by Rhea Watson
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?”
It was, of course, but if we played our hand properly, we could all part ways unscathed. That was the difference here, and that technicality mattered.
“You don’t know.” I leaned forward. “But you have all the power—don’t forget that. We outnumber you, yes, but we can never seriously hurt you.” A nod to her scythe had her clutching at it again. “And that can kill us in an instant. I assure you, we are painfully aware of that.”
So, really, what other option had we? The honey approach was our best bet—the one chance to claim what I had always wanted for my pack. We just needed to get on with it before Hazel’s lure over Gunnar and Declan—and me—fucked everything straight to hell.
Hazel finally slumped into her chair, prim posture forgotten, nibbling on her lower lip for a moment and drumming her fingers on her scythe’s staff.
“If we don’t pass the trials at the end of October, you all have to go back to Fenix,” she said sullenly. “I’ll have to get a new pack and start over again… Or they’ll reassign me to a smaller city. Either way, it’s not what any of us want. I know… I know you don’t want to go back, and you should know that I take this, this promotion very seriously.”
Fear and fury collided along the pack bond from all three of us at the mention of a return to Fenix. It was another obstacle of the distant future: if Hazel did let us go of her own volition, putting our freedom over her ambition, would we be hunted down? Dragged back to Hell? Whipped and beaten—even killed?
Knowing and understanding the landscape of the mortal realm, every facet of it, was paramount.
“Yes, well, then we had better finally do something,” I growled, unable to shake my rage at the thought of Fenix getting his hands on Declan and Gunnar again—taking them away from me, throwing them into packs who could kill them because of what they were: different, special, unique. With a deep breath, I finally caught Hazel’s eye, holding it with an intensity that made her shiver. “Join the pack, Hazel, or send us back. In the end, the choice is yours.”
I filled my plate in the silence that followed, using the giant serving spoon for the mash and the garlicky green beans. The others followed suit, taking only after I’d had my fill. A carving knife sat next to the whole pheasant, the bird roasted and basted, glistening with salty, crackly flesh. I ripped into it with my hands, taking the largest portion for myself before depositing cuts of cooked, steaming meat onto Gunnar’s plate, then Declan’s. The youngest among us saw to the bread, snagging three buns and doling them out, his head bowed and his gaze apologetic when it briefly met mine.
He knew he’d fucked up.
And I knew he would do it again for her.
The way they looked at each other across the table—it was inevitable. An unwelcome flash of jealousy prickled in my core, not because of how they looked at each other, but, perhaps, for the fact that they already had a bond. A silent conversation flowed between them, effortless, obvious.
Deep down, I’d always craved a mate, someone bonded to me, to my pack, and vice versa. I would die for Declan and Gunnar, but I would suffer an eternity of unspeakable agony for my mate.
Only I’d accepted long ago that in my position, an alpha without a pack, then an alpha of a pack of misfits, that a mate was simply out of the question. That bond would forever be implausible for a hound like me.
To see it playing out in front of me now—connection…
Rolling my shoulders back, I ripped into my pheasant with a snarl, and the others hastily did the same, sensing my frustration within our bond.
“Okay.”
We all stilled. Such a little word, said in such a little voice, somehow flooded through the room like a tidal wave. I lowered my greasy hands to the table and swallowed my mouthful of pheasant. Delicious, delicious pheasant.
“Okay?” I repeated gruffly. Shock plucked at our pack bond, shock mingled with relief and fear and exhilaration.
“We can… try it,” Hazel said slowly, like she was working out every word as it came to the surface. “We’ll do our regular training still, and I’ll take you each out separately. But any issues and it’s done. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” Gunnar crooned, a familiar smirk teasing his lips. Hazel merely stared back at his wolfish expression, not blushing, not stammering as she usually did, and my beta’s deflation reverberated through the bond.
Without another word, Hazel nodded and stood, then swept out of the room in a hurry. Declan downed his entire glass of wine in a single gulp. Gunnar poked at his green beans with a scowl.
And I savored our victory.
A victory that didn’t feel nearly as powerful as I’d anticipated.
In fact, just like when I had learned all the new information about our reaper, about her tearful excursions into the human world, this felt… hollow.
A pyrrhic victory.
We resumed our meal in silence, the unease of her departure entrenched deep in our bond, hovering over us throughout supper and long into the night. The only way I could get a wink of sleep was to remind myself that this was a necessary evil—that in freedom, there was suffering.
And if there was one thing this pack understood better than most, it was how to endure suffering.
How to fight through the pain.
No matter the cause.
12
Hazel
“I really am sorry about all this…”
I stopped my swift march through the cedars with a sigh, closing my eyes for a moment. Declan and I hadn’t said a word since we’d left the house, bathed in late-afternoon sunshine, the sky clear—perfect weather for what I had in mind for our first solo outing. But the day hadn’t matched my mood, and a week after my pack told me they had sent Gunnar to spy on me, breached my ward, I still hadn’t fully recovered.
And then there was Declan, his voice so apologetic, so sweet, like the first misting of spring rain after a bleak winter. For seven long days, I had been distant from my hellhounds, barely speaking to them, mulling over the best plan of attack for these day trips that they wanted into Lunadell. We had kept our conversations centered around training, and I’d become the house ghost, lurking in shadows, unable to bring myself into the fold.
Honestly, it had been a fucking miserable week. In just a month, I had come to appreciate their chatter, even if it was meant to rile me up. Most of all, I enjoyed having companions again—beings who were just there, so I wasn’t alone.
We had almost lost that. Following me to Lunadell, spying on my most shameful ritual, was grounds for punishment. I could have sent them back to Fenix for much less; Knox and Gunnar took insubordination to a whole n
ew level most of the time, even if they did everything I asked of them when we were training.
The potential loss struck a nerve, and it had taken me far longer than it should have to recover.
Declan’s footsteps had fallen silent behind me. My sweet, helpful Declan. He had been instrumental in me agreeing to any of this; it only made sense that he was the first to go out, the one to set the tone for all future trips.
He didn’t deserve the silent treatment.
Scythe in hand, I turned slowly and found him a good ten feet behind. Clearly he had been keeping his distance on purpose. Normally we walked everywhere together, our steps falling into an easy rhythm.
I hated to find him so far away, his expression tensed—like he was waiting for me to shout at him, maybe even strike him. Knox had had a point: the pack had never known anyone better.
And, damn it, I would be better.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I told him, gaze snagging on his hair, on the way the wind gently ruffled it. When he had first arrived, Declan sported a cropped haircut, neat and nondescript—militant, almost. Since then, it had grown out, the beginnings of a head of thick, obsidian curls on the horizon. It suited him better, the soft waves of black, so dark they were almost blue in the right light—so feathery that it deserved a good finger-combing just to reinstate some order. I gripped my scythe tighter, fingers itching to do the job.
The hellhound scratched at the back of his neck, and when he stepped forward into a beam of bright afternoon sunshine, I noticed a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose. All this time outside in the sun had been good for him—good for all of them. Even Gunnar sported a healthy glow these days, his porcelain skin a shade darker.
Very fair would be the appropriate makeup for him. Declan, meanwhile, had become the most exquisite golden brown—healthy, his cheeks fuller, his shoulders broader, his body somehow even more muscular than the first time I’d seen him naked and steaming from the shift.
“But I do have to apologize,” he insisted, not stopping until we were a foot apart. “I feel like I guilted you into this, and it wasn’t fair of me—”
“Declan, stop.” I wrapped a hand around his wrist, my little squeeze forcing those big brown eyes to meet mine. Electricity skittered up my arm at the contact, and warmth bloomed in my cheeks when his breath stuttered. Focus, Hazel. “I can see the merit in this, in going out together, walking amongst the humans. It’s a good idea… I just wish Gunnar and Knox had gone about it differently, that’s all.”
“But it hurt you.”
I swallowed thickly. “It did.”
“And that’s why I’m sorry.”
How could a man look so earnest without it being an act? I’d never seen it before, not when I was alive and not in the souls I reaped now. But something shimmered in Declan’s eyes that I couldn’t ignore. Maybe it was because they were so big—and maybe because it was real.
My heart lurched at the thought of hugging him, of following my gut and draping my arms around his neck again, breathing in his spicy, masculine musk.
“Okay, well…” I stayed exactly there, keeping the space between us, my hand clasped around his wrist. “Sure, I accept your apology.”
He nodded, his mouth twitching into a familiar smile—something warm and cozy, a smile that made the little butterflies in my tummy flutter to life. Birds twittered all around us, the forest alive in the throes of early autumn. They sensed us on the celestial plane, our presence unseen but palpable. Alone in our own little bubble, Declan and I simply stood there for a few painfully long beats of my heart, him a full head taller than me in my flats despite being the shortest in the pack. I was the first to look away, my eyes dropping to where we touched, heat flaring in my palm. Declan shifted in place, bringing that gorgeous body of his a breath closer, and I finally detached.
“I think you’re going to like the spot I chose for today,” I babbled, stumbling back a few paces and shouldering my scythe. My free hand still burned from the physical contact, aching to settle back against his skin, and I flexed it in and out of a fist with a nod toward the nearby ward. “Come on.”
He kept his distance again as he followed me through the trees, though it wasn’t quite as gaping as it had been a few minutes earlier. Good. While the events of last week had thrown me, I hadn’t wanted our first trip riddled with tension—not with Declan. After all, I had chosen today’s spot specifically for him.
For all of them.
I mean, no way would I let the pack decide where we went in Lunadell; I just couldn’t allow them that kind of power. However, in my stretch of solo—depressing—downtime this past week, I’d given all three initial outings a great deal of thought, tailoring the location and the activity for each hound.
Gunnar had actually been the easiest.
And unsurprisingly, I still had no clue what to do with Knox.
But Declan’s destination brought a smile to my face, and as I crossed through the tear in the ward, I hoped it would bring one to Declan’s too.
Once the hellhound joined me on the other side of the magical barrier, I sealed it immediately. Before I’d learned Gunnar had followed me, had perfectly mapped my routine from morning to night, I made the trek to Lunadell daily. Since then, I’d stayed in the house, unable to go out there when the pack knew precisely what I was doing.
It was just too humiliating.
A grim reaper—sobbing in front of a kindergarten class, in a mall food court.
Pathetic. Alexander and the others would never let me live it down if they found out.
But never mind.
There would be no tears today if I could help it.
When I touched him this time, I went for somewhere safe: his shoulder, my hold featherlight and fleeting. The forest faded around us as I envisioned our destination, and in a flash of black, we were there. Declan staggered away before I could, a hand to his forehead, his cheeks flushed. Apparently, he still needed some time to adapt to teleportation—not that I could blame him. It had taken me a few weeks to find my footing at first, hopping between places, standing in one spot and materializing in another.
While we had left behind one forest, we faced another now, standing in a gravel parking lot at the cusp of a national park. Every spot in the lot had a car in it, typical for a Sunday afternoon, the trails and beaches full of families and nature enthusiasts trying to make the most of the mild weather before the rainy season. An outing into the city wouldn’t have suited Declan; while the nature reserve was technically still within Lunadell’s jurisdiction, it was vast. A full parking lot hardly meant anything with acres and acres of park at our disposal. Forest. Mountains. Sandy beaches dotted along the Pacific. It would be far less overwhelming than the downtown hospital where Declan had first reaped, and that was the point. His confidence had grown in the last month, but I didn’t want to push him way out of his comfort zone.
A wall of pines, birches, and aspens greeted us, swaying in the coastal breeze, while wooden poles staggered along the rocky edge of the parking lot, connected by chains and broken only at the mouths of various forest paths. Behind me, Declan took it all in cautiously, eyes darting about, shoulders slumped—unsure.
“I thought we could spend the afternoon at the beach,” I told him. “Humans come here to swim and relax, tan a little, kayak. It’s really mellow… Something easy to start us off.”
“The smell is overwhelming,” Declan noted, nudging at the gravel underfoot with the toe of his Chucks. The pack seldom wore any of the shoes I’d acquired for them, but Declan had made an effort to put on every stitch of clothing possible for our outing today.
“Is it the forest?”
“Everything.” He motioned to the nearby cars with a jut of his chin, then out to the mountains soaring up from a hazy horizon. “I smell the salt, the rust, the bark.”
“It’ll be stronger when we get off the celestial plane, so, you know, prepare yourself.” I flashed a reassuring smile before dri
fting toward the nearest trail. The sign just out of the parking lot showed the paths we ought to take to the beach, a sandy playground that stretched for miles up and down the coast, cut into quarters by hills that jutted out into the ocean. For now, I decided on one of the smaller beaches, a spot that was bound to have a few clumps of humans, but, again, nothing to set Declan off.
The hellhound followed behind me at a distance, even along the dirt path through the trees. This time, however, it didn’t strike me as purposeful; Declan stopped here and there, admiring certain sprigs of green drooping out of the forest, noting the slight changes in the autumn leaves, and pointing out shadows of woodland critters scurrying as far away from us as possible. I indulged him because it felt good to do so, and what should have been a twenty-minute stroll to the beach doubled before we knew it, and forty long minutes later, we paused at the end of the trail, the landscape an open canvas ahead.
A landscape that seemed to take Declan’s breath away. He stood at my side, silent, lips parted, features slack as he took it all in.
“Have you ever seen the ocean before?” I asked, nudging at the rocky beach with the base of my scythe. About fifteen feet from the forest, the rocks gave way to soft, powdery sand, sand that eventually met the tide. Blue water rushed up the slope, tipped with white foam, the Pacific relatively calm today. Although it had been nothing but clear skies since this morning, black clouds gathered over the ocean way in the distance, a storm rolling in and finally giving the day’s humidity some purpose.
“I’ve seen the Nile once,” Declan told me after a brief pause, his gaze jumping between the humans scattered across the beach. They sat on blankets and folding chairs, couples and families and singletons. A pair on kayaks perched just beyond the shallows, their neon boats rising and falling with the waves. This was nothing new to me—watching humans just be. When I glanced up at Declan, surprised that he had seen such a famous river in person, he shrugged. “Back with my first reaper… You could see it from the house he stole for us.”