Page 60 of Reaper's Pack

“Don’t be glib when I’m being honest with you.” To his credit, the mirth dried up at that, and I resisted the urge to poke him, hard, in the middle of that broad chest—only because that wall of steel would probably break my finger in the process. If reaper bones could break, that is. No one had ever told me. “Don’t be an asshole when you’ve made literally no effort to know me, to let me in. I’ve tried so hard with you—”

“I’ve been an alpha without a pack all my life,” the hellhound stated, angling that enormous body toward me, closing the gap between us to a precarious foot. I stood taller and refused to be bullied by his size. His black gaze slithered down my face to my buttoned peacoat, to the latte caught in my death grip, then jumped back to lock with mine. “I was never violent enough to wrangle a pack. Never cruel enough, never crass enough. Never enough. Someone always cut in to take my would-be pack from me. I fought for them, but they chose a brute over me every time. I’ve been alone for as long as I can remember.”

He eased in closer, and just before our bodies could touch, he crouched down to meet my eyeline. A cool, soft breeze toyed with his black mane, mussed my white one enough that a few strands caressed his cheek. Not once did we break eye contact, even as my heart boomed between my ears, as my knees locked and threatened to buckle.

Knox smelled like pure man. Raw, untamed, a wild thing—a summer storm ripping across the ocean.

The rest of the world fell away around us.

“And now I have a pack to call my own,” he whispered, his breath warming my lips, that black stare verging on vulnerable. “I would kill for them. I would die for them. And you, reaper, Hazel, are trying to take them away just like all the others.”

A whoosh of air ripped out of me, awareness exploding like Fourth of July fireworks. This was it—his angle.

I was like every other alpha in Hell.

That was how he saw me.

My lips trembled. Only I wasn’t violent or crass. I was a woman, and his packmates desired me, connected with me, bonded to me in a way they simply couldn’t with Knox.

I swiped at the white flyways dancing between us, smoothing them back with all the rest as Knox straightened. Everything about him became hard again, the moment of softness gone, but my hand still found a way to his chest, settling over his heart, against his steely exterior.

“Knox…”

His gaze dropped to my hand, beneath which drummed a slow, steady heartbeat. Then, without a word, he pressed his over mine, engulfing it, and for a few precious seconds, we just stood there, frozen, hands together—until his fingers curled, and he peeled mine away from his chest by my thumb. He held it between us briefly, his skin like fire, before letting it fall. I jumped to, catching him by the wrist, unable to close my whole hand around it, and yanking hard, bearing down when he tried to twist away.

“I’m not trying to take them from you,” I told him fiercely. “You are this pack’s alpha, and I’m asking you—begging you—to expand your pack by one. To just… let me into it. That’s all. I’m not an alpha. I know that. I’m not your master.” I held firm, but keeping Knox in place was like trying to wrangle a snorting bull. “You don’t serve me or owe me allegiance. We’ve been chosen, whether you believe it or not, for a greater purpose: to help souls. That’s it. That’s all this is.”

He finally wrenched his arm away, half dragging me with him as he retreated with a snarl. “Pretty words, reaper.”

The hellhound made it one long stride before I was in front of him, barring his path, shoving my shoulder into this stubborn runaway train.

“Take my honesty as you will,” I snapped, eyes watering, latte trembling in hand. “It’s on you now. I’ve said my piece, and I won’t do it again.”

I fixed him with one last look—one that said I was done fighting for his acceptance. He could take me or leave me, but now he knew my feelings.

And he knew the consequences if all this failed.

Still shaking, I stalked down the path as fast as my feet could carry me, not stopping until I reached the children’s playground. Distantly, Knox’s heavy, consistent tread crunched over the gravel underfoot; he wasn’t exactly running to catch up. Ahead, children climbed the metal jungle gym, squealed down plastic slides, swung between thick rings. Parents hovered around the pebbly lot, seated on benches, standing at the wood stacks encasing the park’s perimeter. More out of habit than anything, I drifted off the beaten path, watching them from the obscured safety of two towering maples.

Knox joined me a few moments later, after I had downed the rest of my cold latte.

“You watch them often, don’t you?”

I shrugged, no longer in the mood for his quid pro quo bullshit.

“Because you want young of your own,” Knox added. “You want a family.”

The playground suddenly blurred, and I blinked back my tears, the familiar hollow ache in my heart sharpening painfully. “I guess. I’ve never really thought about why I do it… I just do it. Reaping is the most fulfilling life I can imagine, but it can be… lonely.”

“Less lonely with a pack,” Knox mused, and when I looked up at him, I found a gentle smile on his lips as he too watched the children play. “Or, I imagine, anyway.”

“Yeah. It’s been really nice to have you all with me… even when you’re being an ass.”

The hellhound huffed a soft laugh, then finally risked a slurp of his pumpkin spice latte. His handsome face twisted through a grimace.

“Hazel… This drink is shit.”

In that moment, the hollowness in my chest lifted. A temporary respite, as usual, but welcome all the same.

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