Page 65 of Reaper's Pack

And the longer I sat on these stairs, ass asleep and mind muddled, the more I’d considered that back there… I had been thinking of her too. Sure, I had a good two centuries of unbridled rage simmering in my heart, but the brutal murder of one’s mate had been especially offensive. Hazel… Well, the others had given in to the connection between her and us. There was a very real chance that fate had set her in our path as our mate, despite the cruel circumstances of our meeting.

So, maybe, if I allowed myself such thoughts, I had reacted so violently because somewhere deep down, I imagined Hazel’s lifeless corpse in Amy’s place.

Maybe.

And that was a huge failing on my part, a weakness that I couldn’t let rule me ever again.

The three of us straightened in unison at the sound of familiar shoes clicking up the front steps, across the porch. The copper knobs rattled faintly. One turned. Seconds felt like hours waiting for the door to swing open, and when it did, a weary Hazel appeared in its opening, her hair oddly flat, her lovely features taut. She used her scythe as a walking stick, easing inside and gently closing the door, her eyes on the floor.

Subdued tension flowed through the pack bond, all of us still and silent, but Declan was the first to react to the reaper’s presence. He strode forth to meet her, oddly self-assured as he took her firmly by both arms. The slight jostling seemed to startle her, like she had just realized she was back with us.

It was good to see Declan confident after all this time. My pride in him warmed our collective bond, and Gunnar’s thin lips twitched up slightly at the feeling, watching the pair just as intently as I did.

“Are you okay?” Declan murmured, stroking her upper arms with his thumbs, the closeness between them easy, natural, nothing about it forced. Hazel offered a weak smile and a slight nod in response, and his hands dropped to his sides, allowing her to pass unhindered. Gunnar then crossed the yawning space in a hurry, only to stop just short of her, his expression serious, that huge brain of his undoubtedly a blur—if the conflict ripping apart our bond suggested anything, at least.

Hazel paused beside my beta, then gave his right hand a squeeze. Since she had let them between her thighs, the reaper had gone to great efforts not to touch either when we were all together. She hadn’t actively avoided them, but she’d maintained a respectful distance, her confusion and discomfort at being shared between hellhounds obvious. Yet now, the intimacy between the two came easily, nothing more than a simple caress settling Gunnar and Declan as I never could.

The evidence of that shone in our pack bond. As soon as they connected, the anxiety eased. It didn’t vanish completely, but we all seemed to find comfort in her company. My fingers twitched in her general direction, as if they too sought to caress her, but I stayed put, watching it all unfold from the stairs in silence.

“We have a strike against us.” She sounded exhausted. Concern bolted through the pack bond, though Hazel seemed not to notice. She tapped her scythe’s staff against the tile once, twice, her frowning deepening. “I… I have a strike… for allowing one of my pack to attack a human.”

“He’s fine,” I growled back, gruff and tired myself, in need of a cold shower and some time in front of a roaring fire to really think. That Christopher fuck should be the last thing on our minds; he didn’t deserve to occupy a single second of consideration in this house. “You healed him and erased his memory… What more could matter beyond—”

“Don’t you speak to me.” The reaper finally looked my way, her face pale, her eyes rimmed in dark circles and glittering with unshed tears beneath the foyer’s ancient yellowing chandelier. Scowling, I finally stood, towering over all of them as my fist went rigid around the wood bannister.

“Hazel—”

“How dare you force my hand?” Her voice cracked through the accusation, and she stormed across the room and up the stairs, not stopping until she had the added height to her advantage three steps up. Eyes I had come to know so well as of late sparked with gold, with fire, the weight of their glare like a lead anchor threatening to drag me under—drown me. Hazel’s lips trembled, the pack painfully silent below as we faced off.

“How dare you make me raise my scythe to you?” she demanded, lifting her godly weapon as if I’d forgotten its sting against my throat. “I could have killed you! I wouldn’t have had a choice!”

In her eyes, I found turmoil. Rage. Anguish. Fear.

“He deserved to be punished,” I said roughly.

“He will be punished,” Hazel fired back, white-knuckling her scythe, her other hand in a dainty yet powerful fist. “But not by us. That’s not our duty. He wasn’t our charge or our responsibility… She was.”

“And she deserved to see him brutalized.” If it was the last thing that woman’s soul witnessed on Earth, she ought to see him suffer. Her arm sprinkled with cigarette burns flashed across my mind’s eye, the handprints on her corpse’s throat, and a growl rumbled in my chest as I squared my shoulders, ready to fight for this. Amy should have watched me rip that fucker apart at the seams—

A tear cut down Hazel’s cheek. She made no move to brush it away, and my heart twisted harshly at the sight.

“Don’t you ever put me in that position again, Knox,” she hissed. And that was that. Hazel marched up the stairs, her scent coarse and violent like a raging sea, and then disappeared to her wing of the house. Moments later, as I made a vow to never make her choose between me and duty again, her bedroom door slammed shut, its echo carrying throughout the building.

Once again, Declan reacted first. He jogged up the opposite stairwell and paused on the landing. Darkness filled the windows behind him, a starless night observing our drama. Briefly, it seemed like he meant to follow her, but indecision thrummed through our pack bond, and he went left instead, up to our wing, our doorless bedrooms, his shoulders slumped and his emotions messy. They played across our bond openly, his love for me colliding with his desire to comfort her.

Although my knees didn’t give out, I found myself sinking back to the stairs all the same, squatting there with my elbows on my knees, my head hanging low. After a lengthy sigh, Gunnar wandered over, his footfalls softer than usual, tepid and cautious. He sat at my side, our bodies touching as they often did in our hound forms, the pack accustomed to sleeping together, keeping each other warm in the pits of Hell.

Tonight, his presence offered a silent support. We sat like that for some time, feeding off each other, coming down from the high of the night as one and settling the chaos along the pack bond. Our calm would eventually work its way to Declan.

“Knox?”

I grunted. Even with my eyes closed, I felt Gunnar’s gaze burning into the side of my face.

“I would have killed him,” he admitted softly. With a weary grin, I raised my head just enough to meet his eyes and then patted his knee.

“I know, Gunnar. I know.” Had the others been in my place tonight, they would have struggled to control their primal impulses too. Mates were sacred. Precious. Honored. Fated and rare.

Our mate…

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