4. Damien
Damien
I'm still staring at Marco's body when the door flies open, slamming against the wall with enough force to crack the hinges. The gunshot must have been louder than I thought, despite the room's soundproofing.
My head snaps up to find a woman frozen in the doorway, her face obscured by an elaborate cat mask. Her eyes wide underneath it with a pair of cherry red lips parting in shock. She's not supposed to be here. No one is.
For one charged heartbeat, we face each other, and then her attention drops to the corpse at my feet, the still smoking gun in my hand. Her breath hitches, a small, strangled sound that slices through the silence.
Fuck.
Before I can move, she bolts, turning on her heel with the fluid grace of prey that knows it's been spotted by a predator. I lunge forward, but I'm too late. She's already halfway down the corridor.
“Stop!” I roar, my voice reverberating off the walls.
She doesn't even slow down. Smart girl.
I'm about to give chase when a familiar figure appears behind her—Thomas Lockhart himself. Of all the goddamn wolves who could have shown up tonight. He blocks the hallway and her escape.
I slam the door shut behind me, cutting off any view of Marco's body. Lockhart doesn't need to see my handiwork, not when he's been trying to undermine the Bellandi family for months. The last thing I need is to give him ammunition.
My back presses against the door as I take a steadying breath. The woman in the cat mask is an immediate problem—a witness. But Lockhart's presence here is the bigger threat. What the hell is he doing at Crimson Howl tonight of all nights?
The woman in the cat mask freezes between us, trapped in the narrow hallway with two apex predators. Her scent reaches me even through the club's miasma of sex and liquor.
“Well, well,” Lockhart drawls, his attention sliding from the woman to me. “If it isn’t the Reaper himself. Busy night?”
I hold steady, though my wolf thrashes beneath my skin, snarling for blood. “Nothing that concerns you, Lockhart.”
He steps closer to the woman, and something inside me detonates. My wolf lunges against the cage of my ribs, clawing, howling, violent in a way that steals my breath. Possessive. Mine. Not his.
I force myself to remain outwardly still while my beast batters against me, desperate to strike. What the hell? I don’t even know this woman. But my wolf doesn’t care. Lockhart’s predatory lean toward her sets every territorial instinct ablaze.
“You seem tense, Reaper,” Lockhart taunts, his lips curling in a mockery of a smile. He edges closer to the masked woman, and my muscles tighten, drawn taut as bowstrings. “Something troubling you?”
“Step away from her.”
Lockhart raises an eyebrow. “I wasn't aware the Bellandi's attack dog had developed a soft spot for club patrons.” He reaches out, fingers hovering near the woman's arm. “Unfortunately, she’s off the menu for someone like you, pup. She and I were about to get better acquainted. Weren’t we, pussy cat?”
The word lights a white-hot fury under my skin. My wolf rakes at whatever is holding him back, a single brutal need to rip Lockhart apart for that look. The intensity blinds me; this hunger is unlike anything I've ever known.
“I said, step away.” The words come out as a growl, my wolf bleeding through despite my attempts to contain it.
The woman’s head jerks between us, her breathing shallow and uneven. She flattens herself against the wall, trying to make her frame smaller, but there’s nowhere left to retreat. The hallway seems to close in, the air heavy with tension and barely restrained violence.
Lockhart chuckles, a sound like gravel grinding. “Protective, aren't we? How fascinating.” His hand drops to rest on the woman's shoulder, and I see red.
I'm moving before conscious thought kicks in, crossing the distance between us in two strides. My hand shoots out, wrapping around Lockhart's wrist with enough force to snap bone. His smug expression falters as I squeeze.
“Touch her again and I'll break every bone in your hand,” I snarl.
“Damien.” A familiar voice cuts through the haze of rage. Elias appears at the far end of the hallway, his mask pushed up on his forehead.
“What the hell is going on here?” Elias demands, his voice carrying the authority of his bloodline despite his youth.
Lockhart's lips curl into a cold smile. “Just having a conversation with your pet about boundaries.” He tries to twist his wrist free, but I tighten my grip until I feel the bones creak. “Perhaps you should keep him on a shorter leash.”
“Let him go, Dom.” Elias's voice is steady, but I catch the warning beneath it. “Now.”
I release Lockhart with a shove that sends him stumbling back a step. He flexes his fingers, testing for damage. The woman remains pressed against the wall, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“This isn't over, Reaper,” Lockhart says, straightening his jacket. “Keep overstepping your place, pup, and you will find out what happens when you cross a real Alpha.”
“Is that a threat?” I ask, my hand drifting toward my gun.
“It's a promise.” Lockhart's gaze shifts to the woman, and my wolf snarls again. “Until next time, pussy cat.”
He turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. I watch until he disappears around the corner, every instinct screaming at me to follow him and finish what we started.
The woman seizes her chance the moment Lockhart is out of sight.
Like a cornered animal finally spotting an escape route, she bolts, ducking under my arm and sprinting toward the exit opposite from where Elias stands.
The sudden movement catches me off guard—her speed impressive even by werewolf standards.
“Shit!” I lunge after her, but she's already gained ground, her heels clicking frantically against the floor as she runs.
“Dom, what the hell?” Elias calls after me, but I'm already in pursuit, my wolf surging forward with an urgency I don't understand.
I follow her through the maze of Crimson Howl's back corridors, past startled staff members and private rooms where masks turn in our direction. She moves like she knows the layout, taking turns without hesitation, pushing through doors that should be locked.
“Stop!” I shout, but she only runs faster.
She bursts through the fire exit, an alarm blaring as she hits the cool night air. The sound pierces my sensitive ears, but I don't slow down. The door slams back against the wall as I follow her into the parking lot, my longer strides closing the distance between us.
“I'm not going to hurt you,” I call out, though I know how hollow those words must sound coming from a man she just saw murder someone.
She doesn't look back, doesn't hesitate.
Her cat mask flies off as she runs, dislodging in her frantic escape.
I lunge forward and snatch the mask from the ground, the leather still warm from her skin.
The scent of vanilla and honey clings to it, filling my nostrils and sending a jolt through my system.
My fingers tighten around the intricate feline design.
I could track her by scent alone, but something stops me. The mask in my hand feels heavy with significance. A witness. A liability. But my wolf whines, pushing against my consciousness with an urgency I've never felt before.
The distant sound of car tires screeching tells me she's found her escape. I turn the mask over in my hands, examining it in the harsh glow of the parking lot lights. Black leather molded to the shape of a cat's face, with delicate silver detailing around the eyes and whiskers. Custom work.
“Dom!” Elias's voice cuts through the night as he jogs toward me. “What the fuck was that about? And why are you holding a mask?”
I slip the mask into my jacket pocket before he can get a good look at it. “She saw Marco.”
Elias stops short, “Shit. Are you sure?”
“Dead sure.” I glance back at the club's fire exit, the alarm still blaring inside. “She walked in right after I pulled the trigger.”
“Fuck.” Elias seethes. “Perfect. Just fucking perfect.”
My wolf is still agitated, pacing beneath my skin like a caged animal.
The scent of honeyed vanilla lingers in the air, taunting me.
I should be focusing on the threat she poses, the danger of leaving a witness alive.
Instead, all I can think about is the way she looked at me.
Not with the revulsion I expected, but with something else. Something I can't name.
“We need to find her.”
“We?” Elias catches my arm. “Dom, think about this. She's a witness to a murder. You know what that means.”
“I know what it means,” I snap, jerking my arm free from his grip. “But I need to know who she is first.”
“Why? So you can have a nice chat before you put a bullet in her head?” Elias follows me as I stalk toward the main floor. “This isn't like you, Dom. You're usually more...clinical about these things.”
He's right, and that pisses me off even more. I've never hesitated before, never questioned an order. Find the threat, eliminate it, move on. That's what I do. It's why they call me the Reaper. But something about this woman has gotten under my skin, burrowed deep where I can't dig it out.
“Think she came here with Lockhart? If she talks to him—”
“Then we're fucked,” Elias finishes for me. “I get it. But you need to think with your head, not your...other parts.”
I whirl on him, a growl building in my throat. “That's not what this is about.”
“If you say so.”
I ignore him, turning on my heels and heading back to the club. My wolf is frantic now, desperate to find her. I fling open the door and step back inside.
“We need to check the exits,” I say, already moving toward the front of the club. “Security cameras. Invitations.”
“We'll need Viktor to pull them.” Elias grabs my arm, tugging me toward the security room. “And we need to be discreet about it. My father can't know about this.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Let me handle Viktor. If I tell him it’s for me, he’ll be less likely to run straight to my father.”
I tear my arm free from his grip. “I don't need your help.”
“Clearly you do, because you're acting like a lovesick teenager instead of the Reaper. Get your shit together, Dom.”
I take a deep breath, forcing my wolf to heel. He's right. I'm compromised, and I don't understand why. One woman in a cat mask shouldn't have this effect on me.
“Fine,” I mutter, following him toward the back of the club.
Viktor, the club’s head of security, is stationed by the VIP entrance, his stature intimidating even to the wolves who approach. He straightens when he sees us coming.
“Sir,” he says, nodding to Elias. “Is everything alright?”
“Did you see a woman in a cat mask come in? She a regular?”
“I wasn’t working the front door. Bobby was. Why?”
“I need to talk to Bobby,” I growl, already moving toward the front entrance.
Elias falls into step beside me, his presence a constant reminder that I'm not handling this situation the way I should. The Reaper doesn't get rattled. The Reaper doesn't lose control. But here I am, practically running through the club to find a woman whose face I haven't even seen.
Bobby's manning the front door, checking IDs and scanning the invitations of those entering the club. He straightens when he sees us approaching.
“Mr. Bellandi,” he says, nodding respectfully to Elias before turning to me with considerably more caution. “What can I do for you?”
“Woman in a black cat mask,” I say without preamble. “When did she come in? Was she alone?”
Bobby's brow furrows beneath his crew cut. “Cat mask? There've been a few tonight, sir.”
“This one would have been memorable,” I press, leaning closer. “Black cat mask, cherry red lips. Came in within the last two hours.”
Recognition flickers in Bobby's eyes. “Oh, her. Yeah, she came in about an hour ago with Britney. Friend, I think. Never seen her before.”
“Britney?” Elias perks up beside me. “The redhead who works here?”
“That's the one,” Bobby confirms. “They came in together, but I haven't seen either of them leave.”
My wolf stirs with renewed interest. If she came with Britney, then she's not some random club patron. She's connected to someone who works for the family, even if Britney doesn't know it.
“Where does Britney live?”
“I...I don't know her address, sir.”
I turn from him. Fucking useless human. Elias is hot on my heels.
“Tell Viktor to pull the employment records. Find the fuck out where she lives.”
“Dom,” Elias catches my arm again. “What's your plan here? Show up at her apartment and what, interrogate her?”
I shake off his grip, my patience finally snapping. “My plan is to find the woman who saw me put a bullet in Marco's head before she decides to share that information with the wrong people.”
“And if she's already shared it?”
If she's already talking, then it's too late for damage control. But my wolf refuses to accept that possibility, snarling at the mere thought of her betraying us.
“Then I'll handle it. Like I always do.”
Elias studies me for a long moment. He knows me well enough to recognize when I've made up my mind. Finally, he sighs and pulls out his phone.
“I'll call Nate in HR. He'll have Britney's address.” He steps away to make the call, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my increasingly agitated wolf.
I pace the small area near the entrance, every muscle in my body tense. The woman in the cat mask shouldn't matter this much. She's just another loose end to tie up, another potential threat to eliminate. So why does the thought of putting a bullet in her head make my stomach twist?