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

by Rhea Watson

  Jealousy prickled in my cheeks at the thought of another reaper working with Declan, seeing what a beautiful creature he was inside and out. “What happened there—with your first reaper?”

  “Fenix sort of shoved me into the pack just before they were chosen,” Declan admitted, his lightly accented voice almost hollow as he surveyed the beach, the humans, the scraggly hills sandwiching it all in to the north and south. “The pack put up with me in Hell, but once we were out and had to prove ourselves, they turned on me.”

  “Turned on you? But—”

  “I’m a runt, Hazel,” he said with a cold chuckle. “Hellhounds don’t tolerate weakness, and I think they assumed I’d make the pack weak. They didn’t accept me, and they all made that known pretty, uh, violently.”

  I’d seen the scars up and down his sides, like more than one had ripped into him. Hellhound teeth were nothing to sneer at, their jaws powerful, their bite probably fatal to lesser beings. No one had confirmed it, not Knox with his scarred, rugged face, and not Declan now—but apparently the only thing that could scar a hellhound was another hellhound. From my understanding, they healed like shifters, but they weren’t shifters, not in the traditional sense of this realm. Earth’s shifters had been stolen and dragged to Hell, forcefully bred with the native hounds.

  Hellhounds were another beast entirely.

  And I couldn’t imagine an entire pack closing in on all sides, no escape, fear immobilizing every limb…

  Tears stung at my eyes, but I blinked them back before they surfaced. At no point did Declan need to think I pitied him, because I didn’t.

  But I could still grieve his past, what those monsters had done to him.

  “Declan, I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said, fighting to keep my words even and smooth, like this was any other conversation—fighting to keep my feelings a secret, one of the few I had left with this pack. “I’m so sorry for what they did to you.”

  He shrugged again, a little smile teasing his lips when a gaggle of human children erupted in shrieking laughter halfway up the beach. “It’s done. It haunted me for a long time, until I…” His breath caught, and he cleared his throat with a shake of his head. “Anyway. If it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have found Knox and Gunnar.” He went quiet again, smile dying, brows knitting. “And they… They’re my family.”

  His sidelong glance punctuated the undertones of that statement, the words unsaid. Gunnar and Knox were his family—and he would always choose them. I couldn’t change that, no matter how desperately it hurt to be on the outside of that sort of bond, so I forced a smile and squeezed his arm.

  Just to touch him again, under the guise of comfort, to feel the electricity spark between us.

  “I understand,” I insisted. “Really. I do.”

  His eyes dipped down to my hand, where my thumb had unconsciously started stroking him in slow, deliberate back-and-forth swipes. When I realized what I was doing, how it might read to him, I hastily pulled away and focused on the humans enjoying the beach, my cheeks burning.

  September brought moderate temperatures, and from the look of them, I’d dressed myself and Declan in the proper clothes to blend in. Sporting a pair of dark jeans, a black tee, and his off-white runners, the hellhound at my side looked very much the city dweller trying his hand at nature for the first time. I, meanwhile, could get away with my beachy black dress—loose, down to the knee, with short sleeves and a scooped neckline, it was as bohemian as I dared these days. With my feet wrapped in a pair of black flats, Declan and I made quite the gothic pair.

  “Come on,” I urged, working hard to ignore the fact that his warmth still lingered on my palm. “Let’s go mingle with mortals.”

  I started off down the beach at a gingerly pace, stopping with a healthy distance between myself and the nearest humans to plant my scythe in the sand. There was no way I could bring it into the human realm without arousing a ton of questions, so here it would stay, on the celestial plane, until we returned.

  I did it all the time, frankly. It wasn’t like anyone else could swipe it without burning to a crisp.

  Two steps away from my beloved scythe, however, I felt it again.

  A faint ripple in the plane.

  I stilled, listening, willing every sense to root it out. While not as strong as the shudder I’d experienced at the hospital with Declan, it was still something. Something I had never faced before. Something off-putting. Like the fabric of our surroundings quaked. A shiver sliced down my spine, and I crossed my arms, searching the beach, the forest, the towering hills for some clue as to what could possibly…

  It had to be nothing. Because there was nothing—nothing to suggest anything on the celestial plane was off, nothing to give credence to my discomfort. All was as it usually was; maybe the ripple was just what happened when you traveled with another celestial being. After all, I had only walked the roads between worlds with reapers and souls before. Maybe it was my pack—maybe I just felt it when they crossed over.

  I made a note to consult Alexander the next time we spoke, then pushed it out of my mind. No sense in putting a dampener on what was supposed to be a positive outing.

  Eyes on the scattered humans, I timed my exit from the celestial plane just right—when they all had their backs to me. It was a quick, easy slip, stepping from one dimension to the next, but the heightened hum of the mortal realm hit me hard as it always did. The human world was louder, brighter, the smells stronger and the ground at my feet grittier.

  For Declan and the others, it must have been overwhelming—but going out here, walking amongst humans, was what they had asked for, and damn it, I intended to deliver.

  “So, I was thinking we could just…” I trailed off when I turned around and found nothing—no Declan, no shaggy hellhound. Just the rustling forest, the overgrown path, the beaming sunshine. Fear bolted through me: this was exactly what I’d thought might happen. Bring the pack into the world, then watch them escape, one by one, until I was alone.

  Again.

  “Declan?”

  Nothingness answered, the mortal realm sighing all around me. I stumbled forward a few steps, sand invading my flats, until Declan trotted out of the forest in his shaggy hellhound form. Relief made my knees weak, and I exhaled a sharp huff, swiping my hands through my hair.

  Thank goodness.

  He crossed the sand slowly, cautiously, sniffing at it with his tail low and his pointed ears extra perked. It shouldn’t have surprised me that he felt more comfortable like this around strangers, but one of my personal goals for these outings, with Declan in particular, was to chip away at some of the past trauma—replace horrible memories with good ones.

  “You just let me know when you’re ready to shift back,” I said as he approached, that great head of his taller than me when I crouched down. While his eyes were still their usual red, in this light they had a brownish tinge to them that would hopefully allow him to blend in with any humans who didn’t look too close.

  But with a beast of this size, how could they not? Declan was a beauty, looking like a show dog with his silky black fur, fluffy tail, and sleek snout. If anyone asked, he was a mixed breed—perhaps a cross between a shepherd and a wolfhound, something to account for his size.

  “No one here will hurt you,” I insisted when he nosed along my feet, huffing at the sand that had spilled over their tops. When he straightened, I caught the end of his tail swishing back and forth on either side of him, and his mouth opened into a canine smile that I’d come to appreciate. Of the three, Declan was always the most expressive in his hound form.

  Nodding, I straightened up and beckoned him to follow me toward the water. While there was no set plan for the day—I just wanted us to enjoy ourselves, let Declan taste the Pacific, bond a little—I figured it was safest to head toward the hilly area to the north. Most of the humans clustered down by the shore, with a trio of kids no older than ten running about, tossing a ball between them, and it would probably be b
est for everyone if we just watched for a while.

  Kept our distance, this weirdo pair in black.

  Declan padded along behind me, his shadow engulfing mine, bouncing with every step. A cooler wind billowed off the water in the human realm than on the celestial plane, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise—but maybe that was also because people were staring.

  Should I have brought a leash for Declan? Was it beach law that he wear one? I hadn’t even considered that beforehand. If I just kept him close—

  “Puppy!”

  I whirled around at the girlish squeal; the youngest of the three children peeled away from the rest, perhaps only four or five years old, and ran as fast as her tiny legs could carry her in Declan’s direction, arms outstretched, greedy little fingers reaching for him. Her older brothers raced after her in her adorable pink overalls, all three sporting the same mop of chocolate-brown hair and near-identical green eyes, their cheeks sun kissed and alive.

  The oldest caught his sister around the waist, scooping her up as she squeal-giggled in his arms, while the shorter of the two carried on a few paces toward Declan and me. Stiff as a board, the hellhound watched the trio unblinkingly, his fur rustling in the wind, his huge paws buried in the sand.

  “Sorry,” the eldest said when he looked up at me, his tone sheepish. “She really likes dogs.”

  “Can we pet him?” the next in line asked, lacking his brother’s awareness of us—strangers at the beach, dressed a little differently from all the other adults, the dog by my side absolutely massive.

  I’d never pet any of my hellhounds before—not in the way that these three intended. Tossing my braid over my shoulder, I opened and closed my mouth a few times, unsure if it was offensive to a hellhound’s sensibilities to be fawned over like any regular dog. “Well, he—”

  Declan answered for me, coming back to life suddenly, the bounce in his step even flouncier as he trotted halfway to the trio and plopped down in the sand. Even sitting, he towered over them, and as the middle boy cautiously approached, he dropped into a lie-down to even the playing field.

  “I think that’s a yes,” I told them with a laugh, heart positively bursting at the sight. Declan had a soft spot for children—I’d thought so during his first field test, and his eagerness now to accommodate them without my asking only confirmed that suspicion. Tail sweeping across the sand, he even rolled onto his side when the littlest one approached so she could aggressively rub at his belly.

  The eldest brother hung back after a few head pats, watching his siblings with eagle eyes as they stroked and scratched this strange, huge black dog. In a way, he reminded me of Knox: oldest, largest, concerned for the well-being of those in his charge.

  I blinked rapidly, a rush of insight into Knox’s character hitting me hard and fast.

  Anyway.

  This wasn’t about my most standoffish hellhound—this was about Declan and how fucking amazing he was in every possible way.

  “Does he want to play fetch?” the younger brother asked, eyes alight at the thought. He shot off before I could answer, and I was torn between telling him no, it was fine, and insisting that the little sweetheart in pink overalls not pull on Declan’s ears like that. Not that it seemed to bother him, his tail still thumping contentedly against the sand.

  The boy returned a few beats later, kicking up dust with every stride, a stick in hand. Slightly winded, he waved the thin bit of driftwood in Declan’s face, then threw it with all his might. It sailed a respectable distance before plunking down on the beach. All eyes turned expectantly to Declan, the littlest one shrieking with giggles again. Declan’s tail slowed, and he looked back at me, uncertainty in his reddish-brown gaze.

  “Go get the stick, Declan,” I told him, wincing at the slight baby-talk tone I adopted—like I was talking to a real dog. “Get the stick and bring it back! Good boy!”

  The kids retreated when Declan stood, the eldest barely coming up to his head, but the apprehension disappeared when he gave a gleeful bark and trotted across the beach. I bit back a smile when he scooped up the stick and carried it over to us—because he would have had to be so gentle to hold the driftwood in his powerful jaws without snapping it like a twig.

  My gentle boy.

  My perfect hellhound.

  He dropped the stick at the boy’s feet, then bounced backward in a play posture, whining low and making a big show of watching the stick when the boy picked it up and threw it again. Then he was off, whipping across the sand and making the kids laugh when he did a dramatic dive, head over heels, to claim his prize.

  This so wouldn’t have happened with Gunnar and Knox, but Declan’s playful personality, his shaggy look, his sudden hyperawareness of his massive form made him just right.

  Across the beach, a man stood and plopped his sunglasses on his head, a hand over his eyes as he looked and looked and looked—until he found us. The kids didn’t seem to notice their father searching for them, but I waved and he waved back. Even all the way over here, I caught the flash of his teeth as he smiled; then, as if knowing his kids were safe, he turned his folding chair in our direction and settled into it to watch after his brood, his wife dozing on the blanket beside him.

  A deep, visceral pang of longing throbbed in my gut, and I crossed my arms, holding myself in a solo hug like that would push back the deep-seated loneliness inside. Because I so wanted what that man had—a partner, a gaggle of relatively well-behaved kids, a Sunday beach day beneath a gorgeous sky.

  Normalcy.

  I loved my life as a reaper—loved all that it stood for, loved the gravity of the role I now played in the universe. After death, I’d been restless in Heaven, unable to find peace, always searching for something more.

  It wasn’t until I returned to Earth that I realized I was restless for life—for what that man had.

  That was why I went into Lunadell each morning.

  Even if all I could do was watch, play the shadowy spectator beyond the veil, at least I had a taste of normal again—just for a moment. Fleetingly, I could pretend that I was dropping off my children at school, meeting a friend for coffee, taking my dog to the park.

  Toeing at the sand, I shook my head. Stop it, Hazel. I might have missed a normal human existence, but my life had so much more meaning to it now.

  And in the end, that was what mattered.

  Training my hellhounds mattered.

  Shepherding souls mattered.

  Not… this, no matter what my heart cried.

  Slowly but surely, the game of fetch led us all down the beach—attracting onlookers, encouraging them to wander over to chat with me. Taking a cue from them, I eventually removed my shoes, toes in the sand, and made sure not to make physical contact with anyone. The old saying was true, after all: Death had a cold hand, and reapers were no different. I already looked like a washed-out version of the humans loitering around me, asking questions about Declan’s breed, about his age, his temperament—no need to give them any further indication that I was different.

  Eventually, Declan and the kids ended up in the surf. The oldest boy hurled the stick into the Pacific, and my hellhound charged in, fearless with his adoring fans cheering behind him. It was a sight to behold, his great black form bounding through the waves, barking and playing and happy.

  Would other reapers have given him this chance?

  All his past suffering—maybe its purpose was to bring him to Knox and Gunnar, and, in turn, me.

  I had never believed in fate, even after death, but it was hard to ignore the chain of events that led us to this moment, to Declan playing, wild and free and content, and me being invited by the children’s parents to join them for a beer like I truly was just another normal human.

  It all felt so right, the day beautiful, the mood light, my heart so full…

  Even with that storm rolling over the Pacific, inching ever closer across the horizon.

  13

  Declan

  The humans had p
acked up and left at the first murmur of thunder.

  At the time, I’d been almost sad to see them go, but now I was grateful for the solitude, for the privacy their absence gave Hazel and me. Two figures, alone on a beach much farther north than where we’d started. A reaper and a naked hellhound, soaked to the bone in chilly rainwater, riding out the storm as one.

  A bolt of silver split the sky, skittering over the black. Temporary as it was, it illuminated the writhing treetops, casting the green in an eerie white glow that thrilled me far more than it scared me. Seconds later, thunder cracked so violently that they must have felt it in Hell. The storm crashed over the ocean, curls of white-tipped dark blue surging up to meet the sky in battle.

  A good thing the humans had cleared out. As I blinked the droplets from my eyes, water sluicing down my skin and taking with it more than just the grit of the beach, I wondered if I could brave the waves. If one of those precious pups had been sucked away in the tide, victims to the ocean’s fury, would I be strong enough to save them?

  Another flash of lightning, this time brighter, closer, the thunder booming before the light died. Wind whipped across the beach, toying with Hazel’s dress, her white hair even starker in the storm.

  For once, fear evaded me. Loud noises and strange lights might have sent me running in the past, my heart racing, my nerves on fire, but not here—not now, not with her. Rather, I embraced it, succumbing to its primal call as the gale intensified.

  Even in the form of a man, I felt my truest self come alive beneath the lash of light and the deafening crack-boom of the heavens. An hour in and the storm showed no signs of stopping, working its way inland. Did the pack feel it too—the summons, the power, the intensity? Out here, I truly was a beast, an animal uncaged, energy surging through my every limb.

  A sheet of rain cut across the small beach we found ourselves on, dampening Hazel’s scent, but even still—she was so much more intoxicating in the human realm. I always craved her, but standing here now, bare feet deep in wet sand, hair plastered across my forehead, raw, unbridled energy humming in my chest—I no longer possessed the will to stop myself from claiming her. No more suppressed desires. No more forgotten urges.