Reaper's Pack (All the Queen's Men Book 1)

by Rhea Watson

  “It’s not relevant!” Hazel snapped. “You guys aren’t here to watch porn.”

  “You see, I beg to differ,” I said, lazily scrolling through an article listing the top ten free pornography websites at my disposal. “Sexuality is a prominent part of the psyche for all creatures.”

  “Except for angels,” Knox added with a scoff. “Celibate bastards.”

  “Tell me, Hazel…” She flushed bright pink again when I said her name, for besides Declan, we said it so rarely. I rather enjoyed saying her name because it flustered her—and not because I savored the taste of sweet alyssum on my tongue as I enunciated every syllable. With her full attention on me, I locked and tossed my tablet aside, lifting a curious, suggestive eyebrow. “Does Death fuck?”

  Her gorgeous mouth opened and closed a few times. Did she ever consider the fact that her horseman employer might have a sexual appetite? Could he even touch a lover without killing them? Certainly worth a bit of research, if only to satisfy the morbid curiosity now blustering about inside me.

  “You guys are ridiculous,” the reaper said at long last, her words slow and deliberate, like she was trying very hard to stay civil. “Just study like you’re supposed to.” She held up a hand, eyes flashing dangerously when my lips parted, about to purr something lecherous at her. “And not porn. Study behavior. If a soul dies during sex, it’s not like they’ll still be having sex when we reap them, okay?”

  My silent smirk and Knox’s cool chuckle were the nails in her coffin. Jaw clenched, the lines of her heart-shaped face sharp and annoyed, Hazel turned on the spot and stormed out, announcing that she would be back for lunch. I pushed my sleeve back to check the wristwatch I’d found on my bedroom’s nightstand this morning. Lunch was always at noon, on the dot. Three hours to go. As always, she’d leave us to our own devices until then.

  Where did she go in the mornings? Did she attend to work—or pleasure?

  One of these days I’d root out all the gory details.

  One of these days, I’d find a way around her wards.

  Until then, I tracked her and her routine, from which she seldom varied. Gone in the morning, but not before feeding us breakfast, back for lunch. Training in the afternoon. Dinner. The nights in this old manor were quiet; I’d found her sitting in her quarters a few nights ago, staring at the wall, scythe across her lap, expression somehow both vacant and aching.

  Like one of these electronics on sleep mode.

  I hadn’t shared that particular incident with the others just yet, not until I knew what to make of it.

  But I much preferred her like this, animated and vibrant. At least her fire didn’t make me feel… off.

  “That was uncalled for,” Declan remarked tersely after the little click-click-click of her shoes disappeared downstairs. “Clearly sex makes her uncomfortable… You didn’t need to push her.”

  I snorted and unmuted the television. “Puppy love.”

  “Being a decent hellhound is not puppy love,” Declan snapped, his frustration simmering through our bond. We both glanced back when Knox chuckled again, not coolly or dryly this time, but affectionately, a sound reserved for Declan and Declan alone. After all, Knox and I respected each other, loved each other, but we were brothers. Near equals. Confidants. Declan had a way to go before he reached that level in the pack dynamic.

  The pup still needed to prove himself.

  “Puppy love indeed,” our alpha mused, and Declan threw his hands in the air with a low growl. My packmate crawled across the couch and snatched the remote from my hand, then cranked up the volume, the humans all friends again on the show and taking shots together. He then settled back in his seat with a huff, arms crossed, stewing.

  I rolled my eyes and picked up the tablet, returning to the article on top porn sites, then tapped the first link.

  Might as well see what all the fuss was about, right?

  8

  Hazel

  “What are you doing?”

  Three weeks in, I knew my pack in all their forms, on two legs and four.

  Declan—a shaggy silhouette with a pointed nose and tail. On two legs: a compact Adonis with full lips and cropped hair, muscular in definition but not bulk.

  Gunnar—angular and sleek muscle and short fur. Leanest of the bunch, wiry and long-limbed like a dancer.

  And Knox… In his human form, Knox was primordial, a god risen from the deep, hell-bent on drowning the world. He was dark and brooding, burly, tall as a mountain and twice as unyielding. As a hellhound, he took intimidating to a whole new level, his body just raw, untamed muscle, his head huge, his red eyes harsh enough to make even a reaper quake.

  He radiated alpha energy, and it didn’t surprise me that he fought with every other alpha hellhound he had met in his life. They probably attacked because they felt threatened, their position in jeopardy against a superior being.

  But here, I had to be alpha, only I refused to scar him like the others had, refused to add more harsh lines to his wild beauty.

  My grip tightened around my scythe as we squared off now at the edge of the property, without an audience for the first time, the ward shimmering beside us. I had no interest in scarring him, sure, but to find him here, sniffing along the ward, around the spot I usually came and went from, was damning—and I couldn’t just let it slide. Usually the pack stayed in the house when I went out, so to find him nosing at the far reaches of his territory, deep in the cedar forest on the celestial plane, concerned me.

  I’d been trying so hard to make this a home for them, to make them comfortable with me, to keep them on track so that when the trials arrived in a little over two months, we would all be ready.

  With the ward sealed firmly behind me, the sun at its noonday peak, I planted my scythe in the ground and crossed my arms, waiting for an answer. Not that Knox or Gunnar gave me real answers yet, preferring to poke and prod, to wheedle me until I reacted, but he couldn’t hide behind Declan’s sweet disposition here. I’d asked a direct question, and we weren’t leaving until he answered.

  Slowly, the hellhound raised his snout from the base of the ward, its faint rainbow shimmer a constant reminder that he and his boys were firmly trapped in here with me, whether they liked it or not. My eyes narrowed when I spotted it: a hole in the ground, like he had been, what, trying to dig his way under? I bit the insides of my cheeks; the ward extended through all the realms. Casting it before their arrival had taken more out of me than I cared to admit, but the safety of my pack and the surrounding human community had been paramount. No one was getting in or out, no matter how deep they dug, no matter what they threw at the near-invisible barrier.

  And it pissed me off that Knox didn’t seem to get that.

  We stared at each other for a painfully long time, his red gaze locked on mine, and I refused to blink first—not even when my eyeballs dried out. I’d blinked first with him too many times already. He didn’t take me seriously. Neither did Gunnar, but Gunnar didn’t call the shots with the pack—Knox did. And if the trio were to ever get completely onboard with me and the job they were made for, then Knox was my in.

  I knew it.

  He knew it.

  And all that knowing had us locked in an unspoken back-and-forth, the pair of us dancing around power, control, and alpha territory for weeks now.

  Stubborn bastard.

  That red glare seared into my brain, even as Knox shifted from beast to man in the blink of an eye. His hellhound form was already tall, nearly as tall as me, but he shot up another few feet on two legs, naked and sweaty, an ancient god of chaos and darkness and beauty. I forced my gaze up, pointedly avoiding the chiseled body that drove me to distraction after every shift. Even at a distance of four, maybe five feet, his heat touched me, licked across my skin and pooled in my cheeks. I needn’t look to see his muscles, slick with exertion and ridiculously taut, each one prominent, on display, like he had just finished an intense workout. His chest heaved briefly as he breathed through his nose,
enormous hands in loose fists, that great heart of his no doubt hammering its slow, steady drumbeat.

  Ugh. Stubborn, gorgeous bastard.

  “I’m patrolling my territory,” he rumbled, his voice a smoky, gravelly rasp that I felt in my low belly, both arousing and frightening. I lifted my chin, unwilling to let him see how every damn part of him affected me.

  “No,” I said, pleased that my voice didn’t shake. “No, you’re trying to find a way around the ward.” There was no point in pretending I didn’t see his attempt. I pointed to the gaping hole in the forest floor beside him. “Are you trying to dig under it?”

  He blinked back at me, his expression, his stance, giving nothing away as he said, “I smelled something suspect.”

  “Bullshit.”

  We fell back into one of our usual stare-offs, tension simmering between us, my whole body reacting to him in ways I wished it wouldn’t. Finally, I sighed and coiled a hand around my scythe.

  “Knox, we need to get on the same page here—”

  “My pack is not yours to purchase,” he growled, his gaze like steel as it swept over me. “Just because Heaven paid Fenix’s price in gold… means nothing to me.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t… own you.”

  “Bullshit,” he parroted back to me, mirroring my previous inflection with uncanny precision. “We’re your property, your pets.”

  “You know, some humans love their pets more than other people.” I bit the insides of my cheeks, wishing that hadn’t just tumbled out unchecked. Knox rolled his shoulders like he was gearing up for a fight, his expression suggesting I’d slapped him. Clearing my throat, I forced a strained smile. “Sorry, I just… You’re not my pets. I was just saying… Look, we’re supposed to be a team here—”

  “We’ll never be a team,” Knox snarled back at me. “We’ll never be more than that scythe, just a tool at your disposal, and no number of niceties will make us forget.”

  I gripped my scythe harder—for support, mostly, when I realized I was shaking. “Knox, I’m doing my best.”

  The hellhound glowered at me briefly, mouth twisted in a sneer that I felt in my bones.

  “I’ve no interest in your best, reaper.” He took a half step toward me, his size more pronounced, his heat suffocating. “All that matters to me is my pack and their security, their freedom. You… are inconsequential.”

  Oh. Wow. Inconsequential hit harder than I’d expected. For his stature, Knox seemed like the type to bellow whenever anger struck, all animal fury and blinding rage and bulging muscles. But he was calm as he said it—inconsequential. Calm and stiff, the word a perfectly aimed dagger. The quiet, decisive strike hurt a lot more than some shouting display, and my vision blurred temporarily with unshed tears. I sniffed and blinked them back, hardening every part of me so that a single word from this hellhound could never strike so deep again.

  “I’m not inconsequential.” Suddenly that was my least favorite word. I kept my voice even as best I could; this was about him and his issues, his baggage. “And neither are you, or Declan, or Gunnar. Maybe they made you feel that way, like you’re all just dogs that should be kicked, that should live in a filthy kennel on scraps of nothing until you’re needed, but that’s not how I see you.”

  He had trimmed his beard recently. I blinked, only just noticing the neat edges, the smooth, almost glossy sheen—like he had taken a comb to it. Strange, to fixate on such a little detail. That was inconsequential, not me, not him, not the others. All of this mattered, and the sooner he realized we were in this together for a greater purpose, the better.

  Knox risked a full step toward me, his dark gaze sliding from my scythe to my face, my hair—briefly down to my chest. Swallowing hard, I held my ground and stiffened when he stole another few feet away from us, so close now that his earthy, musky scent struck like he had slapped me with it. Conflict ripped across his features, unreadable and beyond frustrating to anyone who didn’t share that intrinsic pack bond with him.

  And then it all stopped. The tension humming between us, around us, fell away when he let out a sharp breath and relaxed.

  “I don’t care what you think, reaper,” he said, his words low and harsh. “I just don’t care.”

  And with that, he shifted back to a great black hound, eyes red, every inch of him dismissive, then padded away into the forest. Trembling, I lilted to the side, into the thick, smooth trunk of a red cedar. That… hurt. A lot. Pain sliced through me like it never had as a reaper, disappointment coursing through my veins, a cold, cruel fist twisting in my gut.

  This time, when the tears welled, I brushed them away with a scowl. I could have just let them fall—there was no one around to see.

  Except there was.

  Through a dense patch of foliage, I spotted an enormous black shadow and brilliant red eyes. No longer dismissive, they watched me, silent and unblinking. My head tipped against the bark, throat exposed, wordlessly asking for a damn truce already.

  Knox disappeared amongst the trees a few moments later, and my knees finally gave way. I sunk to the forest floor, staring at the hole he’d dug at the base of the ward, and then closed my eyes with a long, weary sigh.

  I couldn’t sit in the woods and wallow about inconsequential forever. The pack needed lunch. Sticking to a schedule was one tactic Alexander had recommended to get everyone used to what was expected of them, and so far, I had adhered to our house schedule as rigidly as I could.

  Except today.

  Today I was late as I dragged myself up the stairs to a manor whose physical flaws still glared at me whether I acknowledged them or not. Over the last three weeks, I’d prioritized food, comfort, and things over cracked windows and cobwebs and missing roof shingles. But if the guys were just going to ignore me, hate me, then maybe I could take a few days off and fix the damn thing already.

  No. That wouldn’t solve anything. Running from my problems had never been my way, and I wasn’t about to start now just because a certain alpha was being a difficult asshole.

  Scythe over my shoulder, I pushed open the unlocked main doors, a gust of humid August wind ripping through the foyer. Dust flew up with it, then slowly trickled back down when I kicked the doors shut behind me. My feet were ready to veer left toward the kitchen, but the uneven plunking of piano keys stopped me dead in my tracks.

  Someone had found that old, woefully out of tune grand piano in the glass-enclosed sunroom on the far side of the first floor. I’d played when I was human and had decided to keep the instrument that came with the house for the nostalgia. Only I hadn’t plucked up the nerve to lift the hood and play anything more than the odd note or two. Whoever sat at the bench now was experimenting with pitches and pedals.

  My gut told me to just go to the kitchen and make lunch.

  But my feet did a one-eighty, veering right instead of left, and carried me all the way to the sunroom. Back to me, Gunnar sat at the piano, tapping at various keys, the notes painfully familiar. A little smile graced my lips when he played the F-sharp chord, probably without even realizing what the combination of keys produced. To his credit, he had swept the dust off, those black and white teeth the cleanest things in the room.

  I could have backed away, allowed him this moment of sweet solitude within the warm room, sun beaming through the dirty windowpanes in all its golden glory. Instead, I slipped inside and listened for a few moments, watching him work it all out for himself, his expression serene but focused. The hellhound was so smart, maybe even too smart for someone like me, but it was what I most admired about him. Declan’s eagerness to learn paled in comparison to Gunnar’s natural ability to just do.

  Still, for all that innate talent, it would take him ages to master the piano.

  “I can teach you to play,” I offered, and his long, lean fingers clunked down heavily across a plethora of keys, the tuneless, mismatched combo swelling up to the domed ceiling. He didn’t jump or flinch; I hadn’t surprised him, but he suddenly wore the same tensi
on that Knox always did across his face, in his shoulders, when they all interacted with me. That insane sense of smell, ears that could detect a mouse skittering across the attic from here—Gunnar had known of my presence, probably well before I’d walked through the door.

  But he hadn’t acknowledged me.

  And that made the cold hand in my chest clench just a little tighter, the sting of Knox’s brusque dismissal flaring all over again.

  Gunnar gave an inch with the slight turn of his head in my direction, the planes of his handsome face smooth, his sharp cheekbone catching the sun, and I responded by taking a full mile, marching over and planting my scythe next to the piano, then perching beside him on the bench. The hellhound scooted over so that our bodies only touched briefly, thighs aligned, arms nudging, and the separation threatened to hurt me all over again if I let it.

  But I wouldn’t.

  I couldn’t. Not if I wanted to survive all this.

  “It’s out of tune,” I told him, scanning the keys. “It’ll sound better when I fix it.”

  Not that I knew anything about tuning a piano, but magic was a beautiful gift—once I figured out the appropriate kind.

  Gunnar tapped absently at a black key—D-flat, C-sharp. I licked my lips, hating the silence, hating the off-tune melody punctuating it like he was counting down the seconds until I left.

  “My grandmother taught me how to play before she died, then Mum took over,” I said, pushing through the awkward air around us. Both of my hands found familiar keys, fingers working on muscle memory as they played the first few chords of “Heart and Soul.” I had a recording of Bea Wain singing it in 1939, and there was nothing more uplifting than unconditional love crooned to the tune of an old big band.

  Heart and soul, I fell in love with you heart and soul…

  Heart and soul, the way a fool would do, madly…

  “I… I can teach you.” The notes faded slowly, my hands in my lap. I shrugged. “You know, if you want.”