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“You’re Holstrom, right?” That sneer didn’t fade. If this shithead said anything about Connor—

“I was in the Aux,” the Reaper said, tapping one of his tattoos. “Lion-shifter pack.”

Oh shit. Ithan had heard of this guy. A low-level lion who’d shown up with his pack a few months ago on a routine Aux inspection of a vampyr nest in the Meat Market. The wounds on his neck corresponded with what the vamps had done to the guy. But to have chosen to become a Reaper, in the same House as the ones who’d killed him …

From the gleam in the Reaper’s eyes, Ithan couldn’t help but wonder if he had turned Reaper not to elude true death, but to one day exact vengeance.

Hypaxia approached the Reaper and said, “May I touch your head?”

The Reaper kept his eyes on the former queen. “Touch me all you want, sweetheart.”

For fuck’s sake. Ithan suppressed a growl, but Hypaxia remained unruffled as she placed her brown hands on his shining golden hair.

Ithan refrained from reaching for the knife in his boot as the Reaper inhaled deeply. Getting a whiff of her scent? Or preparing to eat her spirit? “Your soul smells like rain clouds and mountain berries.” The creep licked his lips. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

How Hypaxia kept her hands on his head, Ithan had no idea. He was half inclined to rip the shithead’s arms out of their sockets and use them to beat the guy senseless.

The Reaper inhaled again. “A little bit of witch, a little bit of necromancer, huh?”

“She needs to concentrate,” Ithan said through his teeth.

The Reaper slid those acid-green eyes over to him. He asked Hypaxia, “Am I distracting you, honey?”

She didn’t answer. The expression on her face was distant as she focused on what lay within the Reaper’s mind.

The Reaper inhaled deeply again, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Gods, your scent’s like fucking wine—”

“We’re done, thank you,” Hypaxia said politely, stepping back and making notes on the papers stacked on her desk. “Please give my regards to your master.”

The Reaper stared at her for a long moment, practically feral. Ithan barely breathed, ready to pounce, even though this lowlife was unkillable—

“I’ll see you around,” the Reaper said, more of a promise than a parting, and hopped off the table. He strutted again for the doors, this time with a bit of that Reaper’s floating gait, as if trying to show off for the witch.

Only when he left did Ithan let out a long breath. “What a fucking creep.”

Hypaxia leaned against the examination table. “Your guess was right, though. He didn’t have the parasite.” She crossed her arms. “I didn’t sense anything like one, anyway. I didn’t sense anything living inside him at all.”

“So what now?”

“I compare what I detected in him to what I discovered in your blood. See what stands out. See if I can isolate where in you the parasite lies.”

Good. At least he’d contributed that much.

“How could you stand it?” Ithan asked, unable to contain his curiosity. “Being that close to him?”

“I’ve had to endure plenty of uncomfortable situations and difficult people in my life,” Hypaxia said, pushing off the table and walking to the computer. She clicked the monitor on. “A lonely, scared Reaper, new to the afterlife, doesn’t bother me.”

“Lonely? Scared?” Ithan choked on a laugh.

But Hypaxia glanced over a shoulder, her face unreadable. “You couldn’t see it? What lay beneath the bravado? His clothes and attitude show how desperately he’s trying to cling to his mortal life. He’s frightened out of his mind.”

“You pity him.”

“Yes.” She turned back to her computer. “I pity him, and all Reapers.”

Sigrid included, no doubt. Guilt tightened his chest, but Ithan said, “Most half-lifes seem to enjoy terrorizing the rest of us.”

“They might, but their existence is what their name implies: It is half a life. Not true living. It seems sad to me.”