Page 3 of Reaper's Pack

A part of me wondered if he enjoyed my struggle to connect; my reaper mentor had an exceptional poker face, handsome and smooth like a cherub, but the smug lift of his lips gave him away. He had never said it, but he probably thought I’d been fast-tracked into this position—and I deserved to suffer a little along the way.

I rolled my shoulders back, then stood a little taller. Let him think what he wanted. I was a damn good reaper. I loved my afterlife job and took it very seriously. And more than that, I was ready for this next step.

So, you know…

Suck it, Alexander.

That was what the humans said these days, right?

The elevator doors opened, swallowing Fenix’s rage into the golden compartment. Alexander swept in and planted a hand on the door, shooting the breeder an irritated look, his mouth tight. Just as I started to follow him, however, something caught my eye.

A gate.

Smaller than all the rest, to the right of the elevator and off the beaten path. Shrouded in shadow, cobwebs collected on the bars and silence greeted me from inside. Logic insisted I ignore it, that I push forward and keep searching, but my feet had a mind of their own, carrying me straight to it.

Like every other kennel, the interior was domed and dusty, crafted of rock and ash. A water trough hung from the wall, while a little shed at the back suggested a den or a toilet facility of some kind. Bones littered the foot of the gate. A lone flickering light hung from the ceiling.

And in the middle of it all, a giant pile of black fur. My eyes narrowed as I wrapped a hand around one of the metal bars, moving in for a closer look. Either that was one enormous hound, larger than any I had seen thus far, or—

A head popped up from the mass, and my heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t one hellhound, but—three?

Red eyes blazed back at me, the gold collar catching the dingy overhead light. We locked gazes for a moment, and warmth rushed over me. Pleasant, nostalgic, beautiful heat. I swallowed hard as the hellhound slowly rose from the pile of his companions, and as he stood, I sank to my knees, unable to tear my eyes away.

He was… stunning.

I had studied dog breeds intensely for the last few days, learning looks and characteristics, selecting those I thought I could best work with and keeping them at the back of my mind. But as the leggy, shaggy hellhound extricated himself from the heap, he challenged my knowledge and threw me for a loop.

Elegant. Graceful. Long black fur and a pronounced but narrow snout.

Small. Smaller than any of the hellhounds I’d seen today. One of his ears had a notch taken out of it.

Belgian sheepdog. That was the look.

Groenendael, specifically.

Rare on Earth. The first I had seen down here.

Beautiful. Just. So beautiful.

I hadn’t the strength to rise when he padded toward me, but I managed to smile. In return, he paused—and slowly wagged his tail. Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked them back with a shaky laugh. His tail pumped harder, and he trotted forward, ears down, head low. Decidedly not the alpha, but I didn’t care about that.

My hand trembled when I threaded it through the bars of the gate, reaching out for him, for that twitching nose. The hellhound whined, low and long, and the heat rippling across my skin did a deep dive, scorching through my veins now, burning me from head to toe, on a direct path to my heart. So close. We were but a foot apart when—

“Hazel, don’t put your hand in the fucking kennel,” Alexander growled, hauling me back by the shoulder. The hellhound dropped to his belly, that fluffy wagging tail tucked squarely between his back legs, his red eyes wide and frightened. The flames inside me burned with rage now, and I shoved the reaper’s huge hand away, glowering up at him and fumbling to my feet.

“Alexander, stop—”

“It’s dangerous,” he told me, wearing a look that screamed you goddamn idiot like a neon sign. Hands in fists, I whirled back around to find the other two in the kennel rousing at the commotion. The first that caught my eye was far easier to identify: Doberman pinscher. Long head, sleek frame, muscular and intimidating, the black fur broken up by tawny patches along his snout and front legs. Red eyes stared up at me unflinchingly, and while he gave off none of the warmth of the sheepdog-esque hellhound, the inferno continued to blaze inside of me. Looking at them, standing in their presence, was like home.

And it had been a very, very, very long time since I had felt the siren song of belonging.

The third hellhound shot to his feet in a burst of sudden movement, the largest creature I had seen in any kennel. Cane corso in appearance—that was an easy one too. Robust and overwhelming, with a square jaw and a thick, short coat of black fur, he soared above his companions, those mammoth paws almost the size of my head. Raw intelligence sparked in his gaze when it darted from me to the cowering shaggy hellhound a few feet away, and one gruff, deep bark had the smallest of the lot scurrying back to the pack. I bit my lower lip, hating to see the first hellhound I’d connected with shiver and slink. Alexander continued to talk at me, but I’d tuned him out completely, so focused on the three hellhounds watching me, assessing me, studying me with brilliant red gazes and terse postures.

With a deep breath, I brushed the cobwebs from their gate, then coiled a hand around one of the bars again. This was it. This was that feeling—I just knew it.

“Sorry about that,” Fenix said, stalking into the scene completely unaware of what had happened. “Sometimes you really just need to bark them down, you know? Can we… Oh.” I looked back at him when he paused, his dark brows furrowed. The demon shook his head, waving off the trio before us. “I wouldn’t… This pack requires someone with more experience. They aren’t a good fit for you. Not for anyone, really. No one wants them—”

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