Chapter 25 Karina
Karina
Idon’t know what hurts more—the bruises throbbing across my face, or the truth I can’t escape. I was hunted like prey for a bloodline I didn’t even know I carried until days ago. That my existence alone is enough to shatter worlds, to tip the balance of power, and spark wars.
I never asked for this. For any of it. And yet wishing it all away feels like another kind of lie. Because in the chaos of these past days, I’ve unearthed parts of myself I never knew existed...and found someone who feels essential to the marrow of who I am.
Damien.
Losing that connection was like being split open, like having half of my soul torn away. And I realized then that some truths, no matter how terrifying, are worth holding onto.
Because the truth is, no matter how much I wanted to deny it, the tie altered me. It carved itself into the deepest parts of who I am, reshaping everything I thought I knew about strength, about belonging, about myself.
And now I cannot imagine a world without it. Without him.
Maybe that’s what terrifies me most. That for the first time in my life, I have something to lose. Not my bloodline. Not the war it threatens to ignite. But Damien. The piece of me I didn’t know I was missing until he was here.
The drive back to the Marek compound passes in silence, each mile putting distance between us and the clearing where Damien tore out Lockhart’s throat.
I can still taste blood in my mouth, can still feel the phantom pressure of Lockhart’s fingers around my neck.
My wolf paces anxiously beneath my skin, exhausted from her full shift but too restless to settle, her energy feeding the hollow ache still thrumming through me.
When we finally arrive, Damien guides me from the car with a gentleness that feels at odds with the predator I watched tear a man apart an hour ago.
His hand on the small of my back is steady, grounding me as we move through the quiet compound.
Dawn is still hours away, and the house sleeps around us, unaware of the night's violence.
“Almost there.”
My body feels like it belongs to someone else—heavy, foreign, marked by hands that had no right to touch me.
He opens the door to his bedroom and ushers me inside before he closes it.
The light flicks on, and I wince at the sudden brightness.
My eyes feel swollen, my face tender where Lockhart's hands left their mark.
I can still feel him on my skin, the phantom pressure of his fingers around my throat.
I lower myself onto the edge of Damien's bed, my legs too weak to keep standing.
From the bathroom comes the sudden rush of water—not the sharp spray of a shower, but the heavy pour of a bath being drawn. The sound is unexpectedly soothing, like rainfall on a metal roof. I didn’t even noticed Damien disappearing into the bathroom.
“I thought you might prefer a bath,” he says, emerging from the doorway. “The heat will help with the soreness.”
I nod, unable to find words. My fingers twist in the blanket still wrapped around my shoulders, anchoring me to something tangible when everything else feels like it might dissolve at any moment.
Damien crouches in front of me, somehow making himself smaller as he looks up into my face.
“You don't have to be strong right now,” he says quietly. “Not for me.”
Tears blur my vision as I look down at him. This man who killed an alpha to save me, who holds me now like I might shatter if he's not careful enough.
“I was so scared.” The words scrape my throat raw. “Not just of Lockhart, but of losing you. Of losing us. When the bond went quiet, I thought—”
“I know.” His hands cover mine where they clutch the blanket. “I felt it too. The silence. It nearly drove me insane.”
I lean forward, resting my forehead against his. The simple contact sends relief flooding through our connection. A warmth I hadn't realized I was desperately craving.
“The tracker,” I say, pulling back enough to face him directly. “I understand why you did it. I hate that you didn’t tell me, but I understand.”
His jaw tightens. “I violated your trust. I should have—”
“You saved my life.” The truth of it settles between us, complicated and messy but undeniable. “We'll figure out the trust part later. Right now, I just need you to help me wash him off my skin.”
Damien rises, offering me his hand. “Come on. Let me take care of you.”
He leads me into the bathroom, where the soaking tub is already filling with water hot enough to cloud the mirrors.
Steam curls through the air, carrying the scent of heat and stone.
When he shuts off the faucet, he uncaps a small bottle on the counter and lets a few drops fall into the water.
The sharp hiss of oil meeting heat fills the space, and the scent of lavender blooms between us, soft and grounding.
He turns back toward me, ready to help, but I lift a hand to stop him.
“I can manage,” I start to say, but he shakes his head.
“Let me. Please.”
There's something in his voice—a need that matches my own. He needs to care for me as much as I need to be cared for. To replace Lockhart's violence with his gentleness, his possession with protection.
I nod, letting the blanket fall away. His shirt follows, pooling at my feet. Damien's eyes don't linger on my nakedness. Instead, they catalog every mark, rage flickering behind his careful control.
“I should have killed him slower,” he growls, his hands clenching at his sides.
“You killed him. That's what matters.”
He helps me into the tub. The hot water engulfs me, and I can't suppress the groan.
I sink deeper into the water, letting it rise to my collarbone.
The warmth penetrates my aching muscles, drawing out pain I didn't even realize I was holding.
Damien kneels beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves before reaching for a washcloth and soap.
“This might sting,” he warns, gently lifting my arm from the water.
His touch is reverent as he washes away the dried blood. I watch his face as he works, the muscle ticking in his jaw each time he uncovers another bruise beneath the grime.
“I felt my wolf tonight,” I say, breaking the silence. “Really felt her.”
“Your wolf was always part of you, kitten. You just needed to stop being afraid of her.”
“I'm not afraid anymore.” The words surprise me with their certainty. “Not of her. Not of what I am.” I pause, studying his face as he rinses soap from my skin. “I’m more afraid of what comes next than my wolf.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lockhart's dead, but that doesn't end this. Other alphas will now be aware of my bloodline. They'll want what he wanted.”
Damien's hands still in the water. “Let them come,” he says quietly, but there's nothing quiet about the promise. “They'll learn what happened to the last alpha who tried to take you.”
I reach up, cupping his face with my wet hand. “I don't want you to have to keep killing for me.”
“Then they shouldn't keep threatening you.” His thumb traces my lower lip, careful of the cut there. “This is what being mated to me means, Karina. I will destroy anyone who tries to harm you. It's not a choice. It's what I am.”
The water sloshes as I shift closer to him. “The Reaper.”
“Yours,” he corrects, turning his face to press a kiss against my palm. “First and always, yours.”
The simple declaration makes something bloom in my chest, warm and certain despite everything we've been through tonight. I lean forward, pressing my forehead against his.
“I vow to you, Karina, that I will always keep you safe. My life, my needs, my desires—they all come second to yours. Always.”
“Damien—”
“No,” he cuts me off gently. “You need to understand what this means. What you mean to me.” His hands frame my face, careful of my bruises. “Before you, I existed. I fought. I killed. But I never lived. You've given me something I didn't know I was missing.”
Tears blur my vision as his words sink deep into places I've kept guarded for so long. “I can't ask you to put me before everything else.”
“You're not asking. I'm choosing.” His thumb catches a tear as it falls. “My father sent me away to learn a lesson, but the real lesson came from you. Protection isn't about possession or control. It's about sacrifice. About putting someone else's needs before your own.”
I lean into his touch. “I don't want to be your weakness.”
A smile touches his lips—small but genuine. “You're not my weakness, kitten. You're my strength.” His forehead presses against mine again. “My reason to be better than what I used to be.”
The last few days have rewritten everything I thought I knew about love, about strength, about what it means to belong to someone completely.
“I need to tell you something.” The words slip out as I draw in a shaky breath, tilting my head toward him. “When that silence stretched between us, I realized I’d rather die than live in a world without you.”
His breath catches. “Karina...”
“I know it's crazy. We've known each other for less than a week. But this feeling, this certainty—it's the first real thing I've ever experienced. The first time I've felt like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.”
His hands tighten on my face, and I watch something flicker behind his eyes. “Say it again.”
“I'd rather die than live without you.”
“The other part.”
I smile despite the ache in my split lip. “I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.”
He kisses me then, soft and careful around my injuries, but with an intensity that makes my heart race. I taste his relief, his love, his absolute devotion. When he pulls back, his eyes are molten silver.
“I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt that truth,” he finishes.
The water has begun to cool around us, but I don't want to leave this moment. Don't want to face whatever comes next beyond this bathroom, beyond the safety of his arms. Here, with steam rising around us and his hands gentle on my skin, the world feels manageable again.
“The water's getting cold,” Damien observes, though he makes no move to rush me.
I nod reluctantly. My fingers have started to prune, and the warmth that felt so soothing minutes ago, now barely penetrates the chill settling into my bones. Exhaustion weighs on me like a physical thing, pressing down until even sitting upright feels like effort.
Damien helps me from the tub, wrapping me in a towel that's been warmed on the heated rack.
The simple luxury of it—soft cotton that smells like cedar and safety—almost undoes me completely.
I lean into him as he dries my hair with another towel, his movements careful around the tender spots on my scalp where Lockhart's fingers had twisted.
“Better?” he asks, and I realize some of the tension has finally started to leave my shoulders.
“Getting there.”
He guides me back into the bedroom before leaving me to head to his closet. He returns with one of his shirts and hands it to me. I slip it on, the fabric soft and oversized, hanging to my thighs like a dress. It carries his scent.
“You should lie down,” Damien nearly orders me as he pulls back the covers on his bed. “You need to rest.”
I hesitate, suddenly reluctant to be alone with my thoughts. “Where are you going?”
He tucks a strand of damp hair behind my ear, his touch so light it barely registers against my bruised skin. “To get you something to eat. You need to rebuild your strength after the shift.”
The thought of food makes my stomach clench with unexpected hunger. I hadn't realized how famished I am until this moment. The shift and everything that came before it burned through my energy reserves completely.
“I'm not sure I can sleep,” I admit, even as I sink onto the mattress. The sheets are cool against my skin, and my body practically melts into their softness.
“Try,” he requests, pulling the covers over me. “I'll be back before you know it.”
I catch his wrist before he can move away. “Don't be long.” After everything that's happened tonight, I don't want to pretend I'm stronger than I am.
“Five minutes. I promise.”
I want to say more, but exhaustion tugs at me like an undertow. I watch Damien walk toward the door, his movements fluid despite everything we've been through tonight. Just as he reaches for the handle, it swings open without warning.
Damien freezes, his body instantly shifting into a defensive stance. I sit up straighter, adrenaline cutting through my fatigue as my eyes lock on the figure in the doorway.
His father stands there, hand frozen mid-knock, surprise flickering across his usually stoic features. His attention drifts from Damien to me, lingering on my bruised face and damp hair before settling back on his son.
“Father, I was just going to get Karina something to eat.”
Hudson's expression remains unreadable as he lowers his hand. “That can wait. We need to talk.”