Chapter 14 Karina
Karina
The pain of the incomplete mark is the worst kind of addiction. A hunger that nothing can satisfy, a fire that nothing can quench. It’s only gotten worse the longer Damien is gone. An hour seems like an eternity in hell.
I sit at Damien's kitchen table, watching Elias move around the space with surprising familiarity.
For the heir to a criminal empire, he seems remarkably at ease doing something as mundane as cooking pasta.
The domesticity of the scene feels jarring after everything that's happened in the last forty-eight hours.
“You should eat something,” Elias says, stirring what smells like garlic and herbs into a simmering pot. “Dom will kill me if I let you starve while he's out playing Reaper.”
“I’m not hungry.” It’s a lie. I’m starving, but not for food. The fever rolling through me has sharpened to the point where even the soft cotton of my borrowed T-shirt scrapes against my skin like sandpaper.
“Cycles burn through calories fast,” Elias says, ignoring my protest. “You need to keep your strength up.”
I sigh. “How do you know so much about it? You're not...” I hesitate, unsure how to phrase the question.
“Mated?” He laughs, the sound surprisingly gentle. “No. But I watched my father with his current Luna. He didn't complete the bond for almost a month,” Elias continues, his back to me as he drains the pasta. “It was ugly. My father was practically feral by the end.”
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to contain the shivers that have nothing to do with cold. “Why would anyone put themselves through that?”
“Politics.” He shrugs, as if that explains everything. In his world, maybe it does. “Her pack wanted assurances before allowing the full mating. My father agreed to their terms, thinking he could handle the wait.”
“And could he?”
Elias's expression darkens as he turns to face me. “Let's just say there's a reason Matthew is...the way he is. Children born from an incomplete bond carry the strain of it.”
My stomach drops. “Children?”
“Shit.” He winces. “I forgot you're new to all this. It’s possible to conceive, though it's rare. The offspring tend to be unstable.”
Great. Another complication I hadn't considered. As if this situation needed more potential disasters.
“Has Damien told you what happens if you don't complete it?” Elias asks, setting a plate of pasta in front of me.
I nod, picking up my fork without any real intention of eating. “Pain. For both of us.”
“It's more than pain.” He sits across from me, placing a second plate of steaming pasta in front of him.
“It gets worse the closer you are to your mate without completing it. Like an addiction where the drug is right in front of you, but you can't take it. For both of your sakes, I hope it doesn’t come down to that.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask, pushing the pasta around my plate.
“Because Dom is the closest thing I have to a friend in this godforsaken place.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t have friends?”
“I have allies. Associates. People who want something from me.” Elias takes a bite of his pasta, chewing thoughtfully. “Dom is different. He doesn't care about my position or my family's power. He just...is who he is. Though he’s more than that now with you in the picture.”
“You make it sound like caring about me is a weakness.”
“In our world?” Elias laughs, but there's no humor in it. “Caring about anyone is a death sentence waiting to happen.”
“Is that why you don’t have a mate?”
“I don’t have one because my father thinks I should marry for politics, not for love.” The fork scrapes softly against the plate as he twirls the pasta with more force than necessary, jaw tight. “He’s already in talks with three different packs—negotiating my hand like I’m some bargaining chip.”
“That's barbaric,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“That's pack politics.” He shrugs as if it doesn't bother him, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. “The same politics you've stumbled into by catching Damien's attention.”
“It's not just about politics,” I say, my fork still pushing the pasta around. “It's about choice. Shouldn't we all have the right to choose who we—”
A sharp crack from outside cuts through my words. My head snaps toward the window, wolf senses immediately on alert.
Elias is on his feet in an instant, his relaxed demeanor vanishing. “Stay here,” he commands. “Don't move. Don't make a sound.”
Before I can respond, he's moving toward the door, his movements fluid and predatory in a way that reminds me this isn't just Damien's friendly acquaintance—this is the heir to a criminal empire, born and raised in violence.
Elias disappears outside, closing the door behind him with barely a sound. I strain my enhanced hearing, catching the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel, then silence.
My wolf paces anxiously beneath my skin. Something's wrong. The air feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. The scent of unfamiliar wolves drifts through the cracked window.
I should stay put. That would be the smart thing to do. But my wolf is howling now, sensing danger with an instinct that bypasses rational thought.
Rising from the chair, I move silently toward the window, my bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor.
The compound looks eerily quiet. Too quiet. Even the normal sounds of night patrol are absent, leaving only the whisper of wind through the trees. My wolf whines, pressing against my skin with increasing urgency.
A shadow moves between the cabins—too large to be Elias, too unfamiliar to be pack security. My breath catches as more shapes emerge, surrounding Damien's cabin with practiced precision. These aren't random intruders. This is a coordinated attack.
Hide. You have to hide.
The sound of footsteps circling the cabin jolts me into motion.
I dart away from the window, scanning the small space for somewhere, anywhere, to hide.
The bedroom will be the first place they check.
The bathroom offers no escape. My attention snags on the weapons cabinet Damien opened earlier, now locked tight.
Think, Karina. Think.
The floorboards creak outside the front door. My hands shake as I back toward the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the counter. It feels pathetically inadequate against whatever's coming, but it's better than nothing.
A muffled thud from outside makes me flinch. Elias? Has something happened to him? I press my back against the wall beside the door, knife gripped in white-knuckled fingers.
The door handle turns slowly, silently. Whoever's out there isn't trying to break in—they have a key. My breath catches in my throat as the door swings open, revealing a silhouette I don't recognize.
“I know you're in here, little wolf.” The voice is male, unfamiliar, with an accent I can't place. “I can smell you. Your guard dog put up quite a fight,” the man continues. “Though I'm afraid he won't be joining us.”
The intruder moves deeper into the cabin, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. I catch a glimpse of his profile as he passes. I don’t recognize him at all.
“Lockhart sends his regards,” he says, moving toward the bedroom. “He's been very eager to meet Elena Rosewood's daughter.”
The knife nearly slips from my numb fingers. Elena Rosewood? I've never heard that name before, but the way he says it—like it should mean something to me—sends fresh terror racing through my veins.
“Come now, Karina,” he calls from bedroom, growing more irritated when he finds it empty. “We both know you're here. Your scent is practically saturating the air, and I can hear your heart thumping.”
The mark on my neck burns white-hot, I feel an echo of rage so pure it nearly knocks me to my knees.
Damien. He knows something's wrong.
The intruder's footsteps return to the main room.
My body moves before my mind processes what's happening. As he turns toward the kitchen, I lunge from my hiding spot, driving the knife into his side with all my strength.
He howls, a sound more surprised than pained, as the blade sinks between his ribs. His hands grasp at me, but I twist the knife deeper and rip it sideways. Hot blood spills over my fingers as he drops to one knee.
“You bitch,” he gasps, clutching his side as blood seeps between his fingers.
I back away, knife still clutched in my trembling hand. I need a distraction, something to buy me time to escape.
“She's in here!” the man calls out strained with pain. “Get in here now!”
I hear footsteps rushing toward the cabin. I’m out of time and escape routes.
My eyes flick to the front door, my only way in or out of this cabin.
There’s no time for a plan, only for the simplest, stupidest thing that might point them the wrong way.
I run towards the bedroom, making sure that the incapacitated wolf in front of me sees me go that way.
It’s my only shot, hiding in plain sight.
Blood slicks my fingers as I run, every breath tearing at my throat.
I stumble down the hallway toward the bedroom, smearing the doorframe as I pass.
Each touch is deliberate—bright streaks that say this way, leading them exactly where I want them to look.
The carpet drinks my trail, uneven drops marking my path like breadcrumbs for monsters.
I shove the bedroom door open hard enough for it to slam against the wall and drag my hand down the edge, leaving one last swipe of red before darting inside. The smell of blood is strong, thick in the air. It’ll pull them right in.
But I’m already backing out, breath shaking.
I slip into the hall again and reach the narrow closet by the kitchen.
The space is barely big enough for me to squeeze into, crammed with cleaning supplies and old coats.
I duck inside, leaving the door cracked just enough to see a sliver of the hallway.