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

by Rhea Watson

  Perhaps I’d never know, and when Knox’s thumb flicked over my swollen clit, I certainly didn’t care. From this position, I could watch Gunnar and Declan watching me, hunger in their eyes and ecstasy in their smiles. Knox shuffled about for a better angle, something that allowed him to thrust up at his leisure, to take me however he saw fit. Once again, there was nothing I could do but hold on for the ride.

  And kiss him. I flicked my tongue at his cheek when he started to rock, then dragged my parted lips over his scruff, the coarse black and newly grey-tinted scuff along his jaw. I arched back to nibble at his ear, but as his pace quickened, I just gave in to the unfolding bliss—to his fingers expertly playing my clit, his curt breaths against my temple, his arm locked around my waist.

  My third climax came quickly this time, long before him, the pleasure hot and luxe, like liquid gold seeping through my veins. Knox showed no sign of stopping anytime soon, not even when I mewled at the overstimulation, my sounds stirring the others. Gunnar and Declan crept closer, Gunnar toying with my nipples and Declan taking over for Knox at the crest of my sex. Together, the trio milked—maybe even forced—another orgasm out of me before the alpha splintered, before he too snapped and lost himself inside of me.

  One thing I had learned over the last week and a half was that group sex was messy. Normally I wasn’t one to skimp on a gratuitously steamy shower in the aftermath, maybe even a bath in the huge soaker tub attached to my private lavatory, but tonight, I didn’t want to get out of bed—didn’t want to leave this hellhound heap unless absolutely necessary. So, with a snap of my fingers, any evidence of our lovemaking vanished.

  “Handy little spell, that one,” Gunnar muttered, stretching his long body out vertically, feet at the pillows, head at the end of the bed.

  “It kind of takes the fun out of it,” I said as I climbed off Knox and snuggled into his chest. He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, stroking my hair, his eyes heavy and his heart pounding beneath my palm. Declan’s head quickly settled in the dip of my waist, his arms circling my legs, my butt to his chest.

  “Well, I don’t want to leave this bed until morning,” he insisted softly, his preferences echoing my own.

  “Maybe for a midnight snack,” Knox rumbled, to which Gunnar chuckled, reaching across his alpha to walk his fingers up my calf.

  “I already know what I want.”

  “A healthy slice of reaper?” Declan said, his voice tinged with exhaustion again. “Make mine a double.”

  “Shut up and go to sleep,” I ordered, eyes closed, lips quirked. “You all need it.”

  Sex took a lot out of anyone, supernatural or otherwise, but Knox and Declan were low on energy already—and any extra cardiovascular activities risked putting a strain on their healing injuries.

  Not that either of them seemed to mind.

  Still, they were out in a matter of minutes, dead to the world, both of them snoring softly. My eyes flickered open to find Gunnar watching all of us from the end of the bed, his head pillowed on his folded arms. When our gazes met, we exchanged little smiles, just for the two of us, and he eventually closed his eyes first with a long, contented sigh.

  Lightning streaked across the bay window, the flash illuminating the steady stream of rain. Thunder answered its mate with a roaring crack-boom, the storm ongoing, stamping this Halloween night in misery.

  Unless you were inside, surrounded by the hellhounds you loved, no longer alone, never to be alone again, listening to raindrops hammer the windows. Then…

  Then, tonight was absolute perfection.

  October crashed into November in a flurry of wild storms and sleet, but when it finally settled, the second last month of the year turned mild—as if to apologize for drowning the West Coast in misery for days on end.

  Today, sunrise was a beautiful affair, the sky dotted with light grey stretches of overcast. As the sun crept over the horizon, rosy hues tinted the underbelly of the clouds. A gorgeous landscape painting, possibility and promise warming all around me—and Lunadell’s tallest skyscraper beneath me. I stood with my toes kissing the sharp corner building, the stonework cool to the touch. My black robes billowed in the gentle morning winds, my hair wild and free, my scythe’s blade catching the first sunbeams spilling over the city.

  My city.

  In the week of biting storms, every day grey and miserable, my pack had passed the trials. Through the foulest weather, they had tracked their souls, rounded them up, found my scythe in a city of snaking roads, in a test laden with angel trickery. Knox had been able to shift and lead. Declan’s back bore the scars of Charon’s cruelty, but faintly now, allowing him full mobility. And Gunnar—Gunnar did as he was told, unflinchingly, obedient and anticipatory of my slightest command.

  My pack had impressed the angel responsible for administering their trials, but their story had made the rounds upstairs already: the hellhound pack willing to sacrifice themselves for their reaper.

  And then, of course, I was the reaper who had killed Charon—but that was neither here nor there. The god’s death had been a necessity; I had just been carrying out my duty to protect the souls of this realm and nothing more.

  Never mind that it brought me immense joy to cleave that fucker in half, to slice his awful head clean off his shoulders—

  No matter. Enemy vanquished, trials conquered, my boys and I could finally move forward.

  Now the real work began.

  Death had started whispering in my ear last night, his sweet voice relaying the names of impending deaths, souls for me to reap. Ages. Occupations. Addresses and locations. Crimes. Punishment. Illnesses and family sorrows. It was ongoing and ever-present, relentless—and would stay that way until a suitable second reaper was located to take on Alexander’s former pack and reap Lunadell alongside me. Until then, it was all mine, from the downtown core shaking off the night at my feet to the sleepy suburbs on the perimeter, right on out to the scattered farmsteads to the east. Mine.

  Alexander’s former pack—

  No.

  Julian’s pack. That was the alpha’s name—Julian. He and his had been reaping with stand-in reapers until last night, one day after my pack’s success was formalized, when all the substitutes went back to their posts and I returned, officially, to my sacred duty. The seven hounds had worked flawlessly with me through the night, following orders, corralling souls. None were as sweet as Declan, nor as swift as Gunnar, and I preferred Knox’s quiet confidence to Julian’s barking. But they had done the job, and that was that. We had escorted twelve to purgatory during their shift, mostly from a cluster of retirement homes, and I’d ordered them to spend the day resting, dismissing them just before sunrise.

  They would meet me back here at sunset, and it would start all over again.

  Hidden along the celestial plane, I closed my eyes and listened, Death’s seductive song tickling my ear. More to reap today, more tomorrow, more forever.

  The whisper faded into the depths at the sound of claws on stone. I glanced over my shoulder—and there were my hellhounds, my boys, my pack. Red-eyed and focused, shifted and ready for work. Right on time. They strolled across the rooftop, enormous black hounds in all their glory. There were no more wards around our territory, no more talks of leaving this life; each one saw the merit in it, the responsibility and necessity of shepherding departed souls into the beyond. They were ready, at long last, to reap.

  After three months away, I was out of shape, a full night of reaping weighing heavily on me—until now. The sight of my pack refueled me, rejuvenated me, breathed life back into me. I stood a little taller as they approached, smiled wider, loved harder.

  “Only nine souls today,” I said, ruffling Declan’s ears when he hopped up on the skyscraper’s ledge alongside me. “An easy start.”

  Knox nosed at my hand, my leg, as he fell in line to my right, Gunnar next to him. Facing the city once more, I squinted against the sunrise, then bit back a knowing smile when I caught three black noses
wriggling. They smelled the promise of orchids in the air, the scent of souls. Knox lifted his head, ears stiff, eyes scanning the cityscape, while Gunnar’s lean figure trembled with energy. Declan, meanwhile, peered up at me with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, his tail wagging.

  I had missed this—the anticipation before a reap. Training the pack had been life-changing in so many ways, but I craved the work again. For ten long years, reaping had been my life, my obsession, my purpose. Today, I returned to it just as fervent, but it was no longer my obsession, my life, or my heart. These three hellhounds possessed both my life and my heart, but I loved that I could finally share my passion with my mates.

  “Prepare yourselves… Ten seconds out, Dennis Roger Pinkerton, fifty-two, heart attack,” I told them. “In the shower, the poor thing.”

  The pack stiffened, counting down the moments until release. We all looked north to the clustered upscale condos, an explosion of orchids in the air, the celestial plane humming with a new soul.

  “Okay, boys…” I tapped my scythe on the rooftop, my heart full to bursting. “Let’s get to work.”

  THE END

  Bonus Content

  Want to know what happens after THE END?

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  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Amanda, my editorial QUEEN, who is always ready to read my latest concoction. You make my first draft worries go away, and that’s a valuable skill. Shout out to Sandra, my phenomenal proofreader at One Love Editing. You may specialize in contemporary, but I’ll bring you over to the dark side yet.

  Thank you to all my many Liz Meldon readers who followed me on this reverse harem adventure. I’m so grateful for your continued support and excitement about all my new projects. You make this easy. You make this fun. Here’s to many, many more books in the future.

  Much love to my friends, my family, and my sun and stars for always supporting my author dream.

  And finally, thank you, dear reader, for taking this journey with me. Reaper’s Pack was an emotional book for me to write. Each of the main characters has facets of me in them, and I took a lot of the loneliness and isolation I’ve felt since becoming someone with chronic health issues and channeled it into Hazel and her harem. Writing their happy ending has been cathartic and uplifting, and I hope it felt that way for you, too.

  Don’t forget to leave a little review, either on Amazon, Goodreads, or your social media. As an indie author, I rely on reader squees to help spread the word about my work, and I appreciate every word you write!

  See you in September 2020 for my next reverse harem standalone novel, Caged Kitten, which is currently available for preorder on Amazon!!

  xoxoxo

  Rhea

  About the Author

  Rhea Watson is a Canadian reverse harem author who loves a good paranormal romance. She writes layered alpha heroes with rough exteriors who melt for their strong, independent soulmates.

  In her spare time, Rhea babies her herb garden, bows to her cat's every whim, and flies through Netflix shows like it's her day job.

  Hang out with Rhea in her Facebook Readers Group!