Page 57 of Reaper's Pack

“Oh, no,” I moaned, sinking deeper into my chair. “What have I done?”

“Again,” he added. I closed my eyes, embarrassed and satisfied and comfortable in his presence for the first time ever.

“Again,” I agreed. But he didn’t let me ruminate, nor did he needle my brewing guilt with a few crude words. Instead, Gunnar yanked my hands from my face, and before I knew it, he had lifted me onto his lap, and soon that laughing mouth claimed mine.

And just as the second act started up, the lights extinguished, we delved deep into another again.

Again. And again.

And again.

18

Hazel

“So… Is this when we fuck?”

My blood ran cold, and I stopped suddenly, which forced humans to peel around me on the sidewalk, thus creating an even wider berth than they had already given Knox and me, a few grumbling under their breath. Even with the hellhound loitering behind me as he had since we’d left the safety of the ward, I could feel his accusatory stare, his bitter grin.

The ice in my veins twisted around the ever-present knot in my gut. Because he wasn’t wrong. On both Declan and Gunnar’s off-duty outings, we had—fucked. Declan a week ago, Gunnar last night. The beta hellhound and I had stumbled into the manor with its recently fixed roof and fresh windows long after midnight, clothes torn to shreds, both of us drunk on sex and opera and each other. I’d then skipped breakfast, leaving the guys to fend for themselves, because I couldn’t face Declan. Or Gunnar. Or Knox.

Being with my pack—intimately—hadn’t felt wrong.

But I knew, deep down, it should.

So, somehow, guilt had finally gotten a hold of me, almost because it should, and I had let it drag me to a dark place, which put me in the worst mood for my Sunday afternoon outing with Knox.

An outing I still hadn’t quite figured out yet. I’d thought it would just come to me when we stepped into the human realm in an alley near downtown Lunadell. Then, as the great mountain of a man trailed after me through the busy streets, I had hoped an idea would spark when we stopped in front of Lunadell’s version of Central Park. So far, nothing.

And now…

Is this when we fuck?

Shame made my entire body boil. Guilt weighed it down. Frustration sparked a high-pitched whine between my ears, along with anger that I thought I had to feel this way.

Slowly, I faced him—and found the exact expression I’d expected. Surely Gunnar had filled him and Declan in on last night.

Of my three climaxes.

The old me, the human me, would have called a woman weak for succumbing to her base instincts, her most primal desires. My head screamed that I was weak, while my heart flipped my head the bird and demanded we go into the park—watch the children play. A few days into October, the weather was mild and the sun high. All in all, the perfect Sunday afternoon for a stroll.

And then there was Knox, the lone storm cloud threatening to burst.

We stared at each other for a very long moment, daring the other to blink first. Quite the pair we were: me in black jeans, black flats, a black peacoat like many of the humans. It was fall, after all, and even if the slowly plummeting temperatures didn’t bother me, out here I needed to look like they did. Knox hadn’t gone quite that far, but the dark slacks, the combat boots, the black long-sleeved sweater with the slightest of V-necks—exaggerated by his broad chest, defined pectorals, positively rippling muscles—suggested he had at least tried to blend in.

Only he was a giant, even in the form of a man. And I barely made it up to his shoulder. He’d trimmed his beard, combed his thick eyebrows, but the jagged scar that cut across his face, the permanent ink on his exposed forearms, sleeves jerked up to his elbows, told passersby that this was a creature not to be screwed with.

And beside him, me, diminutive in his shadow, white-haired and ghostly pale. No wonder the humans avoided us like we had the plague.

But Gunnar had been right: this was about integrating with humanity, teaching the pack about social values and mankind’s modern mores. We needed to be here, not hiding on the celestial plane, walking through men and women like spirits.

I blinked first. To our left sat Lunadell Park, a sprawling patch of greenery in the midst of chrome and cement, tinted glass and metallic beams. Walking paths and bike lanes twined throughout the foliage and the city-maintained gardens. In its heart was a children’s park, a kiddy pool—closed, no doubt, for the season. At this entrance, located at the north end of downtown, close to upscale shops, restaurants, and million-dollar town houses, was a fenced-in dog park. I nodded to it with a slight lift of my brow.

“Care to go for a run? I can find you a stick, or I’m sure someone will let us borrow a tennis ball…”

As if to emphasize my point, a gaggle of dogs started barking within wrought iron fencing; Knox didn’t so much as glance their way, but his black gaze hardened.

“No? Nothing? Great.” I had tried so hard over the last two months to never be short with them, to empathize, not just sympathize, with their predicament. But everyone had a breaking point, and Knox—and Gunnar—liked to push, push, push. That little comment wasn’t my breaking point, but I’d had enough. Arms crossed, a slouchy brown pleather purse hanging off my shoulder, I motioned to the café across the street with a flick of my eyes. “I’m going to get our coffees, then… Don’t go far.”

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