Page 81 of Reaper's Pack

Hazel twisted and squirmed in a futile attempt to get me off her arm. “I’m not ready to go back yet.”

“Well, I am, so—”

“So, you go back, then,” she argued as the pair of us skated clumsily across the muddy clearing.

“Not without you,” I said distractedly, more focused on finding the best exit through the trees at the perimeter. The most solid muddy path would be best, as the muck rendered my fucking boots useless, and something without a lot of scraggly underbrush would benefit her bare legs.

Hazel, meanwhile, delivered a well-aimed kick to my shin. “Oh, what, now you want me around?”

I frowned down at her, seconds away from asking what the fuck she was talking about, only to be dragged into a clumsy brawl in the mud as the reaper tried to shake me loose.

“Hazel, for fuck’s sake—”

She slammed her shoulder into my chest, the hit hard but nowhere near painful. It did knock me slightly off-balance, however. On an ordinary day, that wouldn’t matter, but here and now, my feet encased in stupid human shoes, I lost my footing in the forest sludge. My left foot gave out, sliding sharply backward, but rather than releasing her, I yanked her with me, the pair of us stumbling down the little rocky hill and into an exposed cedar trunk. The tree stopped our descent, my back taking the brunt of the fall, and I whipped around before she could wriggle away, pinning her to the bark with a snarl.

“Stop this,” I ordered, knowing full well the glaring reaper only took orders from Death. “Right this instant.”

“Get off me,” she grunted. Her dainty hands slapped at my arms, and I pressed down on her chest, right at the base of her throat, to trap her in place. My hand almost stretched the full width of her, palm to her chilled flesh, one fingertip a breath away from her thundering pulse.

Hazel kicked at my shins again, missing on the first attempt but nailing me much harder on the second. I winced and held firmer, only then realizing I didn’t need to blink the rainwater out of my eyes anymore. In the shade of the old cedar, we found a shelter from the storm hammering the rest of the forest.

She seemed to realize it too, her arms falling to her sides, her breath coming in hard, stuttering pants. The pause heightened the way she felt against me, cool and solid, beautiful, fire blazing in her golden-brown gaze—a fire that threatened to consume me. I licked my lips, desire spiking, no doubt flickering through our pack bond straight to the others, and no amount of deep, steadying breaths could quiet that rising need. As if sensing it, Hazel nudged halfheartedly at the arm pinning her to the tree. Those cautious fingers then crept up my wrist, my forearm, before leaping to my chest.

The quiet is dangerous, warned a gruff voice at the back of my mind, one that grew softer and softer, its protests falling on deaf ears when Hazel’s gaze flitted from her hands on my chest, up to my lips, then directly into my eyes.

The voice was right: there was danger in the quiet. Time stilled around us, the moment suddenly far too intimate.

Was this how she had hooked Gunnar and Declan?

My teeth gritted at the thought, but her fingers shyly toying with the end of my beard drop-kicked doubt clear out of sight.

Because Hazel had never felt malicious to me. The quiet didn’t read as a trap—not in her cautious yet open expression, her hesitant exploration across my soaked shirt. It all seemed so natural, so right, the way it unfolded between us.

And maybe that was the trap.

Her full lips parted with a soft breath, damn distracting, fucking up my train of thought so she was all that was left, occupying every crevice in my mind, threatening to steal away my heart…

My hold on her went lax, and she slipped around my hand easily. Instead of running, the reaper closed in on me, eyes never once leaving mine. She fisted my shirt collar, twisting the damp material, and then used it to hoist herself up—straight to my lips.

The kiss took me completely by surprise, so much harder than her supple mouth had ever hinted at. She crashed into me without hesitation, all the tentativeness gone, throwing an arm around my neck like she knew precisely what she wanted. Standing stock-still, arms up but refusing to lock around her, I let her do what she pleased, unable to tear my gaze from her face.

From her thick, fluttering lashes, how they splashed across her pale skin. White on white, yet somehow contrasted too. Starlight. She was fucking starlight.

Despite the height difference, she fit perfectly to me, snug, her curves soft and pliant to the wall of muscle I had perfected into armor. With a sharp breath, I finally responded, my hand shooting to her hair as if to yank her off. Only instead of pulling her away, my fingers threaded through the mess of silvery white, and suddenly I was crushing her to me, my lips parting.

Our first kiss was still hard—rougher now, tongues tangling, teeth crashing. I slammed her back into the bark again, hips grinding instinctively when her legs parted for me. Every bit of exposed flesh glowed luminescent in the storm, her skin soft and cool—but her mouth shocked me. It was so fucking hot, a perfect home for all that fire, and as she locked her ankles behind my back, I couldn’t help but wonder if her cunt blazed even hotter.

Only I shouldn’t wonder about that.

Shouldn’t give in to the primal beast inside, to the lust flooding my veins and warping my thoughts…

I ripped my mouth from hers, from the first kiss in my many centuries that had ever made me feel something. “No, Hazel… No.”

It killed me to stop. Loss throbbed in my chest, the disconnect physically painful, but what hurt the most was watching her face fall. Cheeks flushed, hair mussed, eyes wide with confusion, Hazel opened and closed her mouth a few times, but nothing came out. Her fingers, meanwhile, dug sharply into my shoulders, ten individual little knives leaving me with a whole host of new scars.

But I couldn’t give in.

Had to… Had to keep my wits about me, especially with that blood-magic fucker skulking about.

---