Page 20 of Reaper's Pack

I rolled my eyes and picked up the tablet, returning to the article on top porn sites, then tapped the first link.

Might as well see what all the fuss was about, right?

8

Hazel

“What are you doing?”

Three weeks in, I knew my pack in all their forms, on two legs and four.

Declan—a shaggy silhouette with a pointed nose and tail. On two legs: a compact Adonis with full lips and cropped hair, muscular in definition but not bulk.

Gunnar—angular and sleek muscle and short fur. Leanest of the bunch, wiry and long-limbed like a dancer.

And Knox… In his human form, Knox was primordial, a god risen from the deep, hell-bent on drowning the world. He was dark and brooding, burly, tall as a mountain and twice as unyielding. As a hellhound, he took intimidating to a whole new level, his body just raw, untamed muscle, his head huge, his red eyes harsh enough to make even a reaper quake.

He radiated alpha energy, and it didn’t surprise me that he fought with every other alpha hellhound he had met in his life. They probably attacked because they felt threatened, their position in jeopardy against a superior being.

But here, I had to be alpha, only I refused to scar him like the others had, refused to add more harsh lines to his wild beauty.

My grip tightened around my scythe as we squared off now at the edge of the property, without an audience for the first time, the ward shimmering beside us. I had no interest in scarring him, sure, but to find him here, sniffing along the ward, around the spot I usually came and went from, was damning—and I couldn’t just let it slide. Usually the pack stayed in the house when I went out, so to find him nosing at the far reaches of his territory, deep in the cedar forest on the celestial plane, concerned me.

I’d been trying so hard to make this a home for them, to make them comfortable with me, to keep them on track so that when the trials arrived in a little over two months, we would all be ready.

With the ward sealed firmly behind me, the sun at its noonday peak, I planted my scythe in the ground and crossed my arms, waiting for an answer. Not that Knox or Gunnar gave me real answers yet, preferring to poke and prod, to wheedle me until I reacted, but he couldn’t hide behind Declan’s sweet disposition here. I’d asked a direct question, and we weren’t leaving until he answered.

Slowly, the hellhound raised his snout from the base of the ward, its faint rainbow shimmer a constant reminder that he and his boys were firmly trapped in here with me, whether they liked it or not. My eyes narrowed when I spotted it: a hole in the ground, like he had been, what, trying to dig his way under? I bit the insides of my cheeks; the ward extended through all the realms. Casting it before their arrival had taken more out of me than I cared to admit, but the safety of my pack and the surrounding human community had been paramount. No one was getting in or out, no matter how deep they dug, no matter what they threw at the near-invisible barrier.

And it pissed me off that Knox didn’t seem to get that.

We stared at each other for a painfully long time, his red gaze locked on mine, and I refused to blink first—not even when my eyeballs dried out. I’d blinked first with him too many times already. He didn’t take me seriously. Neither did Gunnar, but Gunnar didn’t call the shots with the pack—Knox did. And if the trio were to ever get completely onboard with me and the job they were made for, then Knox was my in.

I knew it.

He knew it.

And all that knowing had us locked in an unspoken back-and-forth, the pair of us dancing around power, control, and alpha territory for weeks now.

Stubborn bastard.

That red glare seared into my brain, even as Knox shifted from beast to man in the blink of an eye. His hellhound form was already tall, nearly as tall as me, but he shot up another few feet on two legs, naked and sweaty, an ancient god of chaos and darkness and beauty. I forced my gaze up, pointedly avoiding the chiseled body that drove me to distraction after every shift. Even at a distance of four, maybe five feet, his heat touched me, licked across my skin and pooled in my cheeks. I needn’t look to see his muscles, slick with exertion and ridiculously taut, each one prominent, on display, like he had just finished an intense workout. His chest heaved briefly as he breathed through his nose, enormous hands in loose fists, that great heart of his no doubt hammering its slow, steady drumbeat.

Ugh. Stubborn, gorgeous bastard.

“I’m patrolling my territory,” he rumbled, his voice a smoky, gravelly rasp that I felt in my low belly, both arousing and frightening. I lifted my chin, unwilling to let him see how every damn part of him affected me.

“No,” I said, pleased that my voice didn’t shake. “No, you’re trying to find a way around the ward.” There was no point in pretending I didn’t see his attempt. I pointed to the gaping hole in the forest floor beside him. “Are you trying to dig under it?”

He blinked back at me, his expression, his stance, giving nothing away as he said, “I smelled something suspect.”

“Bullshit.”

We fell back into one of our usual stare-offs, tension simmering between us, my whole body reacting to him in ways I wished it wouldn’t. Finally, I sighed and coiled a hand around my scythe.

“Knox, we need to get on the same page here—”

“My pack is not yours to purchase,” he growled, his gaze like steel as it swept over me. “Just because Heaven paid Fenix’s price in gold… means nothing to me.”

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