Page 18 of Reaper's Pack

And, honestly, I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the day.

7

Gunnar

“Why do the male humans fight over the one female?” Declan asked from the other end of the couch upon which we both sat. It was one of many new pieces of furniture that had slowly but steadily filled the crumbling estate over the previous fortnight. The pack and I would retire to Knox’s room shortly after sunset, snoozing the night away knowing that we wouldn’t be attacked, startled awake, or beaten in our sleep, and come first light, our reaper had procured something else for us to mark up with our scent.

Most of the pieces were for us, filling our bedrooms, the study, the kitchen. Not that it mattered. In time, I would break her wards, and no amount of furniture or regular meals or fresh, temperature-regulated running water could change that.

I did enjoy learning about modern humans, however, and there was no better study of them than through the television. While I favored the morning talk shows and the evening news, reality television shows, usually featuring competitions for love or money, were rather telling.

And damning, honestly.

Because between the disastrous doldrums forever bleating on the news and the idiots prancing about on these competition shows, obviously the human realm was a fucking mess.

“No idea, Dec,” I muttered, stretching my arm out along the back of the couch and then crossing my ankles on the little wood table before us. On the screen, two would-be alpha males, shirtless and rippling with muscle, struggled against their restraints—a group of other males attempting to prevent the fight, apparently—while a lone scantily clad female drunkenly scream-slurred their names. I chuckled when she hurled her drink at the skirmish, the glass missing by a mile and shattering somewhere off camera. Really. A fucking mess. Demons had to be pulling the strings behind these shows. Lust. Wrath. Pride. All that we watched during our morning study sessions suggested the seven deadlies were alive and well. Add a bit of booze and it was a damn parade.

“I mean”—Declan shuffled upright, on the edge of his seat, unable to pry his gaze from the ridiculous scene unfolding—“they are fighting for her, are they not?”

I grunted. “Seemingly, yes.”

“Why don’t they just share her? We’ve seen she enjoys both of them—”

“Because humans don’t share mates.”

The hairs on the back of my neck shot up when Hazel’s melodious voice drifted into the room, her scent hitting shortly after. While Declan looked back, swift and eager for her attention, ever a pup smitten, I continued to stare at the large flat-screen. The fight had been broken up without an ounce of bloodshed.

Boring, but predictable. From what I’d witnessed on these shows over the last fourteen days, it was all peacocking—males jockeying for position and production staff charging in to stop it before anything really happened.

“So, why don’t humans share?” Declan asked. Our reaper seldom wore shoes around the property, but the telltale click of those tiny heels across the hardwood set every inch of me aflame. I stiffened, withdrawing my feet from the coffee table and crossing one leg over the other instead, then pointedly ignored her when she materialized in my peripheral view.

Shoes meant she was going out, as she did every morning. She’d cross the ward, temporarily opening it to pass, and seal us in behind her. Unlocking my clenched jaw, I focused on breathing through my mouth and glaring at the television screen, as if either would make her scent any less potent. White waves tumbled over her shoulders when she rested her elbows on the back of the couch, her ease in the pack’s presence grating.

Her mere presence grated honestly, the effect she had on me, on the others, worsening with time. Physical desire throbbed through the pack bond whenever she popped into our sphere, though Declan was the only one to really act on it. In these moments, I preferred to ruffle her feathers if at all possible. Knox, meanwhile, sat across the large room on the lone high-backed armchair, enormous black headphones over his ears, eyes intent on the tablet in his lap like the rest of us didn’t exist.

A part of me had started to suspect there was something more between her and us. Possibly a fated bond, given our intense, almost immediate attraction.

But that also didn’t matter. Soon we’d be gone; I could never be a slave to my mate. Never.

“Humans just… don’t share,” she said after a long beat, the show on a commercial break, one of far too many. “These days, it’s all about monogamy. Two people, one relationship. That’s been the norm for a long time.”

“Huh.” Declan faced the screen again, fiddling with the fabric ties of his trousers. “Strange.”

Hazel brushed her hair behind her ears, unleashing another wave of sweet alyssum in my direction. That hair… I ought to just shave it off, if only she ever slept deep enough to risk it.

“And why is that strange?” she asked. Sensing an opportunity, I twisted in place and caught her gaze, those eyes brown like maple syrup and flecked with gold.

“Because,” I crooned back at her, fingers itching to toy with the ends of that white mane, “hellhounds almost always share their mate. There’s usually only one, maybe two, females per pack, and she belongs to us, not just me.”

Color flared in her pale cheeks, bright and satisfying. Declan could glower all he wanted from the far corner of the couch, but getting under her skin meant I had an iota of control in this tedious situation we found ourselves in, and I wasn’t about to stop anytime soon.

“Tell me, reaper,” I said, inching toward her and cocking my head to the side, “have you ever been shared?”

“Gunnar—”

“That’s a very rude question,” Hazel said coolly, cutting off Declan’s outrage as she straightened and backed away from the couch. “And, frankly, it’s none of your business.”

“No, no, of course not,” I purred at her retreating figure, grinning as she stalked over to Knox with her little hands in fists. Power reclaimed—albeit only temporarily, for the sway of her hips was just a little too pleasing to my sensibilities.

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