by Rhea Watson
And I’d given it to them, every bitter detail. The excitement had vanished, and here we waited with bated breath—for my fate, for Hazel’s true reaction to what I’d done to that fucker.
Gunnar had snarled and buried his fist in the wall at the notion of harming one’s mate, even a hair upon her head.
Declan had raged silently, raw fury pulsing through our bond.
I’d known then that they had been thinking of her—of one of us, or some other bastard, truly hurting her.
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…
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 ove
r 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.”
Seventy-six was far too many even for Alexander’s pack of eight to contain, and after a building collapse, the influx of souls, it would be utter madness on the celestial plane. He couldn’t do it without us.
Apprehension prickled in my belly when I spotted Gunnar and Knox making their way down the stairs, both stone-faced and solemn.
“Knox stays,” I announced—not because I wanted to, but because after last night, I felt it had to be said. Gunnar and Declan could work just fine without him for now. The alpha stopped halfway down the stairs, every inch of him hardening, and our eyes met for the first time all morning. My eyebrow twitched up, daring him to try me after what he had put me through last night, after the sheer panic I’d suffered at the thought of using my scythe to subdue him.
Sure, Christopher had deserved to die—painfully, brutally—for what he’d done to his wife. But that wasn’t our place. Lucifer doled out penance for sinners; we were just bounty hunters, really. Glorified handlers. To kill that bastard would have been stepping way out of bounds, far above Knox’s pay grade.
Someone else would have killed him if he’d ripped that human apart.
So, he had forced me to—
“No, we need everyone,” Alexander insisted as he checked his wristwatch. I rubbed between my eyebrows, willing myself to stay in the moment, to stop getting lost in Knox. The reaper to my left then shouldered his scythe and flashed a smarmy smile. “Don’t worry, Hazel. My alpha can keep them in line.”
My three hellhounds bristled at the comment, Gunnar’s eyes narrowing, fur rising off Declan’s back; Knox clenched the bannister so harshly that the wood splintered. Right. Like hell that was going to happen. No one would “keep them in line” but me.
And Knox.
If he could fucking behave himself.
“No time to waste,” Alexander muttered, shooting me a knowing look before peeling back toward the door. “Let’s move out.”
I understood his urgency, but this was my pack’s first real experience. With this death toll, I couldn’t hold their hands—paws—nor could I be on top of them at all times.
Trust. Did we have it yet?
Declan, I trusted implicitly.
Gunnar—to some extent.
Knox…
Knox was forever my wild card, and as he and his beta descended the stairs and stalked across the foyer to join Declan and me, I hoped, prayed, that he could keep it together today.
That he could redeem himself and last night’s incident might just become a distant, awful memory.
“This is a big deal,” I said as Gunnar and Knox stripped down. Gunnar’s nudity had my cheeks flaming, and I looked at Knox’s forehead, like I always did, to not get lost in the peaks and valleys of his muscular f
rame. Frustrating as it was, embarrassing as it was, their quick shift from gorgeous naked men to enormous black hounds made it easier to give succinct instructions. “With me, you three. Am I clear? Do not leave my side.”
Beyond all the tension between us, all that had happened, this my first outing with the entire pack—past the ward, into the real world. If they had been waiting for a chance to bolt, this was it.
Declan licked at my hand in acknowledgement. Gunnar trotted out the front door with a determined, focused air about him. Knox held his ground for a beat, and when I looked into those red eyes, I found a glimmer of understanding. Acceptance.
But maybe I was just reading into it, seeing what I wanted—needed—to see.
Maybe my personal feelings clouded everything, and in the end, when they scattered immediately after we touched down in Lunadell proper, everyone would see I wasn’t cut out for a pack.
And I’d be alone.
Again.
My throat tightened at the thought, and I hurried out, Declan and Knox at my sides, Gunnar leading the way across the soggy grass to the forest.
Whatever was about to happen would happen.
There was nothing I could do to stop it. So, with a deep breath, I centered myself, studied the new faces of dead humans crystalizing in my mind’s eye, and threw caution to the wind.
This would inevitably go down as the worst accident in Lunadell—possibly even the whole province—to date. Chaos assaulted us the second we materialized on the cusp of the cordoned-off downtown strip, located at the edge of the financial district, straddling the line between that and a lower-income section of the city. Half a skyscraper remained, like someone had taken a block of cheese and cut jaggedly down its middle. While not the tallest building in the city, the explosion took a substantial hit to it and the buildings nearby. Shattered windows. Debris everywhere.