Page 43 of Reaper's Pack

The end of the human workday made the streets and sidewalks of Lunadell’s financial district a nightmare—had I found myself in the human realm, of course. Here, separate from them yet squarely in the thick of things, I could march through each and every one of them. The odd human might notice, a shiver spider-walking down their spine, but they wouldn’t understand. And that was for the best. No sense in muddying an already complicated world with proof of the supernatural. Sure, it existed, but by and large, the general population hadn’t a clue, carrying on through life like humanity was the planet’s apex predator.

Chrome skyscrapers soared toward a hazy grey sky all around me, paired with trendy eateries, banks, investment firms—the works. Lunadell, like many major cities, had a substantial homeless population. At least once per block, a human lay on a dingy sleeping bag over a grate or the mouth of the subway entrance, the masses sweeping around them like they didn’t exist. In a few hours, this section of the city would be a ghost town save for the bars, but even they closed early as the overworked humans fled the core for some respite in the suburbs.

I noticed a man with large hazel eyes in passing—like Declan’s, though they lacked his intensity. And last night, oh, he had been all intensity. So unlike him. So raw and wild, like he just had to have me.

A man had never had to have me before—that kind of passion was intoxicating.

And wrong.

I shook my head as I breezed down another block, barreling through the crowds like they were nothing. It shouldn’t have happened. Declan was in my charge—they all were. I was responsible for the pack’s well-being. I fed them, clothed them, taught them…

Letting him fuck me into the sand… Wasn’t that somehow taking advantage of him?

So, why didn’t I feel guilty?

I knew, deep down, that it was wrong, that it most certainly couldn’t happen again, no matter how desperately my body now craved his touch, and yet guilt was nowhere to be found.

And that made me feel shitty—that I didn’t feel guilty when I should.

Shitty and distracted when today was all about focus. I needed to be present, alert. This wouldn’t be a simple reaping, and if I kept drifting back to fantasies about Declan pounding into me, we might fuck it up.

And I refused to let Gunnar’s first field test be a failure because of me. If he was going to fail—unlikely, given his annoyingly intense intelligence—he could fail all by himself.

So, I stuffed the memories of last night deep, deep down inside me, wrapping them up in my internal conflict, my emotions, my racing thoughts, and forced myself into the present. As I shifted my scythe to my other shoulder, my black reaper’s robes billowing behind me, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

The sensation came so suddenly, so sharply, that it ripped a gasp from me. I scratched at the nape of my neck, frowning. Even amidst all the human chaos here, I hadn’t felt a single ripple in the celestial plane today—but now, out of nowhere, it was like someone was watching me.

Intently.

The unseen gaze burned into my body, and I stopped suddenly, whirled around, searching for a source.

But there was nothing.

Nothing and no one on the celestial plane within sight. No figures on the rooftops, no faces pressed up against tinted windows, no blazing demonic eyes peering through the sewer grates.

Just me.

And, well, Gunnar.

The hellhound had trotted along behind me since we’d left the estate; unlike Declan, he had been waiting for me in the manor’s foyer already shifted, alert and ready, his whole body brimming with a stiff yet jittery energy that had been slightly off-putting when I first experienced it. Since then, he had kept his distance, that lean, muscular body of his seeming to glide, like he floated through the celestial plane, never so close that I felt his breath on my ankles, but never so far back that I panicked.

He slowed now that I’d stopped, nose going a mile a minute, taking in the hustle and bustle of downtown Lunadell, all of it slightly muted on the celestial plane. His fawny-tan coloring around his snout and up his paws glowed in the late-afternoon light, warmer than the day around us, comforting, in a way, given I’d memorized his every marking. This morning, worry made me paranoid that I would lose him, that he would bolt the second we arrived in the financial district, but here he was, focused, his body faintly aquiver. I had never seen him excited before; perhaps this was it, ears up, body sleek, nose working just as fast as his mind.

Would he act the same way for our first casual outing this Saturday night? I had something special in mind for him, given his love of music, but his past betrayal threatened to taint it already. After all, not only had he followed me into Lunadell, snuck past my ward, teleported on his own—but he had watched me in my most private, shameful moment, then brought it all back to Knox and Declan, sharing every detail.

I knew I had to let it go… I should have noticed him following me.

I shouldn’t go watch school children and cry, but, you know, it happened—and would probably happen again.

So, for now, I did my best to keep my mind on the moment—again—so that Gunnar could make the most of his first attempt in the field. I’d been one hundred percent there for Declan; it was only fair to give Gunnar that same courtesy.

The pack’s first individual reapings had been selected from a pool of offerings. I’d asked for someone gentle and soft, easy, for Declan. Gunnar’s first soul, on the other hand, was the polar opposite—and I had asked specifically for that too.

Just as I turned away from the hellhound, true chaos erupted. Sirens came screaming into the city core from all directions, police vehicles and ambulances charging through the blocked roads, hopping curbs, horns blaring, and pedestrians scattering. Gunnar padded to my side, his red gaze utterly transfixed as the authorities converged on one location up the street—in an alley, in fact. Seconds later, gunfire erupted like fireworks, rising over the downtown hubbub. Humans shrieked as the shooting echoed through the streets, all of them fleeing, running through Gunnar and me, the block slowly clearing.

“This man is what they call a serial killer,” I told him, grip tightening around my scythe’s yew staff, the thrill of the impending reap looping in my belly. “He’s killed a lot of people, and he does it because he likes it.”

A quick glance to the side showed I had Gunnar’s full attention, his bright red eyes pinned squarely on me, his body stiff. His head came up to my chin, a wall of trembling muscle at my disposal. In that moment, the partnership between reaper and hellhound had never felt so necessary.

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