Denying the Alpha: Manlove Edition

by 5 Author Anthology

  He chuckled. “If it wasn’t for my witch, I’d never do a thing to make you distrust me.”

  That was not what I expected him to say.

  “The way she’s bound all her wolves to her, it’s impossible for any of us to really…” Thariff made a face of pure disgust. “We can hardly think for ourselves sometimes.”

  I remembered what Charine had said … so long ago in scandalous gossip. “That’s not legal, Thariff. You could seek asylum.”

  “Maybe I should,” Thariff said, entirely too seriously.

  I solemnly looked at him. “Are you asking for my help?”

  He grinned at me and revealed the joke, “Are you gonna fly to my aid like some crow knight, Aza? Does that mean you love me?”

  I groaned and pushed him away. “No. You’re a damned fool.”

  Thariff didn’t allow himself to be pushed too far, and instead, he kissed me. “You’re the one dressed like a jester.”

  Chapter Four

  “Madame Keldrith.” His voice is real enough to make me exist again. “What’s all that color?”

  “Will you stop interrupting?” the witch snaps. She doesn’t know what the colors mean, why they twist like flowers in a field. She sees only that I wear colorful clothes like every other crow. She doesn’t know me.

  “So sorry, Madame.” But Thariff knows what he’s seeing. It’s shaken him to the core. Maybe he didn’t know how much I cared for him. How difficult it must have been bearing my ugliness all these months, just to penetrate my defenses to capture me.

  The witch scowls and ladles more of her bubbling spell, igniting a fresh cloud of smoke. It carries me away. Is it parts of my soul drifting or just memories?

  “The book. How do we take care of it, Aza?”

  I hum. It must never be touched. Except with iron gloves. The smoke knits itself into the image of the gloves. The image is hazy, then because I’m watching it form, it dissipates.

  “Damn stubborn bird.” Keldirth throws the ladle into the cauldron.

  “Madame, is there anything I can do to help?” Thariff looks at me. “Maybe fetch you a cup of coffee?”

  “No,” she snaps, then glares at me. “Tell me about the book, bird.”

  Coffee. There’s nothing special about his tone or the word. It’s just … persuasive. Coffee. Heat and bitterness. And once he said to a swan, “Evening, miss. Can you make me a lemon tea and fetch the coffee sampler for my date?”

  ****

  I wasn’t his date.

  I’d gone into the café alone. A café made for birds. Rustic brown walls and warm empty booths padded with pillows. There was no reason not to go inside. One cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt. I had no errands.

  But when I finally went through the door, I hesitated again. The swan behind the counter, reading a magazine, was a truly beautiful creature. She noticed me and tilted her head with the mild judgment of seeing a creature like but not as good as herself. That was uncharitable. She smiled warmly and was about to greet me when I panicked and turned to leave. As if speaking to her would wither me, reveal me as chattering and empty-hearted, incapable of existing in the sight of something so pure and lovely.

  But Thariff loomed in the doorway, blocking my escape. He grinned and I knew he wouldn’t let me pass, wouldn’t let me escape.

  “Hiya, Azatio. What a startling bit of good luck, running into you again.” He directed his attention to the swan. “Evening, miss. Do you mind making me a lemon tea and the coffee sampler for my date?”

  There was no graceful escape. “I don’t need—”

  “But you want,” he whispered. “And you’re here and it’s happening. It won’t slow you down. Just fly home instead of walk. Say a wolf scared you if she asks.”

  “She won’t.” The swan has written down the sale with empty-headed cheer. “Fine. We shall sit together. But I intend to only insult you.”

  The wolf grinned. “Wouldn’t be a date with you otherwise.”

  By the time Thariff brought me the little cups of bitter coffee and crackers and sat with his own honey lemon tea, I solved his “startling good luck.” I sipped the first cup, the dark burnt caramel coffee, relishing the burst of flavor, ashamed to enjoy something so rich. “So, you either have been waiting at the foot of the midtown bridge—”

  “Sorry, I don’t have the time to properly stalk you.”

  “Or you assumed my witch had dealings with Madame Aplez and you hired a crow to tell you when I arrived there.”

  “Hire’s a strong word, and I disagree with its connotation.” He smiled and shrugged. “I’m much more the I’ll-owe-you-a-favor sort.”

  I touched the cracker and then left it on the tray. One cannot eat a cracker with dignity. “I don’t appreciate being hunted.”

  “It’s a harmless little game. It will be more fun when you let me do more than kiss you.”

  I stared at him coldly. “Sir, I assure you, it’s not harmless. A person with power, with prestige, with protection might find your games exciting, but as I have none of these, being hunted is nothing to take with a smile and a laugh.”

  “Oh.” He was thoroughly shamed and looked at the door. “I’m sorry.”

  His genuineness softened me a little. “So, Charine says you’re the Alpha of a pack of twenty. Is that true or is she exaggerating?”

  Thariff smiled slightly when I confessed to asking about him. “No, it’s actually more like twenty-eight. She didn’t count the children.”

  He had the confidence, the casual command required for such a role, but— “Aren’t you a bit … young and runty to be making such outrageous claims?"

  He leaned back in the chair to display his broad body in a casual power play. “I thank you for being impressed by my youth and lack of physical violence. It’s tough to be an Alpha when you can’t run around biting people’s necks.”

  I sipped the chicory tea, trying not to be impressed. The tea, which glows bright yellow like a potion, was too wonderful for me. It ought to be enjoyed last to linger on the palate. So, I left it on the tray and returned to the coffees. “I suppose you have the attitude of an Alpha about you. How do you control that many?”

  Thariff clearly didn’t expect me to ask about him. He sat forward again to consider then answered. “Well, leadership is mostly about good delegation. Explaining clearly what must be done and letting the pack help you do it. The best approach often floats to the top. It helps when you befriend the biggest and convince him you’re smarter, which I am.”

  I nodded. I didn’t know what else to say. How to prompt him to continue speaking. I was used to taking and giving instruction, working in simple, polite scripts or sharply reminding my lessers of their place. But I wanted to know about him. Maybe I could ask about his witch. Was that gauche? “Is that all it takes, then? A little trickery?”

  I took a big gulp of the third coffee, the too-sweet vanilla one. He looked hurt for the first time and I jolted. “I don’t understand pack dynamics at all. Didn’t mean to offend.”

  He grinned and leaned his arms on the table. “I thought you were going to insult me the whole time. Why worry about offending me?”

  “My mistake.” I put the little cup down. “Wolf pack dynamics seem pathetically easy for a man of even your limited intellect to manipulate.”

  He hissed. “Well, I asked for that. Who leads the crows?”

  “Depends on whoever is drunkest.”

  “You don’t think very much of other crows.”

  “They aren’t as bad as peacocks or rats, but that’s the most I can commend them for.”

  Thariff made a face. “What’s your commendation of wolves?”

  “Violent, generally smartish, prone to sudden bouts of unshakable loyalty.”

  “That’s…” He paused and ceded the point. “Surprisingly accurate.”

  I drank the last of my coffees. Only the chicory tea, which was too good for me, remained of my sampler. “I never lie.”

  “Never?”


  “I’m no good at it. I don’t have the social graces.” I raised one brow at him and since everything about me was oppressively formal, Thariff howled with laughter. It made me smile and I hid it behind the teacup.

  I drank the chicory tea, yellow and glinting in the sunlight. I’d order this again and I’d forever associate it with this wolf and his gorgeous smile.

  But the sample cups were tiny, a swallow or two at best. And the tea was gone.

  “Well, that’s that, then.” I set the cup down on the saucer and rose.

  Thariff looked confused then devastated. “But I thought we—”

  “Had a lovely time, yes.” I tucked the chair into its place. “But I have to go.”

  He was not amused. “And how am I supposed to contact you?”

  “You’re not.” I gathered the cups, saucers, and the tray, and pocketed the sachet of his tea. I wasn’t certain why at the time. I certainly didn’t expect… Not like the bottle caps.

  “Are you always this cold?” Thariff daintily sipped his tea, as soon as I was out of sight he would drain it and follow me again. Did I want him to follow me? I could fly away…

  I shrugged innocently. Briefly, I considered telling Thariff how the horde placed bets that I’d grow up to be a midnight-stabber, a mercenary who specialized in murdering witches. Instead, I carried the trash to the counter. “Have a pleasant evening.”

  He gulped down the tea and left some extra coins on the table for the staff who’d clean up after him. Then he fell in step behind me. I smirked a little and fingered the tea bag. Maybe…

  No, I’d fly away outside, fold into my cloak with a pop of magic and flap out as a crow and disappear into the night. I stepped out the door, walked a bit down the street with him trailing close behind. In another moment, I decided.

  Then I delayed.

  At the bridge. He couldn’t track me in the sky; not even the greatest hunter could.

  It was a quiet evening, cool and clear. A good night for good spells, Madame would say. I walked away from the sidewalk, along the river. Toward the bridge back to the respectable side of town. Thariff walked silently behind me. The grass muffled our footsteps and I caught his breathing when the noise of the city let me. Mostly, I saw the movement of him out of the corner of my eye. The reflection of him in the water.

  As we neared the park, the city noises softened, muted by the buildings, the bridge, and the bushes. The bridge towered pristine and white amid the dirty streets and wildness of the park. The river flowed under it and forked, mostly flowing into midtown. The rest streamed out into a creek that fed the park and ended in a deep, still lake. That time of year, the stream’s floodplain was a verdant meadow, edged by small pines and tall, well-dressed oaks and willows. The coming sunset tinted the vast, green expanse of grass and leaf with gold. There were fewer people along the river, and the slow fluttering of the grass in the breeze most caught my attentive eye. Very peaceful. Better seen as the crow flies.

  Here was the bridge, when I would cross over to home, walk past the towers of the great city witches, and fly back to Madame’s tower. Then I would make her tea and copy her notes and letters and it would be quiet and peaceful.

  My foot clicked on the pavement, scratching stone instead of sinking into the earth. Thariff grabbed my wrist and simply held me. I didn’t turn to look at him, rather tugged my arm, expecting him to release me. Then I’d be on my way. Then I’d fly.

  Instead, Thariff jerked back, yanking me toward him. I slipped a little on the bank and as I turned to catch my balance, the wolf moved forward. In a swift movement, part dance and part push, he swung me under the bridge and pressed me against the cool marble.

  And kissed me.

  Goddess’s Tits, he was a good kisser. Built for kissing, built to tempt and to pleasure. The heat of his lips, of his fingers on my arms, of his desire melted my resistance. He ground against me, rubbing his cock against my thigh. What else was he good at … built for? I opened my mouth to him before I considered the consequences. Already my cock strained to be against him.

  Damned wolf.

  The kiss went on, smooth, fluid passion passing between us. His fingers grazed over my arms, my neck, my thighs. My hands trembled to his lower back and remained uncertain. They shouldn’t touch something so beautiful, something so well-crafted and finely made. He belonged to a woman of power and he shouldn’t be kissing a crow beneath a bridge. I braced my hands on the bridge, away from his body, as if the stones could shelter me.

  Thariff broke the kiss and bowed his face to nuzzle my neck. When he moved past his low growl, he said, “What are you fighting so hard for?”

  “I…” I had no answer. I could have said Madame Lamrow, but she’d be delighted if I had a paramour. She worried about me, alone in the gatehouse. I could say I feared his witch, something evil he’d bound his soul to, but wasn’t that just idle gossip?

  He kissed me again and ran his hands boldly under my cloak. Since it was late summer, I wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just the fully buttoned cloak and my trousers. When his hands encountered bare skin, he groaned with raw need.

  My blood sang in reply. If I didn’t manage to break away, I’d be lost.

  “I shouldn’t.” I pushed him away.

  He wouldn’t let me go, but gripped my hips and looked into my eyes. “Why not?”

  So dark and quiet under that bridge. Nothing to distract me from his eyes, the hunger and the loneliness, the promise and the tenderness.

  He brushed his hands over the front of my pants, barely stroking my cock. I shuddered, as rooted to the spot as the bridge.

  He dipped his mouth, to kiss me again, I thought, until the softness of his lips hovered just above mine. I moved my mouth to speak, but the nearness of his lips snared my words.

  Thariff flicked the button at my throat. My cloak, a naturally heavy garment, slipped. The strings laced up the front went taut and he fingered the knot lazily. Lingering so near we’d kiss with the slightest effort. The knot yielded and the cloak fell open, making a wide and immodest ‘v’ on my chest. Not that there was anything particularly modest in letting a wolf grope me under a bridge. Only the button over my stomach stopped the cloak from coming totally free and when he reached for it, I realized he meant to strip me naked.

  “I prefer to leave the cloak in place—”

  Without any shame, he dropped his hand to my crotch. I gasped as his boldness, though his pressure was terribly light. Teasing as he rubbed my cock through my trousers. The stiff fabric was enchanted to transform like my cloak, and so it clung tight against my body and hid absolutely nothing from him. I was as keenly aware of his pants. Deerskin, probably handmade by the lesser members of his pack, and too soft to protect me from the hardness of his shaft.

  “Tell me about the ribbons and rings.”

  I lifted my eyes to his face, somewhat stupefied by lust and his request. Then cast my gaze to my bare chest and the black ribbons and silver rings dangling there. “Oh … totems of transformation. That’s all.”

  He chuckled and licked at the edge of the ribbon. “I’m no scholar. What’s that mean?”

  “It means…” He squeezed my cock a little and I crumbled into the bridge. “The ribbons … if they’re tightened, force the transformation. The rings, whichever I’m wearing determines my shape…”

  Thariff slipped away a little, picked up my hand, and studied the silver ring on my index finger. I’d worn it for so long, I wasn’t even sure he’d be able to remove it. If he wanted to steal the silver, he had me alone. He could attack and leave me for dead. “Are you going to steal them?”

  The wolf pulled away, releasing me entirely. He frowned at me, proud and hurt by the suggestion. “I’m not going to take anything from you that you don’t freely give me, Azatio.”

  My name from that mouth, those eyes on me. If he commanded, I would obey. I’d fall to my knees and worship the cock behind his worn trousers.

  He took my chin in his hand and brought hi
s lips close again. “You know what I want from you. You’re not going to make me steal it, are you?”

  The wolf kissed me, a short, sharp touch that he ended at once. After the lingering kisses, it left my lips chasing his.

  “Are you, Azatio?”

  Sweet shit… He didn’t have to steal anything from me. Nothing was mine but my body, and I was rapidly reaching the point where I’d beg him to take all he wanted of that. To use me as he saw fit, to utterly demolish if he liked. But he couldn’t be trusted, could he? This was all too fast, too much of a good thing to be real.

  “Azatio?” He tipped my head back. “I’m not stealing anything from you, because you want me. Isn’t that right?”

  Oh, Goddess, this was happening. We were doing this. Me and this paragon of wolves. I nodded, or at least I nodded as much as I could with his fingers on my jaw.

  “Say the words,” he commanded.

  “Yes.” I shuddered. “Yes, I want you. I want all of this.”

  For a moment, I surfaced from this undertow of lust and remembered myself. “But don’t read too much into it.”

  Thariff grinned and kissed me again. A real kiss this time. I couldn’t think clearly anymore. I gave into his touch, to his lips. I moaned slightly and leaned into the bridge when he deepened the kiss.

  “Much better.” He didn’t so much end the kiss as redirect it. Running his mouth down my neck and his hands up my body under the cloak. His thumbs grazed my nipples, then one hand dropped back to my pants, to push them down.

  Still, I hesitated to touch him, placing my hands very carefully on his back.

  The lightness of the touch made him pull away and smile at me. A victorious smile, but warm. Like it was a shared victory.

  “You can call me Aza,” I said.

  He growled into my shoulder. “Aza…”

  Admitting my name gave it away. I was liberated from it and all the baggage attached to being Azatio the Crow, steward of Madame Lamrow. Like a different person, a man who could relish in the rougher kisses from his lover.