Chapter 5 Karina
Karina
The taste of blood and terror floods my mouth as I streak through the forest, my paws barely touching the damp earth. The night air burns in my lungs, my heartbeat thundering like a war drum against my ribs. I am nothing instinct now, vanishing between ancient redwoods.
I shouldn't have gone to that club. Shouldn't have let Britney talk me into it. Shouldn't have lost her in the crowd. Shouldn't have opened that door even if the alternative was far, far worse.
But I did. A man with eyes like liquid mercury. A corpse with a hole where a face should be. A gun still smoking in the killer's hand.
The monster inside me—the wolf I've spent my entire life hating—saved me tonight. The irony isn't lost on me, even as I push my four legs harder, faster, desperate to put miles between myself and Crimson Howl.
My muscles scream in protest as I approach the edges of Blackridge, where the forest thins and civilization begins. I slow my pace, ears swiveling to catch any sounds of pursuit. Nothing but the typical night chorus—owls, insects, the distant hum of the occasional car.
I've never been more grateful for the tiny garden shed behind my apartment building.
Slipping inside, I force my body to shift back to human form, the transformation sending waves of agony through my body.
Bones crack and reshape, fur recedes into skin, and I collapse onto the dirt floor, naked and shaking.
Every shift is torture—a reminder of what I am—a reminder of what I've spent twenty-seven years trying to forget.
I reach for my handbag with trembling fingers, fumbling for the spare key to the shed where I keep emergency clothes. My teeth chatter uncontrollably as I pull on sweatpants and a hoodie, the fabric rough against my hypersensitive skin.
“Breathe,” I order myself, pressing my back against the wooden wall. “Just breathe.”
But the images won't stop flashing behind my eyelids—the silver-eyed killer, the dead man's face, the way that other wolf had looked at me like I was prey. And worst of all, the inexplicable way my wolf had responded to the killer. Like it recognized something in him that I couldn't see.
It has to be my heat cycle. That’s the only explanation. It has to be.
My phone buzzes inside my bag—Britney, calling for the fifth time. I silence it without answering. What would I even say? Sorry, I disappeared. I was busy witnessing a murder and then turning into a monster.
I force myself to my feet, legs still wobbly from the shift.
I need to get inside my apartment, lock the doors, and figure out what the hell I’m going to do.
Every survival instinct roars at me to run—to pack a bag and disappear before they find me.
Because they will find me. Men like that always do.
I slip out of the shed, scanning the yard before dashing toward the back entrance of my building. The key trembles in my hand as I unlock the door, slipping inside and taking the stairs two at a time.
Once inside, I slam the door shut, engaging every lock before sliding down against it. My legs finally give out, and I wrap my arms around my knees, trying to stop the violent shaking that's overtaken my body.
“Think, Karina,” I whisper to myself. “Think.”
My options are limited. I could run—I have enough savings to disappear for a while. But how long before they track me down? And where would I even go? I've spent my entire life hiding what I am. I have no pack, no connections to the wolf world. Just the curse I've carried since birth.
My phone buzzes again. This time, I answer.
“Oh my God, Karina!” Britney's voice pierces my ear. “Where the hell did you go?”
“I just...I wasn't feeling well. I went home.”
“Without telling me? I've been looking everywhere for you!”
Because I went out as a wolf through the back exit, I think grimly. “Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just needed to get out of there.”
There's a pause, and I can practically hear her frowning. “You sound weird. Are you sure you're okay?”
No. I'm the furthest thing from okay. I witnessed a murder, nearly got cornered by some alpha asshole, and my wolf is still pacing restlessly under my skin like it's searching for something. Or someone.
“I'm fine, Britt. Just tired. Can we talk tomorrow?”
“I guess...” She doesn't sound convinced. “But you're buying me coffee and explaining why you bailed on me.”
I end the call and toss my phone aside, burying my face in my hands. The normalcy of Britney's concern feels surreal after what I've just experienced. She has no idea that the club she works at is a front for monsters. That her employers are killers who execute people in soundproof rooms.
I should shower. Wash the scent of the club off my skin, try to scrub away the memory of what I saw. But my legs feel like jelly, and I can't bring myself to move from this spot against the door.
The wolf inside me is still restless, pacing like a caged animal. She's been more active tonight than she's been in months, and I hate it.
A sound from the hallway makes me freeze. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. They pause outside my door.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I press my ear to the wood. The footsteps continue past, and I hear Mrs. Chen's door open and close. Just my elderly neighbor coming home from her late shift at the hospital.
I'm paranoid. Jumping at shadows. But can I really blame myself? I've never been exposed to that world before—the world of wolves who embrace what they are instead of hiding from it. The world where violence is currency and death is just another business transaction.
My phone buzzes with a text from Britney.
Why is my boss asking about you? Please tell me you didn’t do something to jeopardize my job. I really need it.
Oh fuck. No. No. No.
I type back a quick response:
What did he ask?
My fingers hover over the screen, waiting for her response. The three dots appear and disappear several times before her next message comes through.
He asked for your name, and where you lived? Did you leave something behind?
My handbag is sitting right here on the floor beside me, everything accounted for. This is a lie—a way to get information about me. I type back quickly.
What did you tell him?
Just that you were my friend and it was your first time here. Why are you being so weird about this?
I stare at the screen, my blood turning to ice. They know I was with Britney. They know it was my first time at the club. How long before they connect the dots and figure out exactly who I am?
I’m not being weird. I swear I didn’t do anything. Talk tomorrow?
I power off my phone before she can respond, my hands shaking so badly I nearly drop it. They're already looking for me. Already asking questions. How long before they show up at my door?
I need to leave. Tonight. Pack a bag and disappear before they—
A knock at my door freezes the blood in my veins. Three sharp raps.
I force myself to my feet. My wolf paces beneath my skin, alert and agitated. She can sense something I can't—or won't acknowledge.
Another knock. More insistent this time.
“Karina?” A voice calls through the door. Male. Deep. Unfamiliar.
My blood turns to ice. They know where I live. I back away from the door, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.
“I know you're in there,” the voice continues, calm and patient. “I can hear your heartbeat.”
Enhanced hearing. Wolf senses. Of course.
I press myself against the wall beside my window, mind racing through escape routes. Fire escape. But it's on the other side of the apartment, and the floorboards creak. He'd hear me moving.
“I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
Like hell. Men who “just want to talk” don't show up at your apartment at two in the morning after you've witnessed them commit murder.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I call out, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. “You have the wrong apartment.”
A low chuckle filters through the door. “We both know that's not true. How about you open the door?”
“No.” My wolf is pacing frantically now, torn between fight and flight. “Go away or I'm calling the police.”
“The police?” There's genuine amusement in his voice now. “And tell them what, exactly?”
My stomach drops. He's right, and we both know it.
What would I tell them? That I saw a murder at an underground sex club while I was trespassing in a room I had no business entering?
That I'm a werewolf who shifted to escape?
They'd either laugh me out of the station or lock me up for psychiatric evaluation.
“Karina.” He says my name like he's testing how it sounds. “That is your name, isn't it? Karina Greene. Now, are you going to open this door, or do I need to rip it off its fucking hinges? Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be.”
My wolf whimpers. My blood runs cold. I've spent my whole life hiding in plain sight, and in one night, he's unraveled my carefully constructed normalcy.
“So you can put a bullet in my head like you did to that man?” The words escape before I can stop them. “No thanks.”
There's a pause, then a soft sound that might be a sigh. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't be standing at your door asking to come in.”
He has a point, but I'm not about to admit it.
“Open the fucking door.”
There's no scenario where opening that door ends well for me.
A horrible splintering sound makes me jump away from the wall. He wasn't joking.
“Jesus Christ!” I gasp as I watch one of my door hinges pop free, metal screws flying across my apartment floor like confetti. Claws—actual fucking claws—are visible through the gap where the hinge used to be.
“Don't make this difficult,” his voice rumbles through the damaged door.
Another hinge groans as his claws work at it. I've never seen a wolf strong enough to do this—to tear through metal like it's paper. My parents certainly couldn't. Neither can I.
“Stop!” I lunge for the door, fumbling with the locks with trembling fingers. “I'm opening it, just stop destroying my door!”
The claws pause, withdrawing slightly. I take a deep breath, steeling myself as I unlock the deadbolt and chain. My hand hovers over the knob for one last second before I pull the door open.
The Reaper fills my doorway, blocking my escape. He's even more imposing up close, towering over me at what must be six and a half feet, shoulders broad enough to cast a shadow across my entire entryway.
I stumble backward, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged bird. Up close, he’s even more terrifying. His shaggy black hair falls across his forehead, shadowing features that radiate an unnerving intensity, as if nothing about me is hidden from him.
His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, his expression shifting from threatening to stunned in an instant. He goes still...and utters a single word.
“Mate.”
My breath catches in my throat as his pupils expand, swallowing the silver until only a thin ring of mercury remains.
“You’re my fucking mate.”