“Whether I get it from those nuisances is another story, I understand. Don’t give them too much sugar or they’ll get silly on you. Start to roughhouse and drive away all your customers.”
“Might be good for business.” Charine smiled.
They laughed. He left. I ached to see that much brightness leave my world while I made no effort to snatch it. The desire in my body wanted me to flap after him and fawn in his path. He’d laugh at me. A regular crow—one without a witch to serve—would caw after anyone he fancied until he was either satisfied, soundly rejected, or got bored.
I focused on Charine and counted out my money. “If a humble crow may ask, where does one go that one needs wolf escorts?”
Charine chuckled at my formality. “Ah, just down the river. All the better merchants have their own wolves. I can’t bring myself to make one and I’ve no use for a hired pack, but I figure I can buy some pups as day labor.”
“Well, may your business grow as quickly as your new guards. And as handsome too, if their father is any indication.”
She laughed delighted. “Oh, how pretty. Mr. Azatio. Are you studying to be a word-witch, now?”
I scoffed at the idea. “Only to bestow blessings upon you, Ms. Charine. Being so charitable to wolves.”
She looked out the window, also pining after the man. “His pack can use the coin. Bad witch that one has.”
“Indeed?” I cared little for the business of such a lowly man, but I never denied gossip.
“Oh, yeah.” Charine tried to shock me. “She’s got them all under a soul bond, or some such dark art. Even the children.”
Quite shocking. Also, illegal. So probably not true. I glanced out the window, but the wolf was lost.
****
I found him a moment later.
Or more precisely, he found me. I hadn’t acclimated to the constant movement. The main thoroughfare was so crowded with life my eyes were drawn everywhere at once and I had trouble seeing anything. I yearned for the empty sky, but it wasn’t seemly to rely on magic. So, I focused on the distant spires of uptown, where Lamrow’s tower stretched to the clouds, and let the wash of people move me closer.
The wolf—breath sweet with lemon tea, eyes golden-green as a summer meadow—fell in step beside me and leaned close to whisper, “You’re a very odd kind of crow.”
Instinctively, I tightened my hold on the basket. What the hell could he want with me? There were too many people for him to assault me and steal the basket. He’d never be able to outrun a crow if he snatched it and ran. Still, he must be answered. “Am I?”
“Very. You hardly fidget and you’re cold as ice.”
“Sir, did you have any particular business with me?” It was sharp enough to give him pause.
Or at least amuse him. “Just being friendly.”
“Indeed, sir. Fools and salesmen are friendly. I have no use for either.” I walked a little faster, hoping to walk away, but too hemmed in with the overpopulated market.
He chuckled and matched my stride. “Your name is Azatio, right?”
I cringed. If he overheard that, he’d heard my flippant remark about his looks. Damned every trivial thing, every stupid utterance I’ve let fly off my tongue. “My name is my own business, sir, and none of yours unless you have business with my witch.”
“You’re a self-important prick.” The wolf laughed. “I bet you’re a hoot at dinner parties.”
He slipped around me and stopped dead in front of me. I fluttered back on instinct, because to touch him— He moved closer and I side-stepped, until he’d herded me out of the flow of people and near a café.
The swans inside craned their necks to see us … no, see him. The wolf was just that handsome and I was … nothing.
“I’m Thariff,” the wolf’s low voice was nearly animal and certainly … had an undesirable effect on me. “Have a drink with me?”
He was after the lion’s-teeth. He couldn’t buy them for his witch so he meant to steal them from me. And what was more, he thought I was like every other crow, greedy for liquor and too vain to know … well, he was too handsome for me. Too charming and … and I—
“I have errands.” I walked around him, trying to hide in the flow of people. An ogre, several feet taller than me, nearly trampled me, but the wolf took my arm and pulled me out of the way.
“That’s not a no, exactly, is it?” he said charmingly.
I glared at his fingers on my arm, his lustrous skin nearly darker than my cloak. “Sir, that’s a very firm no.”
The wolf seemed stunned, as if he’d never considered what might happen if someone didn’t surrender to his charms. “I’m not after cursing you. I’m after—”
“I know what you’re after.” The basket full of lion’s-teeth. He had to be a thief. “And I’m not interested in—”
“Don’t lie,” Thariff barked sharply. I recoiled, cowed by the sudden authority. Then he smiled again. “I’m still a wolf. I trust my nose more than I trust my ears.”
“I don’t trust you.” I returned to the crowd, more carefully this time.
For a moment, I thought he’d behave decently and leave me alone. Let me sink back into my proper place of anonymity, just a regular crow masquerading as a witch’s steward. Nothing to interest a wolf.
But he reappeared in an alley, moving too quickly for me to cry out when he seized my arms. A passerby noticed when the wolf dragged me into the alley, but Thariff gave such a warm, hearty laugh that she smiled and moved on.
I shoved and the wolf released me so that I stumbled back and hit the building. He leaned a hand on the wall over my shoulder, not touching me, not even hemming me in, just … so close his body caged me.
“Azatio.” Goddess, his voice was more seductive than the men in my dreams. “Have a drink with me when your errand is done.”
He wasn’t even blocking my escape. I could go under his arm. That wasn’t dignified, but neither was this … paralysis. The street was so close. The open sky was closer.
His eyes were like nets, like little shining cages, like bottomless green-gold lakes. I couldn’t stay afloat and I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swim out of his eyes.
“You don’t want me.” My voice had a weakness in it that I hadn’t heard out loud in a very, very long time. Such a damned foolish confession. His brows tilted, a little pitying whimper. My embarrassment brought me back to sanity. I pushed at his arm and headed out into the street. “Get out of my way.”
He took my shoulder, more forcefully this time. The strength in his hand, the power of his arm, radiated through me. If he didn’t want to let me go, I wouldn’t be able to go. He’d tear me apart.
Instead, he pressed me back against the bricks and leaned closer. He smiled, smoldering. “I want to kiss you.”
I met his softness with bitter cold. “I want to attend to my errand.”
“You want me to do more than kiss you.”
I did. I really, really did.
But—
I scoffed at him, disdainful of what I didn’t deserve out of habit. “How charmed your life must be that you’ve reached this advanced age without ever being told no.”
Thariff looked at me, silent and patient. Waiting. For what? His silence caused a great shout to rise in me, a guttering screech, but I swallowed it and kept my face placid. Unimpressed.
He squeezed my shoulder, inhaled deeply, and listened to my heart pounding. Because a wolf could sense those things, as certainly as I felt a thunderstorm building in my bones. Then, with dusty tartness—the trace of lemons—his mouth covered mine.
That kind of kiss could break the weak. That kind of knee-buckling passion could sweep an innocent off balance and into chaos. That kind of desire defeated good sense, good instinct, and good intention, and instructed smart men to throw away everything on the off chance they might get another kiss like it.
I was only saved from utter collapse by the basket in my hand and the bricks at my back. The basket belonged to
Madame Lamrow, good and kind and deserving of my loyalty. The bricks belonged to a dirty city and only an act of violence could make me touch them.
As soon as I resisted—which was less immediate than my pride cared to admit—the wolf abandoned the kiss. He kept me pinned and stared like parting from me would be poison. “You don’t like kissing?”
I loved kissing. I didn’t get to kiss enough. Kissing was weak and foolish and…
He bowed close, bringing his lips back to mine.
I’d be lost forever if I let him kiss me.
I turned my head only at the last moment. He paused, kissed my cheek, and then plucked a soft path toward my ear.
“You want more than kisses…” he whispered.
My face was hot against his cool lips. My body radiated desire as if every inch of my skin wept for his touch. I wanted him so much that getting what I wanted might kill me. He rubbed his face into my neck and shoulder. What cruel tenderness…
I didn’t deserve it.
He was physically too powerful to fight, but I still struggled against his hand. “Let me go. If you force me—”
The wolf let me go at once and stepped back.
I didn’t expect escape to come so easily. I broke into pieces as if he’d been holding me together. My body cried out to keep him, betrayed by my rational mind.
“I only wanted a kiss.” Thariff smirked. “I'm exceedingly patient.”
He took the handle of the basket. I gripped it tight as death and he laughed and raised it … raised my hands to his lips.
“I don’t want your weeds either.” Thariff kissed my clenched fingers gently. “My witch has little use for wholesome magic.”
“Then you better not keep her waiting.”
Chapter Three
My eyes flutter. The curling smoke shapes like dandelions, bottle caps, and feathers in a basket. The witch, Keldrith, puzzles over these symbols of my mind, so obvious to me, so shadowy to her.
I can’t imagine her waiting for anyone. She lacks the patience.
Madame Lamrow waits for me when I go on errands.
Waiting is a strong word.
She’d be in the tower, puttering with her grimoire. The details of her are so clear in my mind I can conjure every wrinkle on her face, every scratch on her thick glasses, every fold of the brightly-colored scarves draped over her dumpling roundness.
How strange she is the most powerful person in the city. This cramped old woman who ruffles my hair is the eldest of her coven and her coven is the largest and most powerful. She keeps their wisdom in the lower levels of this tower, in a library open to anyone who wishes to read. Even the coven’s grimoire sits inside a glass podium, out in the open. She will show it to anyone, turn the pages for them, let them read the spells.
Her fingers—old, dry, fragile, skin thinner than the pages—handle the book casually. The grimoire trusts her. It doesn’t fear her intentions. The thought of the grimoire sends a little chill to my heart. Best not to think of that thing.
It doesn’t belong in Lamrow’s tower. Only Madame Lamrow belongs in her tower. Only Lamrow and me, her trusted crow.
“Azatio, can you bring me my book?” She points to the grimoire in its glass case.
I stiffen when she says my name.
Because to Madame Lamrow, I will always be Aza.
It’s hard to leave behind this tower, the warmth and wholeness, the familiar sight of well-loved books.
It’s even harder to return to the sterile white of Keldrith’s tower. Everything marble and glass except this little black chalk circle spattered with my blood and this revolting spell spoiling the air.
I blink into the smoky eyes of an owl. Partly dove, I think, based on the blunt beak. Those are Lamrow’s eyes. Filled with infinite pity and love, as if to say, “Oh, sweetie, how did you get into this fix?”
And I don’t remember.
Then the smoke distorts and floats away, and Keldrith scoffs at me. “He’s a paranoid little bastard.”
Thariff laughs heartily. “You have no idea.”
When Keldrith glares at him, the wolf shrugs. “What? He doesn’t have any friends. He can’t stand other crows. The Goddess herself could descend from the heavens in a rainbow and She couldn’t charm him.”
I keep my gaze cold on him. No one could charm me. No one but him.
How did it begin? How did he manage to sneak past my defenses? How does one forget how he fell in love?
****
I knew I was in love when I brought him to the gatehouse. My little sanctuary. I fiddled with the keys, nervous. I’d never let anyone inside before. I thought to tell him, but it was such a foolish confession I didn’t begin it. I wasn’t bringing him up to my room to bare my soul to him. I was tired of getting fucked in the park by the river. That’s all.
He stepped inside, investigated, judged, and weighed the objects of my life. “Not what I expected.”
I closed the door behind me. I’m a bit of a hoarder, but a meticulous one. So, all my little scraps and shinies have their purpose and their place. “Yes, well … I ought to clean out the clutter, but most of it’s sentimental.”
“Exactly what I didn’t expect. It’s very tender of you to keep and display these things.”
He flopped onto the nest—the bed—and stared at the ceiling. Papered with old newsprint. I stood awkwardly, not speaking until he asked, “What are they? I can’t make a pattern.”
“There isn’t one,” I admit. “Before Madame Lamrow … I liked the pictures and I used to puzzle over the letters and try to make meaning. I was never successful until Madame taught me to read.”
“I don’t mean to ask personal questions.”
“Well, I let you in. I regret it, but—” I shrugged off my cloak and hung it on the wall. “I can’t change my mind now.”
“No, you can’t.” The wolf grinned. “It’s such a fascinating mind too.”
Thariff lolled toward me, tucking his arms under the pillow, lazily lounging in my bed. He took up most of it, purposefully, lolling to rub his scent into my sheets. “I know so little about you. It’s made fantasizing strange. Like I’ve got the sexy bits down, but then I start imagining taking you to dinner and I don’t know how you’d react to things I’d say. It got a little easier after our coffee date, but … not enough.”
“That’s…” Possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me. “Pathetic.”
“Yeah, I did think you’d say that.” He shifted onto his back again and pointed at the little display of bottle caps eye level when on the bed. “What are those?”
I cringed. “Mementos.”
“Of what?”
Lovers. The men I met in the bars along the river. I’d pocket the bottle cap, usually a few moments before I agreed to go with them back to their tiny boats, or to their rented rooms, or sometimes to the alley behind the bar. The line ends not with a bottle cap, but with a tea bag.
“I think you can … figure out the pattern.”
Thariff hummed, unhappy, probably with the number. Then he said brightly, “I have the only unique one.”
“Yes, well … you’re different from the rest.” I cringed. “Don’t read anything into it.”
“What I really want to know—” Thariff grinned as he sat up and pointed to my clothing cupboard. “Why haven’t I ever seen you wear that?”
I knew without looking, he meant the vest. The heat rose to my cheeks and I wished I’d left him outside. It would be fine enough to have him in my office. I didn’t need to suffer this humiliation. “Oh, it’s … it’s nothing special.”
The vest hung with all my black silk shirts and trousers. The lone splash of color among the shining shrouds. I touched the hand-stitched fabric, a hundred different rich fabrics patched together, lined with soft, warm cloth.
“I bought it for pure vanity. It’s utterly useless.” I started to slip it on over my arm, but seeing that much color against my pale skin made me hesitate—as always. So, I u
nfurled it again and let the colors shimmer in the weak light. “What the hell could I do with something this colorful?”
“Put it on,” Thariff insisted.
“No. I…” I moved to return it to its place, embarrassed by the idea.
“Take off everything else and put it on,” he commanded, in what I affectionately called his ‘Alpha’ voice.
It was easy to make fun of, but hard to defy. I was comfortable enough with my lover to strip out of my trousers and shirt without hesitation, but I paused, looking at the vest.
Could Thariff detect all the layers of the threads, the shine and soft fading, the utter vibrancy of it? It was far too lovely for me. He could have pulled it off, this rainbow against the stormy sky of his skin, but I … I wasn’t worthy of it.
“Go on.” Thariff leaned back on his arms and ran a hand over his chest, toward the bulge of his cock. He stroked himself through his trousers, coarse black cotton that day. “I want to see you wear it.”
I flushed, but in one quick movement pulled it over my shoulders. “There. Ridiculous, see?”
“Come here.” Thariff gestured with his head.
I wanted to refuse him, but he looked so good in the dim room, in my nest, I relented at once. I crawled over to him, letting the multicolored vest trail behind me. It was especially silly for a plain thing like me to wear such a beautiful vest as if it were designed to excite my lover.
Thariff didn’t need the help. With the slightest tug, his cock bobbed out of his trousers and against his belly. He tugged at my hips, trying to make me straddle him. But I felt entirely too foolish even kneeling in the bed beside him.
My lover growled with appreciation and ran his fingers up my sides, touching the vest only with the back of his hands. “You should wear it more often.”
“I just like to look at it.”
“Me too. While you’re wearing it.” Thariff wrapped me in the vest and kissed my throat, licking slightly at the ribbons holding my eagle and sparrow rings. I flinched and moved them away from him. So, instead, he kissed my ear. “Aza, may I be romantic for a moment with you?”
His kisses lulled me into such a state of bliss that I almost didn’t mind, but my cynicism was deeply ingrained. “Why not? It’s amusing when you make a complete fool of yourself.”
Denying the Alpha: Manlove Edition Page 2