Page 101 of Reaper's Pack

Reminiscent of my old packs, actually. Typical hellhounds, the sort that wouldn’t fit in with our pack. Three months ago, just the sight of them would have sent me cowering straight to Knox, my sole protector in a lifetime of pain and misery. I would have then hid behind him, waited for the threat to pass. Today, I stayed crouched over Hazel’s scythe, heartbeat elevating just a touch when the unfamiliar alpha sniffed in my direction.

Gunnar had already taken a few steps toward the garage, positioning himself squarely between me and the other hounds. Affection threaded through our bond from my end—until I realized he was probably guarding the scythe, not me.

Because he knew I didn’t need his protection anymore.

“So, you say he took her through this?”

Pretty militant-looking, this reaper, with his blond hair slicked back and up, styled like the Superman guy from that one movie. I had seen plenty of his type over the years, striding through the kennel like he owned the place, peering down his nose at packs through those horrible black bars—no better than the dirt off the soles of his pristine loafers, hellhounds. The reaper who had taken my old pack on long before I found Knox and Gunnar erred more toward Hazel: kind, thoughtful, devoted to the job. It was the pack who had disowned me, not him.

With his fitted black suit and cold blue eyes, Alexander probably wouldn’t have even entertained the idea of me, let alone allowed me to live on his grounds and serve him.

“He trapped her in a cage,” Knox said stiffly, his tone suggesting their interactions so far hadn’t been pleasant. Subdued fury simmered through our bond as he stalked after Alexander. “It was like a ward in nature… Sprang up from the ground and she couldn’t cross through it, couldn’t use her magic. Couldn’t even summon her scythe after it had her.”

Pausing at the outer circle of the portal, Alexander finally glanced to the scythe at my feet. He tipped his head to the side, observing the weapon for a moment, then poked at the bloody sigils with the base of his obnoxious scythe, its staff thick and rigid, its blade jagged. A weapon for war, making Hazel’s seem so soft, so powerfully feminine by contrast.

I much preferred hers.

It didn’t need to boast.

It just did the job when called upon.

When nothing happened after Alexander’s cautious prodding, he nudged at the portal with his foot—just the toe of his shoes, which he then examined with a grimace.

Like he was worried he’d scuffed them, that the blood might stain the leather.

Gunnar exhaled sharply, annoyed.

“Huh,” the reaper muttered. We all waited with bated breath for more, but when Alexander shrugged one shoulder and turned away from the last place we had seen our mate, Knox lost it.

“Huh?” he snarled, his huge hands in fists, looming over an already tall reaper by a few menacing inches. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What would you like me to say?” Alexander positioned his scythe defensively in front of him, his face calm, his tone bored. “From what you’ve told me, a demon bested a reaper today—and that’s her own fault. I mean, she lost her scythe, for fuck’s sake. Am I supposed to pity her?”

Rage pounded through the pack bond, snarls and growls rising from the three of us. Gunnar had started to pace back and forth again, prowling about like he was assessing the best angle to get at Alexander’s throat. Knox, as always, remained a block of unreadable muscle, imposing in every way that counted, his fury detonating like a bomb under the surface.

To his credit, Alexander seemed to realize he’d said something stupid. His little half-smile fell away, his body stiffening, and his hand tightened noticeably around the scythe. He glanced between the three of us, indifferent in the way his eyes swept over me. I might have been crouching, but I shook with raw anger, and if he got near me, I’d rip his fucking face off.

This wasn’t Hazel’s fault.

It was our fault, if anything. We hadn’t protected her—we hadn’t fought hard enough for our mate.

“No matter,” Alexander said with a sniff, readjusting his suit like he had actually done something to rumple it. “I’m sure she’ll figure it out… Or I suppose you’ll be getting a new master soon. It really makes no difference to me.” His bright blue gaze slid over to me, then down to the weapon at my feet. “Perhaps I should take that… for safekeeping.”

Another burst of rage thrummed through the bond as Knox shook his head. “It isn’t yours.”

With a dismissive little chuckle, Alexander stalked toward me, eyes on the prize. “No, but I’m the only one here who can potentially handle it. Can’t just leave it lying around, can we?”

Gunnar was in his face in three long strides, but a jagged scythe to the throat had him begrudgingly moving aside. Our alpha trailed after the reaper, no doubt biding his time, weighing all the possibilities before acting—a classic Knox move, the reason he was better than any alpha out there.

“Insolent bunch, this pack,” Alexander muttered, his upper lip curling as he studied each one of us. “Really… What the fuck has Hazel been doing with you?”

“You can’t have the scythe,” I said firmly, hating the way her name sounded coming out of his mouth. “It’s hers.”

Wearing a patronizing smile, Alexander marched toward me totally unfazed. “Stand aside, hellhound.”

Knox shifted, morphing from fearsome man to snarling hound in an instant, and I followed immediately after. Hackles raised, I stood over the scythe and bared my teeth, my message clear, my fear a distant memory.

But nothing about me seemed to put Alexander off; he kept coming, despite Knox and Gunnar closing in behind him, the sounds of his baying hounds echoing through the plane after they undoubtedly heard our war cries. I snapped my teeth at him, crouched protectively over Hazel’s most prized possession, refusing to yield—

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