creeps. Always staring at my ass when I'd check my mail.”

I settle into the armchair across from her. I'm not entirely comfortable with how she makes herself at home.

“So...” Britney wiggles her eyebrows at me. “This calls for a celebration, right? Please tell me you're not just going to sit in this apartment all weekend eating ice cream and watching Netflix.”

I smile thinly. “That was exactly my plan.”

She groans dramatically, throwing her head back against my couch cushions. “Karina! You're free now! You need to get out there and remind yourself what fun feels like.”

“I'm not really the going out type,” I say, the same excuse I've used countless times in the past when she has asked.

“Which is exactly why you should come with me tonight.” She sits up straighter, excitement practically radiating off her.

“Look, I know we’re not, like, besties or whatever.

But I’ve lived next door to you for almost a year, and you never leave.

It’s time to expand your horizons, babe. Explore your newfound freedom.”

“I appreciate that, but that’s not really my style—”

“I’ve got an idea,” Britney cuts in, leaning forward, her grin sharp enough to set my wolf on edge. “I work at this exclusive club called the Crimson Howl. It’s members-only, but I can get you in tonight.”

“A club?” I try not to grimace. “I'm not really in a partying mood, Britney.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Not just any club. It's a sex club.”

I nearly choke on air. “A what?”

“A sex club,” she repeats, completely unfazed. “Look, before you say no—which I can see you're about to—just hear me out.” She slides closer on the couch. “You've spent the last year with an absolute asshole who didn't treat you right.”

My wolf bristles at the assessment, not because it's wrong, but because someone else noticed.

“That doesn’t mean that I need to jump from one bad situation to another,” I say carefully.

“That's exactly my point!” Britney's eyes light up. “There's absolutely no pressure at Crimson Howl. Everyone wears masks—it's mandatory. You can...watch. Observe. Remember what desire looks like when it's not wrapped up in someone else's control issues.”

I feel heat rise to my cheeks. “I don't know...”

“Just come out with me.”

“Britney, I appreciate the offer, but—”

“No buts!” She springs from the couch with a dancer's grace and grabs my hands. “I've got this incredible black dress that would look amazing on you.”

I try to pull away, but Britney holds tight. The wolf inside me twitches, not threatening, just uncomfortable with the physical contact. I'm not used to people touching me so freely.

“I don't have the right shoes for a club,” I offer weakly.

“Size eight, right? I've got these killer stilettos that'll make your calves look spectacular. And don't worry about makeup. I'll do it for you. I used to work at Sephora before the club.”

“I really don't think—”

“Look. I get it. Breaking up sucks, even when the guy is garbage. But sitting alone in this apartment is not going to help. If you hate it, we leave. I promise. No questions asked.”

The monster inside me is curious now. She's been caged for so long—not just by Travis, but by my own fear of discovery. A night out, wearing a mask no less, might be the closest thing to freedom we'll get before the full moon.

“You promise we can leave whenever I want?” I ask.

“Cross my heart.” She makes an exaggerated X over her chest. “But I'm telling you, you'll love it. The atmosphere is...intoxicating.”

I study her face, looking for any sign of deception. My enhanced senses pick up only excitement and genuine concern. No malice, no hidden agenda. Just a lonely neighbor who wants a friend to play with.

“What kind of masks?” I hear myself asking.

Britney's grin widens. “Gorgeous ones. Leather, lace, feathers—whatever matches your outfit. The club provides them.” She bounces on her toes. “Oh, this is going to be so good for you. I can feel it.”

The wolf inside me stretches, intrigued despite my reservations. A place where everyone hides their identity. It appeals to the predator in me more than I want to admit.

“I've never been to a place like that,” I say slowly.

“Even better! First-timer's luck.” She's already heading toward the door. “I'll grab the dress and shoes. We'll start getting ready around eight—the club doesn't really get going until after ten anyway.”

“Britney, wait—”

But she's already gone, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft click. I stare at the empty space where she stood, wondering what I just agreed to.