Vows of Ruinous Obsession

Prologue

Maximilian

The library is quiet, still warm with afternoon light, dust motes drifting like slow snowflakes in the gold streaming through the tall windows. I lean against the edge of the window frame, sipping my coffee, as my gaze finds her, right where I knew she’d be.

Wrenley.

She’s curled in the hammock under the old oak tree, barefoot, hair spilling wild around her shoulders, a worn paperback resting open on her stomach.

Her lips move slightly as she reads, mouthing the words she doesn’t even realize she’s savoring.

She’s always done that. Wholeheartedly absorbed, the story slipping under her skin.

Then he appears. Reaper. I stiffen at first out of habit.

The man moves like a shadow, silent, watchful, unpredictable.

But when it comes to her, something shifts in him.

Every time. She notices him. Of course she does.

She sets the book aside and smiles, one of those rare ones, soft and unguarded, and starts talking.

I can’t hear from this far, but I don’t need to.

They’re in their own little world. She’s animated, hands moving, and then she points to the hammock, clearly insisting he try it.

I nearly choke on my coffee. He’s 6’7”, at least 250 pounds of inked violence and quiet rage. She wants him to get in the goddamn hammock? I half consider pulling out my phone to get video, just in case he ends up tangled in the ropes like a frenzied jungle cat.

But he actually tries it. And it’s somehow worse—and better—than I imagined. Reaper’s always been quick and efficient, all predator grace… except right now. He looks like a newborn giraffe trying to perform a trust fall.

She laughs, loud and bright. Her head thrown back, no guard in place. And Reaper, for all his glowering discomfort, just smiles at her like he’d drown in that laugh a thousand times if she asked him to.

They love each other. Neither of them will admit it, they probably haven’t even said it to themselves, but it’s there. In the way she lets her laughter wrap around him like armor. In the way he looks at her like she’s the only tether to this world he’s got left.

I know it now, hell, I knew it the first time he saw her holding a gun, calm as sin, pointing it at Riot, daring him to flinch. But it was solidified when Reaper looked me dead in the eyes, told me I was a dumbass if I didn’t marry her. Said if I didn’t, he would.

And he meant it.

And me? I’m in love with her, too, of course. Have been for years. But I’m not blind. I know what I see. I see the way they interact when they think no one is paying attention. Their inside jokes, the weekly milkshake runs they take. The way the light in her eyes dims briefly when he leaves.

She was mine first, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be ours, not really. She could have both of us. In her own feral, firestorm kind of way. If it means keeping her happy, keeping her safe. I’ll bring Reaper in. For her. Only for her.

The thought should make me feel threatened. But it doesn’t. It feels inevitable.

I’ve decided. I’ll talk to him tonight. During sparring. Best place for it. Odds are good one or both of us will need to throw a punch after saying the things we’re about to. We’ll get through it. Because we both already know, she’s the only thing worth bleeding for.