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

by Rhea Watson

  “Yes,” Knox drawled, cutting through that tender feeling with a huge, unnecessary dose of snark, “don’t you want us?”

  Shoulders tensed, I shot him a withering look. Don’t you want me? Nice. Throwing my words from this morning in my face. The alpha merely smirked back, a challenging flicker of his scarred eyebrow daring me to call him out.

  But that wouldn’t help anything—or change the direction of this conversation. Getting into a sniping match with Knox was just another way to put off a resolution to this. To us.

  “I mean…” I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat like a rock. “Obviously I do—want you, all of you—and that’s the problem.”

  Knox’s smug expression faltered.

  “I see no problem,” Gunnar insisted, straightening in place and clapping his hands together—like my omission meant it was all done and dusted, problem sorted. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t that simple. I flashed him a weak smile.

  “No, of course you don’t, but I—”

  “Hazel, there’s no problem for us.” Declan strolled from the sink to the quartz island, arms crossed, those beautiful eyes so warm and comforting—begging me to believe him. “No jealousy, no competition. We aren’t fighting for you… Well, I suppose we’ll fight for you, if you get my drift, but you aren’t a prize. It isn’t every hellhound for himself. We all care very deeply for you. I’ve thought you were our fated mate from the beginning, and now these other pigheaded fucks are finally realizing it too…”

  Gunnar shot his packmate an eyeroll, while Knox’s low warning growl suggested he didn’t enjoy his stubborn streak being called out by anyone. I, meanwhile, fidgeted with my shirtsleeve as a rush of heat hit me, made my head spin. Fated mates. It was a term that carried a lot of weight in the shifter community, and while hellhounds were different than shifters, a class of their own, apparently the mythos was transferable.

  This pack of three believed Fate had created me for them—and them for me.

  In their eyes, we were destined to find each other.

  And from the way we met, after all they had been through, my ten long years of miserable loneliness… Maybe Declan had a point.

  But…

  I shook my head and pushed away from the island, leaving my scythe where it was as I strode across the kitchen. “I’m sorry. I-I still need to think.”

  Blitzing by Knox, I made a beeline for the door—only to find it instantly blocked by Gunnar. He’d teleported in a flash, tall and imposing, that lean figure managing to fill the entire doorway, his elbows pressed to either side of the frame.

  “We want you, Hazel,” he rumbled, tipping his head to the side as I stuttered to a halt. The look in his eye had morphed from confidence to hunger, those royal blues darker than I had ever seen them. Even the smirk that lifted his thin lips was a different shade, no longer smug but primal. I stumbled back a few paces at his first prowling step forward, and he motioned to me, then the others with such certainty it made my head spin. “And you want us. What, exactly, is there to think about?”

  “I… I…” A low whine stretched between my ears, my head full of staticky nothing. “I, uh…”

  His smirk turned deadly. “Hmm. Yes. That’s what I thought.”

  “You all want to leave,” I insisted, blurting out the suspicions that had been on my mind since the very first day. Some might call it grasping at straws—I saw it as the final tethers that needed to be cut before I could truly give in. My eyes danced wildly between the three, heart thudding hard. “You want to go, be free, get out of this life—”

  “Is that what we said?” Declan’s voice whispered in my ear, lightly accented but deep, seductive, so unlike his usual self. I jumped when his arm snaked around my waist; all of them were getting so good at teleporting—or had he just closed the distance between us without me noticing?

  Either way, he was here, hard and firm at my back, refusing to budge when I retreated into him. His free hand found my hair, and my skin prickled when he swept it back, baring Knox’s mark to the world. He nuzzled it, his breath soft, the fleeting caress of his nose, his lips, so warm, so soothing, like the Arabian Gulf on a summer’s day.

  I blinked hurriedly, trying to shake off the lull crafted by his caress—because Gunnar still prowled toward me, slow and surefooted, while Knox watched on, the weight of his gaze crushing.

  “Yes,” I whispered, looking to Knox, “that’s what you said. You want to leave—”

  “Maybe once.” The alpha gestured to his neck. “Not anymore. You and I mated—officially. That mark… What else has scarred your reaper flesh?”

  I exhaled a shallow breath when Declan nibbled just under my ear, his thumb sweeping over the red bite on the dip between my neck and shoulder. “Nothing, but—”

  “Then we’re fated, and it’s as simple as that,” Knox told me. The sneer of the past had fallen away, his voice calm yet assertive, talking to me like we were finally equals. “If you’re fated to me, you’re fated to them. And if we leave, we leave together.”

  “You should really take that and run with it,” Gunnar mused, close enough that I could feel the heat emanating off him, even through that thin navy sweater, his crisp black trousers. The hellhound snagged a finger under the hem of my shirt, gently at first, then gave a sharp tug, claiming my full attention as he closed in on me. “He’s been mulling it over all day… Practically paced a hole into the floor in front of his damn fireplace.” Gunnar glanced back at Knox, grinning. “The alpha has finally made his decision.”

  Knox’s black stare narrowed, and he issued another warning growl, one that, again, was ignored by his smirking beta. My brain still struggled to compute, to just jump on the same page as them with nothing more than a few words and a novel scar as proof—and the fact that Declan had gone from soft, barely there pecks to a firm, openmouthed kiss that dragged up my neck to my ear certainly didn’t help. I squirmed against him, needing the space to process, but he only held tighter, his hand smoothing possessively down my belly to my thigh.

  “Tell me, reaper…” Gunnar walked two long fingers up my torso and between the valley of my breasts. He took his time, tracing my collarbones, swirling around the hollow of my throat, before snatching my chin so roughly, so suddenly, that I squeaked.

  Warmth bloomed in my cheeks, made worse by the flood of need aching between my thighs. Declan scraped his teeth gently over Knox’s mark; Gunnar closed in, our bodies a breath apart. Sandwiched between two hellhounds, I struggled for control, arms limp at my sides as they touched me, possessed me. Gunnar nudged my chin up, tilting my head back against Declan’s shoulder.

  “Tell me,” he urged hoarsely, “what do you need to think about?”

  “I…” It wasn’t fair. How was I supposed to form a coherent sentence with both of them touching me? I pressed my lips together, closed my eyes, sucked down a steadying breath—none of it settled me. When I looked up at him again, I found Gunnar staring intently at my mouth, like he wanted to kiss it, bite it, fuck it… maybe all three. Oh no. “I-I…”

  “I-I… I,” he parroted back at me, singsongy and mocking as Declan chuckled against my skin, cupping me between my thighs. The only thing separating his firm hand and my damp sex was a slip of cotton, my black leggings suddenly too flimsy for my liking. Gunnar swiped his thumb over my lower lip, flashing his teeth with a predatory grin. “Go on, Hazel. Tell us.”

  He allowed me two stammering syllables before he pounced, slamming his mouth to mine with a snarl I felt in my bones. I arched up on my tiptoes with another squeak, eyes wide, hands floundering, pushing him away, pulling him closer, indecisive as ever. His kiss set my body on fire, rough and furious, a kiss to claim me, mark me just like Knox had. A jolt of white-hot pleasure shot from my clit to my nipples when his tongue slipped into my gasping mouth, the delicious burn amplified by Declan’s sharp nip at my shoulder.

  Just like they did in training, the pair worked in perfect unison, exemplified exceptional teamwork, to strip me
naked in under a minute. Declan went for my shirt, yanking it up my body with a frustrated growl when it caught at my chin. Gunnar broke the kiss to allow the slouchy fabric to pass, then slowly worked his mouth down my neck as Declan unhooked my bra. By the time it had snapped free, popped off, exposed me, Gunnar’s wandering mouth found a nipple to claim, and he did so harshly, all teeth and tongue and fiery pressure that made me squirm. His hands dropped to my black leggings, and before I knew it, he had them wrenched down my thighs, and he fell to his knees to finish the job, guiding them down my legs. Declan steadied me when I shuffled from one foot to the other, stepping out of my last stitch of clothing.

  Role reversal was a hard pill to swallow; it just seemed so ridiculously unfair that I was the only one naked when there were three men with perfect bodies in the same place at the same time. A little mewl of disappointment bubbled up my throat, but Declan silenced it before it could spill out, twining his hand into my hair and stretching me back so that he could capture my mouth. His kiss was sweeter than Gunnar’s, less fire, more slow, deliberate passion, our mouths immediately parting, consuming each other equally.

  My whole body jerked when Gunnar’s tongue swept between my folds, but Declan refused to let me break away. While my hands quickly found Gunnar’s sturdy shoulders, his packmate held me in a kiss that could last a lifetime—even when Gunnar nudged my legs apart, his tongue swirling around my clit. A long, low moan tore out of me, humming between Declan and me, and I squealed when Gunnar had the nerve to hoist me up onto his shoulders so that my exposed sex was literally in his face.

  I struggled harder, embarrassment ripening in my cheeks, made so much worse given the fact that this was unfolding in front of Knox. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the alpha watching intently, his black eyes somehow darker, like the deepest pits of the oldest galaxy, where starlight goes to die. Somehow I still felt him, his gaze ripping across my naked figure, just as firm as Declan’s mouth, just as sure as Gunnar’s hands digging into my thighs.

  A shocked cry snagged in my throat when Gunnar really got to work, feasting on me like a starving man. His tongue thrust into me, his nose nuzzled at my most sensitive parts; for a hellhound with such sharp, quick wit, it was no surprise that he was as good with his mouth as he was with everything else. Fingers. Cock. The last time we came together, it had been the latter. Declan had shown how skilled he was with his tongue, and now Gunnar…

  My eyes fluttered shut, lost in bliss, in agony, the physical sensation of being touched, taken, possessed, maybe even dominated by two men unlike any pleasure I’d ever experienced.

  My mind shut off. All the issues that had bounced around in there all day—silent. I had no clue how this all came about, how we went from a much-needed conversation about serious things to… this. To carnality and wanton desire, to tongues working me over like never before. But here we were—and it unfolded so naturally that it made my heart strangely full.

  The three of us moved on instinct, my hips slowly, tentatively rocking against Gunnar’s mouth. His hands had found my ass, kneading it, cupping it, while he fucked me with his tongue, then drifted up to toy with my clit, every sweep of his tongue sending a jolt of fiery pleasure from my core to—everywhere. Declan refused to let up on our kiss, deepening it as he held me up for Gunnar. I felt limp and useless between them, until the hand that had been buried in Declan’s soft brown waves finally got to work.

  Intuition drove me, a gut feeling that made me move without question or hesitation. While my other hand occupied itself in Gunnar’s black curls, twisting hard when he pinched at my thigh and chuckled against me, my free hand dropped to Declan’s sweatpants. Slipped under the loose waistline. Delved into his black briefs, the elastic snapping snug against my wrist. I found him hard and straining, and one pump of my fist had the hellhound at my back groaning. His masterful kiss faltered, and I smiled against his mouth, savoring the way his knees almost buckled as I stroked his cock, velvet steel in need of some serious attention.

  In that moment, I had them both at my disposal: one hand guiding Gunnar’s frantic pace between my thighs, the other stroking Declan into oblivion, his cock swelling further in my hand.

  But just as fast as I’d seized control, I lost it. Gunnar switched things up on me out of nowhere, replacing his wicked tongue that had been thrusting in and out of me with two long fingers. I bucked, moaning into Declan’s mouth, when he zeroed in on that sensitive little spot along my inner walls. Meanwhile, his mouth latched onto my clit and refused to let up, no matter how hard I yanked at his hair, the thrill of both combined with Declan’s hand kneading my breast just too much.

  My climax hit hard and fast, utterly ruthless in how it throbbed through me, burned me from head to toe. I arched and shuddered, riding out the pleasure as the levies broke—and neither hellhound stopped what they were doing. They pushed me in their own ways; Gunnar pumping his fingers in and out, sucking at my clit like he wanted to punish it, while Declan wrapped a hand around my fist and stroked his cock for me when I lost my teasing rhythm.

  With great difficulty, I finally tore my mouth from Declan’s, gasping for air, my cheeks hot and my brain fuzzy. The best orgasm of my life made everything hazy, and I needed Declan to hold me up when Gunnar set both my feet back on the ground—my knees just refused to work. My sweetest hellhound wrapped an arm around my waist and scooped me up.

  “You’re so beautiful when you come,” he rasped in my ear, and little licks of fire lapped at my sex, his voice enough to set me alight again. Gunnar shot to his feet and stalked to the kitchen island, ripping his button-up clean open in the process. I flinched when Declan tweaked one of my nipples, a twinge of pain mingling with the pleasure overdose pounding through my system, and I could almost feel him smiling against my neck when he added, “We’re going to make you do it again and again, sweet… One for each of us, at least.”

  The best I could manage in response was a hapless moan, my gaze briefly darting over to a brooding Knox before shooting back to the island at the sound of a calamitous crash. In one swift motion, Gunnar had swept everything off the surface, cups and serving trays and knives clattering to the floor. His elegant hands dropped to his trousers, unbuttoning them, unzipping them, kicking them and his briefs off with a sneer. Like Declan, his cock dropped forward, hard and insistent, and I licked my lips, swallowing down a brief moment of panic.

  For some reason, I hadn’t even considered that I’d be taking care of three of those beasts…

  I should have.

  But now that I’d come to terms with it, I almost relished the challenge.

  Without a word, Gunnar hopped up onto the island and settled on his back, a god on his altar, all porcelain skin and greedy eyes.

  “Bring her here,” he ordered gruffly, but Declan was already on the move, steering me and my useless legs to the island. The hellhound all but threw me onto it, and I scrambled to arrange myself so that I wouldn’t trample Gunnar—even if the look in his eye suggested he’d be all for it. With his lean, gorgeous body stretched flat across the island’s counter, I was able to crawl over him, but he caught me by the hips before I’d made it very far, holding me over his length. It nudged at my slick entrance, teasing and torturous, as Gunnar cocked an eyebrow and murmured, “Just where do you think you’re going?”

  Before I could answer, he thrust up, spearing me almost as effortlessly as he had made me come. I folded forward with a cry, body spreading to accommodate for something much bigger than his two fingers. My hands scrambled up his chest, searching for balance until our hips collided. Every muscle across his torso strained, like the task of holding still took an intense toll on him. The effort stretched all the way up to his mouth, set in a thin line, to his jaw clenched hard.

  A part of me wondered if he was waiting for me to adjust, allowing me a few precious moments to breathe. Little did he know, I didn’t need it. Lower lip caught between my teeth, I rocked back, then rolled my hips forward, loving the way his s
hort black eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly. The slight quirk of my mouth—got you, Gunnar—had his eyes narrowing, and I felt him bend his knees behind me, plant his feet, then slam up into me so firmly that my teeth chattered.

  “Oh!”

  Growls sounded throughout the room, all three alerted to my yelp and closing in like a pack of wolves circling their wounded prey. Knox’s heavy footfalls seemed to echo with every step, slowly making his way to the island as Gunnar pounded into me. My hands anchored themselves on his shoulders, and while I could have ridden him to my heart’s content, this was a ride that required you to just hold on for dear life—and that was what I did. Barely. The lingering aftershocks of that first climax sparked into something different, something sharp and punctuated, prickling through me with a vengeance.

  Suddenly, Gunnar stilled. The hellhound caught me by the chin, his one hand finally abandoning its steely hold on my hip. It slid down to my throat, carefully guiding me forward so that he could gently capture my mouth in a kiss that made my toes curl and my heart skip a beat. In a delicious contrast to the way he’d ravished me, his mouth set a sweet, soothing pace, like a balm to a burn, and I moaned softly when he eased out of me.

  A hand pressed to my lower back, hot and firm, and suddenly Declan replaced him, filling me with a slow, deliberate thrust that had my hips arching and my eyes rolling back in my head. He pumped in and out of me gradually, another balm to Gunnar’s roughness, before pulling out and nudging at a different hole entirely. I stilled, breath catching as I shot up and away from Gunnar’s gentle kiss.

  “Easy, sweet,” Declan murmured, planting a few delicate kisses up the path of my spine, between my shoulders, at the base of my neck. “Relax… I won’t hurt you.”

  While I wasn’t a virgin before the air strike stole my human life, I hadn’t done—that—before. But sandwiched between Gunnar and Declan, I trusted them. Of all three, Declan was the least likely to handle me harshly, and that was what I needed for my first time.