Page 14 of Reaper's Pack

So, instead of going right, I went left—into pack territory. To give them some breathing room, I had set up my quarters in the right wing of the house. Even though I didn’t need to sleep, I could, and I had allowed myself a room with a bed, a little table to set my antique record player on, a closet to hang my black wardrobe in. The pack had more than me, and in my mind, that was the way it should be; they needed more than me, on this mortal plane and the next.

Ruffling my hair, a mass of unruly white that spilled halfway down my back, I paused at the top of the stairs just to listen. The nightly exhale of the house responded, the foundations groaning, the walls sighing. But no hellhounds.

Declan’s room was the first in the corridor; it sat dark and empty. I frowned, scanning the whole space, just as capable seeing in the dark as my pack. Nothing. With a firm grip on my scythe, I hurried down the hall to Gunnar’s room, to the bookshelves I’d filled with tomes that I’d hoped at least one of the pack would appreciate.

Empty.

Fear crept up my spine. In the time I had taken to diligently scrub the kitchen, had I missed an escape attempt?

Had they played me?

With that in mind, I sprinted to the open doorless frame dead ahead, then stumbled to a halt a few feet inside Knox’s room.

Because there they were.

My pack.

My boys.

Fear released me from its grasp, giving way to exhaustion once more. My whole figure sagged at the sight—at Declan sprawled out across the end of the king-sized bed, still wearing that bloodstained shirt, an arm thrown over his face as he snored softly. Up against the ornate wood headrest, Gunnar slumped, head hanging, thin lips slightly parted and brilliant blue eyes closed, an open book in his lap.

Here they were.

Even my scythe weighed on me tonight. I took it off my shoulder, holding it in both hands, letting it hang in front of me as I surveyed the dozing pair. They each had their own room, but they had ended up here.

They’d wanted to be together.

I should have realized…

Unshed tears blurred the dark bedroom, and I blinked them back with a sniffle. My presence felt like an intrusion into a deeply personal moment between the pack, and I stepped back, watching, trying not to cry, only to pause when moonlight glinted off a pair of eyes in the shadowy corner. I stilled, blood running cold.

Knox had repositioned the furniture, dragged the armchair into the corner next to the fireplace…

So he could face the door, I realized.

So he could stand guard while his pack slept.

His massive frame of pure muscle dwarfed the chair, his posture rigid, his expression masked by that wild hair, the thick beard.

But his eyes said enough. I faced him without a word, imploring him to see that I wasn’t Fenix, that I was good. If I had a black soul, a cruel soul, I couldn’t reap. I would have been in Hell, on the list to reincarnate as a demon.

My goodness probably didn’t matter though. His eyes slid to my scythe, and that highlighted the issue between us. I possessed the ultimate weapon—period. I could end all three of them in a second.

I brought my scythe back to my shoulder, keeping one hand wrapped tightly around the yew handle. No way would I walk these halls without it—not yet. A reaper wasn’t dead, but we weren’t alive either. We were the right hands of Death, a creature unlike any other. Knox couldn’t kill me if he tried, but he could wound me. Hurt me. Tear my flesh, rip out my throat. Paint the walls with my golden blood, then do it all again the next day when my body regenerated.

The scythe was my safety guaranteed—my power guaranteed.

Hellhounds were domesticated, sure, but only in comparison to their rogue counterparts, the true hounds of Hell. Compared to Earth’s shifter community, the trio before me was wild.

And I hated that I needed my scythe to keep them in line, but there was no way around it yet. Without trust, as much as it pained me, I’d have to remind them of my nuclear bomb every chance I could.

Silent as ever, Knox sunk deeper into the floral armchair, a menacing shadow watching over his own. Even if he never said a word to me, I understood his concerns—because I had concerns of my own.

Only there was nothing I could do to address them tonight. Probably not tomorrow either.

Maybe not even this first month.

So I left.

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