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

by Rhea Watson

  Tears welled, my heart full, my knees weak. I clenched my eyes shut and buried my nose deeper, breathing her in, willing her scent to tattoo across my flesh so that I would never go anywhere without her ever again.

  “Thank you, Hazel,” I forced out after a few beats of silence, my voice rough, my throat thick. She stiffened, as if finally remembering herself, and withdrew from our embrace with flushed cheeks and eyes that refused to meet mine. Brushing her white mane behind her ears, she positioned her scythe between us, perhaps unconsciously, perhaps on purpose, and then looked in the general direction of the house.

  “You’re welcome,” she said almost breathlessly. She then fetched my stack of folded clothes and handed them back to me. I made no move to put them on, not wanting to miss a moment of her blushing, of her lips as they fought her brilliant smile.

  “Let’s go back,” the reaper said with a nod to the nearby ward, “and tell the others how well you did.”

  I gestured for her to lead the way, and she did, walking a few long strides ahead of me. When we passed through the ward, however, the shimmering magical wall sealed up tight behind, we fell in step together and returned to the house without a word.

  Our hands occasionally brushing along the way.

  10

  Gunnar

  Over the last month, Hazel’s daily routine had, much like ours, become clockwork.

  And I made note of every minute detail of it.

  Breakfast at eight o’clock. She was trying to turn us omnivorous, serving an array of cooked meats, breads, and fruits that the pack gobbled up—because why wouldn’t we? Much of it tasted far better than the raw flesh we’d been raised on.

  As soon as we drifted into the kitchen and settled on the stools around the island with a feast before us, she was gone. Out to the ward, which she parted with her scythe, then through the opening and into the great wide world. The reaper would return around noon for lunch; in the time between, we were expected to study human history and behavior.

  Which, for the most part, we did.

  Knox had actually encouraged it, and I’d always been a glutton for information; studying humanity came easy to me. The more we knew about the realm we intended to lose ourselves in, the better we would eventually assimilate.

  Not that Declan seemed all that interested in assimilating anywhere without Hazel, his puppy love infinitely worse after their first real-world training session the other week, but, at the end of the day, he’d go with the pack. We all would.

  Afternoons were for training, as individuals and as a team, the tasks asked of us steadily increasing in difficulty as the weeks went on. Then supper at six o’clock. After, the night was ours. Hazel sat in her bedroom, alone, in silence, or occasionally outside on a rickety bench to watch the sunset. Once, I’d caught her in the shadows outside the sunroom’s door, slumped against the wall, listening as I played her records. Generally, come nightfall, we all retreated to our wing for a reprieve from her scent, her curves, her smile—her sweet laughter, the sound ringing in my ears even in sleep.

  That was our day, every day, for the last forty. August had rolled into September, the weather taking a slight dip, the humidity cut in half and the winds fiercer when it rained. Hazel never strayed from her routine, nor did we—and that would be her undoing.

  For as soon as she left us at breakfast today, a smattering of cured meats at our disposal, along with scrambled eggs and sourdough buns, I followed. Knox gave me permission with a slight nod and a flick of his gaze toward the main door, while Declan purposefully ignored the whole thing, busying himself with the new coffee maker and pretending that what I was about to do wasn’t happening.

  Burying his head in the sand, more like.

  If we ever wanted to leave this place, to cross through the ward and get the upper hand on the tantalizing creature who haunted our—my—dreams, it had to be done. Her scythe was the ultimate weapon, her ward utterly impenetrable.

  Except when she crossed through it. Declan had confirmed it—unwittingly, of course, his excitement about his first reap loosening his tongue. When she cut through the magical barrier, it stayed open for a set amount of time. Over the last five days, I had confirmed it for myself, following her out to the edge of the property, scrutinizing every second of her comings and goings.

  Scrutinizing her.

  But never mind that.

  Sometimes, Hazel sealed the ward behind her with her scythe. Other times, if she appeared distracted, she wandered off into the forest on the other side without so much as a backward glance. When that happened, the ward sealed itself, as if on a timer.

  Sixty seconds.

  That was all I had. Sixty seconds to race through undetected, silent as the grave.

  If I failed, the ward would slice me in half—no mercy, no quarter. It would do its duty to protect all within it.

  If she saw me, heard me, smelled me, then the plan was fucked. Any hope of slipping free from bondage—gone.

  Tracking her had been enjoyable, but that pleasure fell to the wayside this morning. There was too much riding on this moment for my usual lazy study of her actions, her expressions, the swish of her silvery-white hair with every fucking step.

  The wind was in my favor this morning, just enough to rustle the cedars, but not so wild as to give my scent away. I followed her at a brisk pace, tracking her through the forest, using all her training tips against her. Even if she hadn’t trained us in tracking, her smell was a dead giveaway, catching on spiny green branches, her black dress leaving dewdrops of sweet alyssum on the scraggly underbrush. Even with my eyes closed, I’d find her.

  An unsettling thought, really, one that I pushed far out of my mind—because if I thought too deeply on her, on how easily she drew me in, how her scent and her voice and every damn part of her called to every damn part of me, then I’d lose her.

  Body low to the forest floor, I followed at a safe enough distance, downwind, watching the up-and-down motion of her scythe’s curved blade through the trees rather than Hazel herself. They were one and the same, a reaper and her scythe, and while she had stopped carrying it everywhere around the house, she took it with her on these daily jaunts into the mortal realm. Why, I had no clue, but I would soon find out.

  When she stopped at the ward, its magic slightly warping the forest on the other side, like peering through a stained glass window, I dropped. In my shifted form, I blended with the shadows, the darkness fading fast beneath a rising morning sun. Same as always, she sliced a line clean into the ward, then stepped through. I waited, holding my breath, still as stone.

  Today was a distracted day—a day she didn’t turn back and close the ward herself. Sixty seconds. Enough time for anything to creep through, including a hellhound.

  Ears up, I listened to her gentle footfalls on the other side of the ward, then blitzed for the opening when it was clear she had carried on walking. Unsuspecting, our reaper. She seemed to have developed some trust in us these last forty days; Declan had had a lot to do with that, and that worked in our favor, whether my packmate liked it or not.

  I slowed as I approached the ward, fearing the cruel cut of magic slicing through my body if I made a mistake. Any hesitation, however, meant I might lose her on the other side. So I took a chance, risked it all, and hopped through the opening in the barrier.

  And landed neatly on the other side. Stunned, I staggered to the shade of a young cedar, hiding beneath its boughs to collect myself.

  Somehow, I’d thought the air would smell sweeter over here. It was all the same: the same forest, the same sky, the same warming sunshine.

  Hazel’s scent on the breeze, tantalizing as ever, potent as fuck, even here on the celestial plane… I wasn’t sure if she slipped out of this otherworldly pathway to walk amongst the mortals once she left us, but dressed as a reaper, all in black and holding a scythe, I had serious doubts.

  Had I not loved my pack as much as I did, our bond deeper than any in all the realms, I would
have fled. Turned tail and run, deep into the forest, going, going, going until I was long gone. Abandon her, shirk her unwelcome sway over me so that I could be my own hound again, in control of my senses, my body, my mind.

  Perhaps even my heart.

  But I was loyal to Knox. A protector of Declan.

  I would never leave them.

  So, I padded after Hazel, slinking through the trees in her wake, tracking her with ease.

  Until she disappeared.

  Poof.

  Into thin air.

  To anyone else, this would have signaled the end. With no reaper to track, there was no mission. My heart drummed just a beat harder, adrenaline spiking, and I trotted after her, suddenly nimble and light on my feet, not stopping until I stood where she last had. Excitement made my mouth slick, my gut flutter, my chest tight. Finally, a chance to prove myself—to myself—beyond the confinements of the ward.

  On our first day of training, Hazel had called us celestial beings. She had made an impassioned speech about it, in fact, suggesting we were akin to demons, reapers, even angels. While Declan had listened intently at the time, I’d let the words roll off me, instead focused on finding a way out of our new predicament.

  But as it so often did, Hazel’s voice found its way to me at night, playing over and over again on a loop inside my head, in my dreams.

  And all that repetition, rehashing and dissecting every fucking syllable until I was exhausted enough to pass out, paid off in spades.

  Because if we were celestial beings as she had so passionately insisted, then we had a magic all our own, magic repressed and denied by our torturers all our lives. Magic she had tapped into when she taught us how to cross from the mortal realm into the celestial plane. Magic driven by intention.

  Fourteen days ago, I had teleported for the first time—from one room to the other, I moved through space with intention. Ten days ago, I’d disappeared from my bedroom and reappeared in the forest. It had taken a few tries, naturally, and there would be no passing through the ward, no matter how adept I’d become at transporting myself through the ether. But I could move as she did. Behind intention stood our freedom.

  This morning, however, intention would unravel Hazel’s best-kept secrets. Eyes closed, I fixated on her scent, on her face. I pictured her so clearly in my mind’s eye that desire thrummed through me, quite involuntarily of course, and I had to fight for the intention. Center myself. Commit.

  When I did, I left the forest behind and reappeared out in the great wide world, surrounded by soaring cityscape, her scent stronger than ever and her back to me as she strolled unseen through throngs of oblivious humans, the click of her little heels carrying through the celestial plane.

  Her secrets, at long last, mine.

  As soon as the front door closed, its thunk echoing through the manor, Knox dropped his spoon, abandoning the pretense of ladling cinnamon-dusted oatmeal into his mouth, and then pinned me with a narrowed look.

  “Well? Out with it, Gunnar.”

  I picked at the squishy crust of my peameal bacon, knowing I couldn’t skirt him a second longer. Hazel had left us for the day—again—and my alpha had been waiting hours for a report on what I’d seen out in the real world. The confirmation that I could successfully teleport through the celestial plane had been news well-received, as I’d thought it would be, but the real curiosity came for her. All three of us felt for her. Interest danced through the pack bond anytime the reaper was around, and it wasn’t just from Declan, as much as Knox and I made him feel that way.

  My alpha wanted to know her. He craved her weaknesses and the chance to exploit them for the betterment of the pack. While he hadn’t said as such in so many words, I could read Knox possibly even better than I could read myself.

  Which was why I knew, right now, as he glowered at me from across the kitchen island, that his patience had run out. After sneaking back into our warded territory yesterday, barely making it in time and grateful as fuck that Hazel hadn’t sealed the barrier behind her, I had insisted we wait. After all, she might overhear us, and even though it wouldn’t arouse suspicions if neither Knox nor I spoke to her for the rest of the day, I’d pushed my own narrative that it was crucial to discuss my findings when she was gone—completely out of range.

  And Knox had indulged me… until now.

  In the meantime, I had wrestled with my feelings about what I’d seen yesterday, the various scenes burned into my brain forever. Her smile. Her tears. Knox intended to use her emotions against her, and at this time yesterday, I’d been completely onboard with that.

  Today…

  I ground my teeth together, looking pointedly out the windows over the sink. Hazel had repaired them recently, smoothing the cracks with a stroke of her hand. Declan had then cleaned them without magic, scrubbing each pane, standing up on the counters to reach the far corners as Hazel hovered around his feet, fretting that he might fall. Through the spotless glass, cedars swayed in the morning breeze, a near replica of the conditions I’d experienced yesterday. Cooler temperatures. Breezy but not blustery. Unfettered sunshine and a beautiful blue sky.

  How strange, how fucking irritating, that everything around me could look the same, but inside my whole damn world had flipped on its head.

  “Gunnar.” Knox’s tone left no room for more excuses. He had given me enough rope, but if I carried on further, I’d hang myself. Clearing my throat, I ripped my piece of cooked pork flesh in half, bringing the smaller bit to my mouth—where it stayed, just about touching my lips but never passing through. Not even its tantalizing scent could tempt me; my throat had been constricted and my mouth painfully dry since yesterday. No food could fix that. Not the pain in my chest nor the throb in my head.

  “She goes into the city when she leaves,” I said tersely. When I finally met my alpha’s black gaze, I faltered, literally unable to refuse him any more than I already had. “Her first stop is a… school.”

  Porcelain clattered across the kitchen; even with his back to us, Declan was an open book, his fist around a white mug, his free hand jabbing at the buttons on the new coffee maker. He didn’t approve of this, none of it, and that hadn’t mattered to me yesterday.

  It did today.

  I had no fucking clue as to why.

  But it was driving me insane.

  “A human school?” Knox asked, leaning back just enough to cross his burly arms. When I nodded, he arched his scarred brow. “Like the one from that television show?”

  “No. The humans were younger. Much younger.” Little round-faced cherubs, some bright-eyed, others shuffling along and weighed down by sleep, all escorted onto the grounds by their parents. I had never considered fathering pups of my own, but watching her watch them had stirred something strange in me. Unwelcome. Heartfelt.

  Yearning.

  Not my finest moment, to be certain.

  “Did she leave the celestial plane?”

  “No. She stayed hidden.” Just as I had stayed hidden, always downwind from her, utilizing bushes and buildings and cars to my advantage throughout the morning. At first, I’d hidden because I knew I had to, but as time dragged on and it all unfolded, I did so because it was painfully obvious I had intruded on a private moment, something I both longed to fix for her and had no desire to become involved with.

  Hazel had arrived at the school, a small kindergarten facility—according to the sign—in the downtown core, nothing more than a single-story house surrounded by a chain-link fence. Juvenile, soft colors splashed the walls. Flowers bloomed in well-kept boxes beneath windows and along pathways. Metal structures suggested the little ones were let out to play at some point, but our reaper lingered by the front door, standing on the big, two-toned circle at the entrance, waiting. Initially, I hadn’t understood what the fuck she was even doing there—and then, from my little hiding spot, I watched her come alive with the arrival of the children. Her whole gloomy demeanor brightened, her smile so wide that it hurt me.

 
; “And what did she do?” Knox asked. I shook my head and dropped my bacon back onto my plate, the mound of food nowhere near as appetizing as past meals.

  “She just… watched them.” With that painfully stretched smile, she hovered in the celestial plane, watching as they trudged to the school. Some of the parents waited at the gate. Others walked their young in, hand in hand. The yard filled with chatter, the surge sudden and chaotic. Hazel took them all in almost frantically, as if not wanting to miss a thing, laughing at the childish antics that had made me roll my eyes—reaching out for unbuttoned jackets and unlaced shoes, her hand sliding through the child.

  Almost like she wanted to fix them.

  “And then?”

  I said nothing, throat like sandpaper, unable to meet my alpha’s eye.

  “Gunnar.”

  “And then…” Fuck, I’d never forget it, the way her expression crumpled as the yard cleared, her chin wobbling, her arms limp at her side. “And then she cried.”

  Declan whirled around, panic and rage ripping through our pack bond. “What?”

  “She cried,” I said. Not that I needed to repeat anything—Declan had heard me. Knox too. But I had no intention of clarifying or adding any extra detail. They didn’t need to know that Hazel’s knees gave out, that she didn’t exactly sob, but the tears fell and fell and fell, splattering to the ground yet not one leaving a mark on the cement.

  Distress pulsed along our bond now, from me and from Declan, and I tried—and failed—to rein my feelings back in as Knox glanced between us with a heavy sigh.

  But I couldn’t help it.

  I’d hated watching her cry. Every physical whisper of sorrow across her features, from her crinkled brow to her trembling hands, touched me, made me palpably upset—so much so that I’d had to fight my instincts to pad straight to her side, exposing myself, and do whatever I had in my fucking power to make it all better.