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

by Rhea Watson

  After all the emotion swirling between us, the pent-up feeling that dogged me after discovering that he had followed me, exposed me—we needed a release, a chance to start fresh.

  But was this the way to do it?

  “Oh!” My core tightened, every muscle trembling as he dragged me that much closer to a climax with nothing but his fingers. Declan had been so reverent with his tongue, but Gunnar was frenzied, as if driven mad by lust, his bite beautiful, the pleasure fluttering through my insides sharp and painful and magnificent.

  Vaguely, over an emotional solo from the orchestra’s string section, I heard a belt opening, a zipper hissing. Gunnar hitched my torn dress up my hips with a growl, then scooped me up, both hands biting into my thighs, and pushed into me—hard and furious. I threw my head back with a cry as he stretched me, cock driving all the way to the hilt. Caging me to the wall with his lean, muscular frame, Gunnar slammed his mouth to mine, all fire, and his hand soon found my hair, my neck.

  There was no tenderness in this hellhound—and I didn’t want it. Caged in his arms, I craved his savagery, every violent thrust of his hips pushing me closer and closer to oblivion. With a snarl of my own, I bit back, yanking at his hair, his suit, my tongue and teeth far from passive in our kiss—a kiss that threatened to consume me, and in that moment, as he slammed me against the wall, fucked me with wild abandon, I was all too happy to be consumed.

  I had no sexual preferences before this. Royce and I had fumbled about in a dark bedroom once, the man I thought I’d marry taking my virginity before we both left for the war. It had been hurried, like this, but awkward and painful too, full of nervous questions and uncomfortable chuckles. I’d thought all sex was like that—maybe it would get better with time, but barely.

  And then this. Declan. Gunnar. Two hellhounds who had opened my eyes to a world of pleasure I’d thought lost to me forever. Taking me. Begging to be taken in return, to match their passions, each separate but wonderful. Declan deep and raw. Gunnar violent and desperate.

  More.

  “Please,” I whined, the word coming out in three long beats as he pounded into me, my entire body engaged, present. My heels dug harshly into his lower back as I tried to rock up to meet him, to play the tit-for-tat game as I did with our kiss, but he had me so pinned in place that it was impossible to do anything but hold tight and ride it out.

  And what a glorious ride it was.

  His mouth clamped possessively over the crook of my neck and shoulder, and I tore clean through his jacket collar when he bit down hard. Would he make me bleed? Spill my golden blood across his teeth? I moaned long and loud at the thought, raking my nails up his neck and into his hair. The sting of his bite was more pain than I’d felt in a long time, but it only served to heighten the pleasure rising inside me, making it sharper, more beautiful.

  Without warning, Gunnar dragged me from the wall and carried me back to our balcony like I weighed nothing. He stalked with powerful, purposeful strides, taking me to the balcony’s edge and depositing me brusquely on the gold bannister. Not that it would matter if I fell, but I clung to his shoulders all the same, hissing his name when he withdrew from me. Mouth set in a thin line, the hellhound grabbed me harshly by the hips, then flipped me around and bent me over the railing. I squealed at the sudden turn of events, scrambling for a hold along the balcony’s edge, feet lifting clean off the ground when he pounded into me from behind.

  The first act ramped up below, the stage awash with fire, both fake and real, with all the players coming together in a symphony of high sopranos and gorgeous tenors, deep baritones punctuating the calamity as it unfolded. I straightened up as Gunnar thrust hard and fast, pumping me into the balcony, and reached back to seize some control. My back collided with his chest, and his mouth found my neck, his vicious thrusts turned into focused grinding, hitting something inside me that made me want to sing.

  “I needed you,” he rasped harshly in my ear, nipping at my earlobe, one hand in my hair as the other arm cut across my body, bolstering me to him. “Needed you for so long…”

  In that moment, I knew I needed him too, more than I had ever realized before. I needed all of them, and not just to maintain my position here in Lunadell. I needed them far beyond that, but the thought of voicing it made my eyes sting with unshed tears. So, I turned my head toward him, even as he ravaged my bun, fingers shredding it to thick white ribbons, and dragged his mouth to mine.

  Hoping that the kiss said more than I could—hoping that it showed him that this moment of vulnerability did not go unmatched.

  I came at the opera’s sweeping crescendo, singers and instruments at a zenith, pleasure exploding through my every cell. The curtain fell seconds later, the hall silent for a beat until applause erupted from the humans below us, all around us. My climax maintained that sharp quality, scratching into my bones, tearing sounds from me that only seemed to spur Gunnar on until he too fell to pieces. His taut body stiffened, his mouth on mine, swallowing me whole as he spilled himself inside me with a groan.

  The house lights brightened for intermission, and I clutched at the golden wood railing, heart racing but my mind blissfully still. Gunnar’s harsh pants dusted over my exposed shoulders, soon followed by his lips as they trekked a lazy path across my skin. It prickled in response, and another wave of subdued pleasure washed over me when he gently pulled out and collapsed into the chair behind him. Tentatively, I went for my hair—a disaster beyond repair. No way would I cross into the human realm now, not when I probably looked so thoroughly used.

  So thoroughly fucked.

  The thought made my cheeks burn, and I shuffled back to my chair, perching on it and avoiding Gunnar’s eye as best I could. Below, the auditorium swelled with voices, chattering humans coming and going, off to fetch drinks and snacks from the in-house bar, to discuss the new show in all the detail it deserved.

  Gunnar and I stayed put, separate, and I scanned our surroundings as though the excessively lush décor was suddenly so fascinating.

  Until he laughed.

  Not cruelly, but rather in a weary, satisfied way that I couldn’t ignore. Slumped down in his chair, he sat there, jacket ripped, hair askew, face flushed, and eyes twinkling. He hadn’t bothered to tuck his spent cock back into his trousers, and relaxation seeped from his every pore, from his limp fingers hanging over the armrests to his easy smile.

  Relaxation that became infectious in a heartbeat.

  I flopped back in my chair, the aftershocks of a stunning orgasm leaving me weak and shaky, then pressed both hands to my cheeks when he laughed again.

  The absurdity of what had just happened…

  It was laughable.

  A manic giggle fled my lips before I could catch it, and this time Gunnar snorted.

  “Oh, no,” I moaned, sinking deeper into my chair. “What have I done?”

  “Again,” he added. I closed my eyes, embarrassed and satisfied and comfortable in his presence for the first time ever.

  “Again,” I agreed. But he didn’t let me ruminate, nor did he needle my brewing guilt with a few crude words. Instead, Gunnar yanked my hands from my face, and before I knew it, he had lifted me onto his lap, and soon that laughing mouth claimed mine.

  And just as the second act started up, the lights extinguished, we delved deep into another again.

  Again. And again.

  And again.

  18

  Hazel

  “So… Is this when we fuck?”

  My blood ran cold, and I stopped suddenly, which forced humans to peel around me on the sidewalk, thus creating an even wider berth than they had already given Knox and me, a few grumbling under their breath. Even with the hellhound loitering behind me as he had since we’d left the safety of the ward, I could feel his accusatory stare, his bitter grin.

  The ice in my veins twisted around the ever-present knot in my gut. Because he wasn’t wrong. On both Declan and Gunnar’s off-duty outings, we had—fucked. Declan a week ago
, Gunnar last night. The beta hellhound and I had stumbled into the manor with its recently fixed roof and fresh windows long after midnight, clothes torn to shreds, both of us drunk on sex and opera and each other. I’d then skipped breakfast, leaving the guys to fend for themselves, because I couldn’t face Declan. Or Gunnar. Or Knox.

  Being with my pack—intimately—hadn’t felt wrong.

  But I knew, deep down, it should.

  So, somehow, guilt had finally gotten a hold of me, almost because it should, and I had let it drag me to a dark place, which put me in the worst mood for my Sunday afternoon outing with Knox.

  An outing I still hadn’t quite figured out yet. I’d thought it would just come to me when we stepped into the human realm in an alley near downtown Lunadell. Then, as the great mountain of a man trailed after me through the busy streets, I had hoped an idea would spark when we stopped in front of Lunadell’s version of Central Park. So far, nothing.

  And now…

  Is this when we fuck?

  Shame made my entire body boil. Guilt weighed it down. Frustration sparked a high-pitched whine between my ears, along with anger that I thought I had to feel this way.

  Slowly, I faced him—and found the exact expression I’d expected. Surely Gunnar had filled him and Declan in on last night.

  Of my three climaxes.

  The old me, the human me, would have called a woman weak for succumbing to her base instincts, her most primal desires. My head screamed that I was weak, while my heart flipped my head the bird and demanded we go into the park—watch the children play. A few days into October, the weather was mild and the sun high. All in all, the perfect Sunday afternoon for a stroll.

  And then there was Knox, the lone storm cloud threatening to burst.

  We stared at each other for a very long moment, daring the other to blink first. Quite the pair we were: me in black jeans, black flats, a black peacoat like many of the humans. It was fall, after all, and even if the slowly plummeting temperatures didn’t bother me, out here I needed to look like they did. Knox hadn’t gone quite that far, but the dark slacks, the combat boots, the black long-sleeved sweater with the slightest of V-necks—exaggerated by his broad chest, defined pectorals, positively rippling muscles—suggested he had at least tried to blend in.

  Only he was a giant, even in the form of a man. And I barely made it up to his shoulder. He’d trimmed his beard, combed his thick eyebrows, but the jagged scar that cut across his face, the permanent ink on his exposed forearms, sleeves jerked up to his elbows, told passersby that this was a creature not to be screwed with.

  And beside him, me, diminutive in his shadow, white-haired and ghostly pale. No wonder the humans avoided us like we had the plague.

  But Gunnar had been right: this was about integrating with humanity, teaching the pack about social values and mankind’s modern mores. We needed to be here, not hiding on the celestial plane, walking through men and women like spirits.

  I blinked first. To our left sat Lunadell Park, a sprawling patch of greenery in the midst of chrome and cement, tinted glass and metallic beams. Walking paths and bike lanes twined throughout the foliage and the city-maintained gardens. In its heart was a children’s park, a kiddy pool—closed, no doubt, for the season. At this entrance, located at the north end of downtown, close to upscale shops, restaurants, and million-dollar town houses, was a fenced-in dog park. I nodded to it with a slight lift of my brow.

  “Care to go for a run? I can find you a stick, or I’m sure someone will let us borrow a tennis ball…”

  As if to emphasize my point, a gaggle of dogs started barking within wrought iron fencing; Knox didn’t so much as glance their way, but his black gaze hardened.

  “No? Nothing? Great.” I had tried so hard over the last two months to never be short with them, to empathize, not just sympathize, with their predicament. But everyone had a breaking point, and Knox—and Gunnar—liked to push, push, push. That little comment wasn’t my breaking point, but I’d had enough. Arms crossed, a slouchy brown pleather purse hanging off my shoulder, I motioned to the café across the street with a flick of my eyes. “I’m going to get our coffees, then… Don’t go far.”

  I shouldn’t leave him alone, but where the hell was he going to go without his pack? Nowhere. None of them could cross the ward without me breaking it first, so, really, I had zero regrets abandoning him on the sidewalk and jaywalking across two semi-busy lanes of traffic just to get some space.

  Space I needed to cool down in—otherwise today would be pointless. Declan and Gunnar had made their connections with me already; I’d felt the shift in our dynamic, an ease around the house despite my guilt. Knox was the last—and most stubborn—brick to fall. Today had to go well. We needed to go home unified.

  And…

  Well, sex was one way to go about it, much to my surprise, but unfortunately, our tension just wasn’t the kind to erupt in a fit of carnal release.

  More like a shouting match if he kept pushing me.

  Although I seldom frequented cafés as a reaper, I went through the motions, same as any other body in there. Placed my order. Paid—I didn’t steal everything, after all. Waited for the drinks to be made, breathing in the scent of cocoa beans and humanity. Listened for my name. Hazel. I took a to-go paper cup in each hand, the pumpkin spice lattes inside positively scalding against my palms, then flashed a strained smile at the distracted woman who held open the door for me on the way out.

  Back across the street, Knox wasn’t where I’d left him, but as instructed, he hadn’t gone far. Following the gravel path into the park, I found him seated on a bench under an old oak, its leaves kissed by autumn decay. He practically took up the entire space, legs spread wide, utterly alpha in his stance, those thick arms stretched along the pine backrest.

  He was watching the dogs in the little park within a park. Head cocked to the side, his dark eyes followed those in the bigger run, the edges of his mouth lifting when a few started to tussle.

  That flicker of a smile extinguished when I entered his sightline, and he readjusted himself on the bench, allowing me a smidgen of space to sit beside him. Arms withdrawn, he accepted his drink without a word, and I slumped against the rigid bench’s back, looking but not really taking in the dogs at play.

  “Humans go wild for this every year,” I forced out a few minutes later, neither of us indulging in the drinks yet. Both of my hands coiled around mine under the guise of warming them, steam swirling from the teeny opening on top. “Pumpkin spice latte… It’s a seasonal treat.”

  Knox grunted, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees, latte in one hand, still somehow dwarfing me with his size. I sighed.

  “Knox, when are we going to get on the same page?”

  “Do you have something planned for today?” he rumbled, eyes tracking a human with a leashed dog jogging along the path in front of us. The golden retriever didn’t look our way, but his hackles rose ever so slightly when he passed by Knox. Smirking, the hellhound shot me a sidelong glance. “Or will it just be straight to sex—rutting in those bushes over there?”

  “Stop.”

  I swiped at my hair, half-up, half-down, a few white tendrils stuck to my coat and tickling my chin. Even through that intimidating black mane, his neat facial hair, I noted the dance of his jaw muscles like he was gritting his teeth. Good. I’d take annoyance over smugness any day.

  “No,” I admitted after a beat. “I didn’t plan anything for us, because I have no idea what you’d want to do.” Declan had needed a soft place to fall, something simple to start out with. Gunnar’s fascination with music was obvious. Knox, meanwhile, remained a goddamn mystery. “But I figured we should talk.”

  The hellhound huffed a cool laugh before bringing his latte up for a sniff. “Well, you guessed wrong, reaper. I don’t want to talk.”

  Shocker. I rolled my eyes, shifting in place to face him. “Look, make fun of me all you want… Make all the sex innuendos you want. It happened.
I don’t care what you have to say. I don’t need your permission to…” My face exploded with heat, the kind that beelined straight down between my thighs when he lifted his black eyebrows. “Never mind. We’re in this together. Whether you like it or not, your pack and I… we chose each other.” I held up a hand to stop him when he straightened, taking a breath like he was finally ready to argue. “No, we did. You saw the importance of reaping for yourself. And if you don’t pass the trials at the end of this month, if you run away, you’ll be taken back to Fenix—or maybe someone worse.” The idea made me sick, honestly. “Maybe you’ll be put down because you can’t do your job—”

  “Our job?” Knox’s enormous hand snapped tight enough around his latte that the plastic lid popped off. With a growl, he clamped it back in place. “None of us chose this life—this job. We were bred into it. Manufactured centuries ago to serve your kind.”

  I’d thought about that at length before, and having spent the last two months with the pack, I felt even worse about it now than I had then. Honestly, I tried not to think about it, otherwise I would spend each and every day perpetually nauseous. “And I’m sorry about that. This isn’t how I would have you get into any of this. You’re my… You’re my partners. We’re a team. I want you to succeed.”

  “And what about what we want?”

  “What do you want?” I crossed my legs, waiting for honesty—for the truth this time, after weeks of Oh, we just want to go beyond the ward to learn about humanity, Hazel. Right. Like I believed that was the whole story for a second.

  A dogwalker with a pack of eight attached to a belt around his waist strolled up to the fenced-in park, on his phone, not noticing that the smallest of the bunch was dragging behind. Knox seemed more interested in them than me, going so far as to stand up when the little white fluffball whined and stumbled over his front feet. Fortunately, the brief pause at the gate allowed him to catch up, and soon enough they were all inside and off-leash, scampering about as their minder chatted with another human. Scowling, Knox returned to the bench, and I offered him a sympathetic look that he ignored.