Page 33 of Reaper's Pack

And the honey route would shut Declan up, which, at this point, was an added bonus.

“I should have known something was wrong when you set a place for me,” Hazel muttered as she scratched at her forehead with a frown.

“You should eat with us,” I told her. She seldom ever dined with us, and while I had seen her nibble on food while she cooked, I’d yet to catch her take a whole plate just for herself. Hellhounds, on the other hand, thrived on sustenance. Feeding shaped pack dynamics, something that Fenix and other breeders actively sought to suppress. When Hazel’s gaze snapped to mine, I flashed a patronizing grin. “Packs bond over meals.”

Her eyes narrowed. From my tone, my posture, my quirked mouth, she probably sensed that I was goading her. Sometimes I just couldn’t help it: that fire of hers was addictive.

But she held it in this time, swallowing the flames so that they boiled in her belly instead. My gaze tracked the would-be path, dropping from her lips to her throat, then slowly creeping down her supple figure to her hips.

Of course, she had nothing to say to that. The fetching creature had been trying to make us bond for a month now… How could she refuse such an offer?

I looked to Declan, for he had a part to play in this too—and now was that moment. When he did nothing, said nothing, his hickory-brown eyes fixed on his plate, my influence reverberated through our bond. Alphas were born, not made. I needn’t say a word to spur my pack into action, but that internal pressure worked best when they actually respected me.

Old memories swirled across my mind’s eye at the thought—of former packs with established alphas, packs who had turned on me because they chose him, packs dragged into violence and chaos as two alpha hellhounds fought for control. Fenix always did struggle to find a place for me; eventually, that place had been a tiny kennel where I was a pack of one for too many painful years to count.

“Hazel,” Declan said softly, defeatedly, still staring at his plate, “please sit. Just hear us out.”

Gunnar ceased arranging his cutlery, shooting his packmate an incredulous look from across the table before rolling his eyes in true Gunnar fashion. Honestly, you’d think I had ripped out Declan’s claws to force him to participate in this.

But my true focus settled on Hazel, who was also staring at Declan, wearing a strange expression. Affronted. Surprised. Possibly even a little hurt, though not nearly as shell-shocked as when she’d learned Gunnar had followed her into Lunadell.

None of it surprised me; the pair had connected during their first reaping, and now Declan was tidying the house in the evenings, without being asked, sweeping here and there, organizing what limited furniture we had under Hazel’s watchful—affectionate, sometimes—eye. I had let it slide for the sake of our greater goal, but if I wasn’t careful, he would grow even more unruly.

Nothing ever came between a hellhound pack and their mate—fated or not—except blood and death.

And the way Declan responded to her, the way Gunnar now felt about her, the way she plucked at our pack bond with nothing more than a smile, we were certainly headed down a dangerous path.

Slowly, dragging her feet the entire way, Hazel drifted back to her seat and settled into it. Scythe across her lap, she sat primly, her expression pinched and unreadable.

“This is an opportunity,” I said. While I had no qualms looking her right in the eye, she seemed to prefer glaring at a spot on my forehead. So be it. “You want us to learn about the creatures we reap, then take us out there.”

She scoffed again, this time with less venom. Disappointing.

“Why? So you can run away?”

“No. This is about building trust—”

“Trust you shattered by following me!” Ah, there it was—just a flicker, but enough to make the windows rattle and the candles shudder, orange light dancing around the room. Gunnar and Declan looked up, foreheads crinkled, apprehension trembling in our bond. I held my ground, her outburst eliciting a pulse of desire inside me.

Desire that died when some of the dancing candlelight glinted in her eyes—her watery eyes.

This had hurt her.

She felt it more than I’d appreciated before.

Desire morphed to distress, a vice snapping around my heart, twisting, twisting, twisting as my hands curled to white-knuckled fists. My pack’s attention snapped from the chandelier to me, sensing the abrupt shift through our bond, but I ignored them just as I ignored the empathetic ache in my chest for her.

“Let us rebuild it together,” I proposed, no longer as smooth and casual as I would have liked, my words rough, my throat thick with fucking feeling. Perhaps the wine would wash it away, drag it back to the depths as the tide drowned all. My fingers twitched toward the glass, but I held firm. “Our history is a dark one, Hazel, full of violence and torture and teeth ripping into us.”

Her eyes dipped to my face, jumping around the scars that marred me—me, a creature who could heal from just about anything but the cruelty of my past. I’d caught her studying them before, no doubt wondering what the fuck could scar a hellhound. If she ever wanted the stories, then she would have to agree to this—to me.

“You want us to trust you,” I pressed on. “You want to trust us… Then you must understand we don’t trust easily. It’s earned, not given, and no celestial being, as you call them, has ever earned the trust of this pack before.”

“Let us go with you into the world,” Gunnar urged, his tone shockingly genuine. “Take us one at a time, and bring your scythe if you must. Let us explore humanity together. The materials you’ve provided us have helped learn human dynamics, their history, their current events, their slang… but it can only take us so far. If you want us to feel for them with the depth that you clearly do”—Hazel sniffed and looked away from him, her cheeks hollow like she was gnawing at them—“then we must walk among them.”

The reaper looked to Declan, their connection more obvious than ever, and I frowned when the young hellhound shrugged, meeting her eye briefly before fiddling with his fork again.

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” Hazel’s eyebrows shot up as her gaze jumped between the three us. “Some elaborate ruse to screw me over?”

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