Page 9 of Reaper's Pack

“So, I just thought I’d let you guys know,” she started, her voice like the mournful song of a nightingale. “I’ve warded up the entire property.”

Gunnar stiffened beside me, and I ground my teeth together. So much for a simple escape come nightfall.

“It’s a trust thing,” the reaper carried on with a one-shouldered shrug. “Nothing will get in to bother you, but I also can’t have a hellhound pack running loose unsupervised. I just can’t, and I hope you understand that.”

Declan shuffled about behind me, recovered from the cruelty of Fenix’s hand, his interest in her like a boulder catching on a thin, taut piece of twine, weighing down the pack bond and driving me up the fucking wall. He was young, inexperienced with females, with kindness, but if this carried on, we would need to have a serious talk.

“I also know that you’ve all had training in Hell.” Hazel lifted her scythe to her other shoulder, the blade catching the muted sunlight streaming in from the window—the very same light that highlighted all the dust and loose fluff floating in the air. How would it feel to be on the receiving end of that blade’s bite—better or worse than what I’d already suffered? Would it be quick, or would the pain twist and twist and twist until you begged for death?

The reaper shifted her weight from foot to foot, her stare burning into my forehead as she spoke.

“As a refresher, we will do all our reaping on the celestial plane. As Hell-born shifters, you can access the plane just like me and angels and demons—and human souls. You’ll be invisible to everyone not on the celestial plane, and the roads within are what we travel to take souls down to Purgatory for judgment.

“We have three months to get on the same page. In that time, my goal is to familiarize you with modern humans and their technology. I always think it’s better to understand who we reap—what motivates them, what scares them, what they want in an afterlife. After that, it’s crucial to come together as a unit. At the end of the three months, we face trials administered by an angelic representative of Death. If we fail… we… well, you risk going back to Fenix, and I don’t want that, because, you know, he seems like a dick.”

Gunnar snorted, and a smile threatened to play across my lips when I glanced over at him. He schooled his features quickly, our opinions no doubt aligned regarding the delicious female talking at us.

Still, she had a touch of fire. That was admirable.

Admirable, but ultimately inconsequential.

“For now, I think we should just get you guys settled in.” She thrust her chin toward the nearby staircase. “Your bedrooms are upstairs… I’m sorry it’s a little, er, dusty. I haven’t had to live anywhere since I started reaping, so this was the best I could do on short notice. I’ll get it sorted as quick as I can.”

“We can help,” Declan offered, poking his head around my right bicep with an impish grin—a look that made the reaper flush. “With the tidying. I can… I enjoy tidying.”

“Oh.” She tucked a few loose strands of white hair behind her ear, her whole aura seeming to brighten. “That’s great. I’d like that.”

For fuck’s sake. Gunnar rolled his eyes, the sentiment carrying through our bond, and Declan wilted behind me.

“I have a bedroom for each of you upstairs…” Hazel cast us one final look, wary, as though unsure if she could turn her back on her newly acquired pack. I had no intention of charging the second she turned away; only a coward attacked his enemy from behind.

As soon as she started up the stairs, hips swaying hypnotically with each step, her pale, delicate fingers ghosting over the railing, Declan followed like a good little puppy. A slight raise of my hand stilled him at my side, and he grimaced when our eyes met, his darting to the floor in submission.

Declan had a pure soul—a rarity amongst our kind and seldom ever appreciated for its value. He could be impulsive at times, but he was a good pup. Smart. Funny. Intelligent. Honest—with the ability to shut his fucking mouth when necessary. I liked him, and in my many years, I liked very few creatures, hellhound or not, but I was also still his alpha. Not Hazel.

The reaper had climbed halfway up the large, winding staircase when she finally paused. To her credit, she didn’t look back; she just waited, knowing that we had no choice but to eventually follow. Gunnar cracked his knuckles noisily at my side, his gaze fixed on her white hair, his interest in her palpable. I cast him a warning look—keep your fucking head in the game—before strolling up and after her. My pack trailed behind me, Declan bringing up the rear, and Hazel only moved again when I was a step below her.

As promised, she had an individual room for each of us. Packs ordinarily lived together, slept together, ate together, hunted together. The concept of personal space fell on deaf ears with my kind, and yet Declan’s impulsivity had him barreling into his new quarters without my permission. I let it slide, allowing him a few precious moments of pleasant curiosity; he’d never had anything for himself before. It seemed cruel to deny him that.

Nearest to the stairs, his small room had two windows, cracked but sunlit, its furnishings sparse but clean—new, judging by their scent, or lack thereof. A bed. A dresser. A stool in the corner. No breeder allowed furniture in the kennels, but I’d seen it all before in the trainers’ barracks.

Seen it.

Envied it.

Gunnar’s room connected to Declan’s through a shared toilet, and while his furnishings were similar, he also had a trio of bookshelves overladen with tomes. The wiry hellhound went straight for them, long fingers perusing the spines, his interest finally off Hazel. I lingered in the doorway, watching, fighting another smile; he would love those books. All his vast knowledge had been acquired either secondhand or courtesy of his own ingenuity. My beta was a brilliant creature, but this would expand his mind to the point of unbearable; a glutton for facts and information and history, Gunnar loved to lord his knowledge over others.

And, like Declan, I let him have that for a beat—let them enjoy themselves, bask in what was probably the bare minimum to Hazel but a lavish indulgence to us. The thought made my jaw clench tighter, my hands in fists as I trailed after the reaper down the shadowy corridor. It lacked decoration, our new and fleeting dwelling, with holes punched in the walls as if art had once hung there, back when this abandoned manor actually served a purpose.

Mine was the room at the end of the hall, with no door and a frame that required me to duck down and turn to the side to pass through. Larger than the other two, it offered a bed big enough for three hounds, an arched window that projected out from the exterior wall with a cozy bench at its base, along with a dusty, soot-filled brick fireplace, and a lone, albeit grand, armchair situated in front of it. Given its opulence, I assumed this room would have belonged to the master of the house, and while I refused to so much as glance back at the reaper hovering just out of sight, I appreciated that she recognized our hierarchy.

Going into this, I had assumed we would be given cages—one for each, chain-link and narrow, most likely outdoors, where we would spend all our time until the reaper needed us.

This was unexpected.

My toilet area possessed both a standing shower stall and a clawfoot tub; Fenix had always boasted about the women he had in his golden bathtub, the fae he tricked down there, the witches he lured in with promises of riches and prestige, perhaps even marriage. How strange that when I looked upon one now, a very naked Hazel flashed across my mind, stretched out inside, her feet hanging over the edge, her rosebud mouth smiling up at me.

A low growl caught in my throat, and I pushed away from the attached room’s doorway with a scowl. Heat raged in my chest, burning up my throat and treading the thin line between lust and loathing.

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