Claimed by the reaper

Chapter 10

The close call came on an ordinary Thursday, the kind of afternoon that had grown comfortable enough in its routine that Wren had let her guard down further than she'd realized until it very nearly cost her.

She'd gone into town with Sabrina, a rare outing beyond the clubhouse's careful perimeter, both of them browsing the modest shops along Main Street with the easy, unhurried pleasure of two friends enjoying an afternoon off. It was outside the hardware store, examining a display of gardening tools with no particular urgency, that Wren felt the sudden, visceral drop of recognition. A car, parked across the street, unremarkable except for the out of state plates and the man behind the wheel who was, unmistakably, watching the street with far too much focused attention for someone simply passing through.

Not Marcus. She'd have known Marcus instantly, every line of him burned into memory by three years of careful vigilance. But something about the man's posture, the particular alertness of someone conducting surveillance rather than simply people watching, sent ice spreading through her chest regardless.

"Sabrina," she said quietly, gripping her friend's arm. "Don't look right away. But there's a man in that car across the street. I think he's watching for someone."

Sabrina, to her credit, didn't turn immediately, instead glancing casually toward a nearby shop window that happened to offer a reflected view of the street behind them.

"I see him," she murmured. "You think that's one of Marcus's people?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Or Cade's." Wren's heart was hammering now, old instinct screaming at her to move, to disappear, to do anything except stand exposed on a public sidewalk while a stranger's car idled with far too much purpose nearby. "We need to go. Now, carefully, not running."

They made their way back toward Sabrina's car with deliberate, unhurried steps that cost Wren considerable effort to maintain, every instinct screaming at her to bolt. The man's car remained parked, engine idling, though Wren couldn't tell if he'd noticed them at all or was simply waiting for someone else entirely.

It wasn't until they were several blocks away, hearts still pounding, that Sabrina finally spoke.

"I got the plate number. Just in case."

"You're remarkably calm for someone who just helped me flee a potential threat."

"I grew up around this life," Sabrina said simply. "You learn to stay calm, or you learn the hard way what panic actually costs you."

She glanced at Wren with genuine concern.

"We need to tell Reaper the second we're back. This is exactly the kind of thing he needs to know immediately, not after we've had time to talk ourselves into believing it was nothing."

Gideon's reaction, when they relayed the encounter twenty minutes later, was immediate and focused, all easy warmth replaced by the same controlled, dangerous calm Wren had witnessed during his interrogation of the Vultures scout weeks earlier.

"Describe him," he said, already reaching for his phone. "Everything you remember."

Wren did her best, cataloguing details with the careful, practiced attention of someone who'd spent three years learning to notice everything that might matter later. Gideon relayed the plate number to someone on the other end of the call, his voice clipped and efficient, before turning his full attention back to her.

"That's not one of Cade's men," he said finally, something grim settling into his expression once the call ended. "Enzo just confirmed it. The plate traces back to a rental agency two states over. Whoever that was, they're not local, and they're not Vultures."

"Marcus," Wren said, old fear returning with fresh, visceral force.

"Possibly someone working for him, rather than the man himself," Gideon said carefully. "But yes. I think it's safe to assume he's narrowed his search considerably, if he's got people physically watching Cedar Hollow's main street."

"What do we do?"

"We tighten things further," Gideon said, already moving through a mental checklist with the same methodical focus he brought to every genuine crisis. "No more solo trips into town, for now. If you need anything, someone goes with you, and preferably someone who isn't quite as recognizable as Sabrina's car apparently already is. I want the perimeter watch doubled, starting tonight."

"I'm sorry," Wren said quietly, guilt resurfacing despite the fear. "This keeps escalating, and it's not fair to keep asking this club to reorganize itself around protecting me."

"Stop," Gideon said, firm but not unkind, crossing to kneel in front of her chair and taking her hands in his. "You are not a burden, Wren. You never have been. This is exactly the situation I told you I was prepared for, the very first week you were here. Marcus is dangerous, and he's clearly resourceful enough to be searching methodically. That doesn't change what I promised you. It just means we adjust accordingly."

"I keep waiting for you to decide this is too much," she admitted, old fear surfacing in a different, more vulnerable form. "That I'm too complicated, too much danger for anyone reasonable to keep choosing."

Something in Gideon's expression softened completely, warm and absolute.

"Wren. Look at me."

She did, and found nothing but steady, unwavering certainty in his dark eyes.

"I don't scare easily, and I've told you that from the very beginning. Marcus searching for you doesn't change how I feel about you. If anything, it simply confirms exactly how much you're worth protecting properly, rather than giving me any reason to reconsider."

She let his certainty settle over her old fear, some of the day's terror finally easing into cautious, grateful relief.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For not flinching, even when I keep expecting you to."

"I'm not going anywhere," Gideon said simply, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Not while there's still breath in me to stand between you and whatever's coming."

That evening, once the immediate flurry of increased security had settled into careful, watchful routine, Wren found herself standing at her window, watching the perimeter guards move through their newly doubled patrols with quiet, unfamiliar gratitude.

Gideon joined her there eventually, wrapping his arms around her from behind, both of them watching the darkening yard in comfortable silence.

"He's getting closer," Wren said quietly. "I can feel it. The way I used to feel storms coming, before the sky even properly darkened."

"Then we'll be ready," Gideon said, his voice steady and certain against her hair. "Whenever he actually arrives, Wren, he's going to find considerably more standing between him and you than he could possibly be prepared for."

She leaned back into him, watching the last patrol complete its careful circuit of the property, old fear tangling with newer, more stubborn hope. Whatever Marcus was planning, however close he was actually getting, she understood now, with growing certainty, that she wasn't facing any of it the way she once had, alone, frightened, with nobody standing beside her willing to absorb any part of the danger closing in.

She had Gideon now. She had an entire club, quietly, fiercely rallying around her. And for the first time in three long years, that felt like considerably more than enough.