Page 93 of Reaper's Pack

Yum.

Gunnar caught my eye during my very obvious perusal, and his knowing smirk had me blushing ever so faintly.

“Is there a reward for a job well done, reaper?” he drawled, sweeping his gaze up and down my body just as openly as I had his. After a week of carnality, you’d think they would be satisfied, that I would be satisfied, but it seemed like we could never get enough of each other. One hellhound would finish with me, bodies slick and spent, and then another would sidle in to pin me against a wall or bend me over a table. As a group, we’d finish up, everyone attended to, but then someone’s nuzzling would turn salacious, and bam, it would start all over again.

I shrugged innocently. “Maybe. Do a good job and we’ll see, won’t we?”

The look he exchanged with Declan told me we most certainly would see, whether the pack succeeded or not. Knox, meanwhile, appeared to be scoping out our surroundings, hands on his hips, his stance protective. Swallowing hard, I resisted the urge to drag my tongue up his back, between his rippling shoulders—I didn’t want to distract him. The instinct to observe his surroundings was a good one, one I didn’t want him to lose for the sake of a little flirting.

But the street was empty, the human shitter in the next realm gone, probably in search of breakfast. Warehouses and storage facilities lined either side of the two-lane road, a few vans parked here and there, unmanned and silent.

“You have forty-five minutes,” I told them, dipping into my most professional tone as I checked my rarely used wristwatch. As if taking that as a cue, the pack shifted in unison, three gorgeous male specimens on two legs morphing to three handsome hounds on four. I curled my hands into fists so that they didn’t bury themselves in Declan’s shaggy fur; it was just so sinfully soft that I almost couldn’t help myself. Clearing my throat, I tracked the third arm on my watch, tick, tick, ticking ever closer to the twelve mark. Once it hit, I snapped my fingers. “Go.”

And they were off in a hurry, Knox at the helm, Gunnar and Declan fanning out behind him. Hands clasped behind my back, I watched them charge down the street with an affectionate smile, one that stretched all the way down to my heart. I could have followed them, teleported around the city to track their progress, but it was best to let them do their thing without my scent distracting them.

Because apparently it did.

A lot.

And apparently, I smelled different to each one of them, which had made my eyes water with happy tears the first time they told me.

As soon as the last tail disappeared around the corner at the end of the quiet street, I nodded. No need to follow them—because I had such faith that they would blow these practice tests out of the water. If anything, at this point I just wanted to see them in action.

Anyway.

Curling my loose hair behind my ears, I started off toward the warehouse across the street, atop which I’d wait for their return with all five of my tricky soul orbs.

Only suddenly—I felt it.

A ripple in the celestial plane.

A shudder in the air around me, pungent enough that it made my stomach turn.

Halfway across the pothole-ridden road, I whipped around—and found a demon staring me down.

At least… a possible demon. With all that red blood weeping from sigils carved so precisely into his pale flesh, I had my doubts.

Demons bled black, black as that familiar head of oiled-back hair, a hint of stylishness that matched his charcoal-grey suit. Only his cuffs were frayed, his leather oxfords scuffed. That red blood could be a symptom of magic, something to disguise his true nature.

The pack and I had discussed this at length.

We’d also assumed Heaven would have dealt with him by now. I mean, I had filed a report with them ages ago. They had a whole department for exactly this. In theory.

And that theory was the only reason Knox had agreed to leave me alone today, to even participate in the test while I stood waiting on that rooftop all by my lonesome.

I shifted my weight between both legs, sizing him up, this somewhat attractive creature who had stolen one soul out from under me already.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, a measured gravitas behind every word—something to tell him that I had the authority in this realm. The man tipped his head to the side, squinting his left eye when blood dribbled over his brow and into the bloodstained white. A fresh pentagram had been carved into his forehead, a few extra flourishes added inside the circle to suggest this was more than some human Satanist bullshit.

A cool October wind cut down the street suddenly, strong enough to rattle a few windows in the mortal realm. Here, it only tickled the ends of my hair, whispered across my skin.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to talk, then I’d just have to make him.

“What do you want?” I stalked toward him, a hand raised to summon my scythe. It sat waiting for the pack on the warehouse roof, but my palm prickled with its response, already whooshing toward me.

Only it would never reach me.

The second my foot pounded the concrete with my next step, up sprang a wall of orange light. I yelped, surprise knocking me off-balance, and stumbled back into something that burned. The yelp morphed into a startled squeal, the back of my black robe singed, the scent of burned hair making my heart pound just a little faster. All around me, orange light shot up and split, swiftly forming four walls of bars—and a roof to top it all off.

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