Page 66 of Reaper's Pack

Well, I was finally starting to think—acknowledge, admit, accept—that ours just might be celestial.

And if anyone did to her what that fucker did to Amy…

No one would be able to stop us.

20

Hazel

At precisely ten after ten the following morning, someone knocked at our front door.

Hands buried in a sink full of dishes, I paused and looked over my shoulder with a frown. Beside me, plate and towel in hand, Declan also stilled. Because… who the hell had gotten through the ward? Had Gunnar locked himself outside?

I mean, we never locked the doors, but…

Another knock, sharper this time, three curt raps of someone’s knuckles.

Declan lowered the half-dry plate to the counter with a breathy growl. We hadn’t said much this morning, but he hadn’t left my side since I’d started on breakfast two hours ago. Even without an in-depth conversation about last night, about how shaken I still was from the whole thing, his presence soothed me, and we had been working alongside one another in a companionable silence since the pack had finished eating, clearing the kitchen island, putting leftovers in the fridge, washing the dishes by hand.

In times like these, I preferred the monotony, the normalcy of cleaning one’s dishes, getting your hands wet and sudsy rather than snapping your fingers and finding the space around you sparkling clean. Last night, with Knox, it had all happened so fast—

The third knock sounded the most impatient of them all. I accepted the offered dish towel from Declan, still staring in the general direction of the front door, and wiped my hands dry, then tossed it on the counter and strode out of the kitchen. Behind me, there was a very soft, very faint whoosh of the shift, and before I’d even reached the foyer, I found a trail of discarded clothes and a shaggy hellhound at my heels. Declan trotted after me, hackles up, and nosed at my hand in a way that was reassuring—not like he was seeking comfort, but rather reminding me that he was here. My heart skipped a beat at the thought. My Declan. Always there for me when I needed him, even if we didn’t say a word.

Gunnar and Knox were already on the landing by the time I marched into the entrance foyer, beams of sunlight slanting in through the enormous windows and filling the cavernous space. It wouldn’t last. From the look of the grey sheet the sun fought so valiantly through, we’d soon be neck-deep in another autumn storm.

Raising a hand, I wordlessly summoned my scythe. It whizzed through the house, straight to my palm like good ol’ Thor beckoning his faithful Mjolnir, and I gripped it tight as I grabbed the doorknob and twisted it open.

Alexander’s handsome face greeted me from the other side. I blinked, stunned at his presence, that soaring model-esque figure filling the doorway. We hadn’t seen each other since my first month with the pack, back when I relied on his guidance in the early days of their training. Had our higher-ups ordered him here this morning? Had they alerted him to last night’s fuckup?

It had happened so fast. Knox’s ominous presence hovered behind me; I hadn’t been able to look him in the eye yet, so furious that he had lost control, so hurt that he’d broken our fragile trust again, so disappointed in myself for not noticing the signs in his body language—not realizing at the house that he had been about to—

“Morning, Hazel.”

“Alexander, hey.” I stepped aside to let him in. Declan inched backward, but he remained so close I could practically feel his slow, steady breath on my neck. “Is everything okay?”

Are you here to take them from me?

Nobody upstairs had been thrilled with the incident, but it wasn’t the first of its kind, nor would it be the last. To some, hellhounds were wild animals. It was therefore expected that they might lash out, especially the alphas.

I had just gone with it, accepted their reasoning with a strained smile, even as my heart splintered apart, and then returned home with a word of warning rattling around my brain.

If he does it again, put your scythe to good use, Hazel. That behavior is unacceptable.

Even in the melodious voices of angels, it was a statement I never, ever wanted to hear again.

Or act upon.

Because…

Well, Knox… He… He and I—

“There’s been a building collapse in Lunadell,” Alexander remarked, sweeping into the foyer like he owned it, wavy golden locks swooped back like a crooner straight out of the fifties. Dressed in a fitted black suit, his bright blue gaze flashed over my pack with mild interest; he had never approved of my choice. His scythe had a ribbed edge on the blade, the kind that tore innards apart after it sliced through flesh. That blackthorn staff was taller than me and stiff as a board, whereas my yew followed the natural, subtle curve of tree bark.

“Gas line explosion. About seventy-five dead.” Alexander trailed off, eyes suddenly unfocused and very far away. “No. Seventy-six, now.” Blinking rapidly, he cleared his throat and smoothed a hand over his hair. “We need all hands on deck, I’m afraid.”

Before I could get a word in edgewise, Alexander snatched my hand, and the second we touched, he transferred to me all that Death had given to him. Faces, names, life stories, and cause of death—mostly fatal crush injuries, but a few heart attacks and suffocations peppered the array. Seventy-six new souls destined for Purgatory. Some would go up, others down, and they needed us. Now.

“Yes, yes, of course,” I said absently when our hands parted, shaking mine out as a headache tingled behind my eyes. It was more information than I’d ever received in a single go before; I could hardly imagine how it felt to reap wars. “My pack has done field tests already… We’re happy to help.”

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