Denying the Alpha: Manlove Edition

by 5 Author Anthology

  I squirmed under his affection and he kissed my hair, the base of my neck. His fingers slid over my side and I trembled into aching life. His cock pulsed and he moaned.

  He confessed as he kissed me. “I want more. You do too.”

  “I…” I did. Sweet hell, I wanted his kisses, his worship, his love. But I couldn’t have those. “I don’t.”

  Thariff licked a path up my spine, making me arch into his tongue, lifting my chest and shoulders away from my nest. He wrapped an arm around my chest before I could sink back and leaned over to kiss my mouth.

  I melted into the kiss. The bastard. The sweet, sensual bastard.

  He caressed my sides and my arms, ran his hand over my chest, my nipples. Ravished my neck with kisses, until I moaned and rocked into his cock, trying to make him fuck me. But he resisted, spoiling me with his lips and his hands.

  When he finally gave in and began to thrust again, I was utterly undone. I bent forward, lifted my ass, moaned and begged for his cock.

  He gave it freely now, bowing over me, nuzzling into my neck. He laced the fingers of one hand through mine. The other curled around my cock and I covered his hand in mine. We were so entangled, I couldn’t tell if he was stroking me or if I was. Each thrust propelled us higher and higher, closer toward the peak of our orgasms.

  Mine hit me first, like an arrow in flight. My body stiffened and my cock shuddered, pouring cum over our hands. I shrieked as the pangs of pleasure wreaked my body. I tried to bury my head to stifle the noise—so undignified—but my lover hugged me tight to his body and drank in my cries.

  I sagged in his arms as he shifted his hold from my spent cock to my hip. Steadying me. His cock danced inside, so deep I could feel when he burst. He sang with pleasure and release and the song enlivened my heart, made me smile. My lover kissed my face and my shoulder. Rocked gentler and gentler into my body, wet and warm from his cum. He pulled me onto my side and curled close to me, sharing his warmth and his love and cradling me like I was worth something.

  I sighed, utterly destroyed by his love, and yet … made better for the destruction.

  ****

  When I woke, hours later, I moved to open the shutter, to let the light in and see him.

  Thariff darted out his hand to grab me before I left the bed.

  I laughed at him. “You think I’m going to flee my own nest?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you.” His grip relaxed and instead, he curled his arms and body around me, nuzzling closer. As if I were precious, as if he’d never have the chance to touch me again.

  I pushed his arm off. He let me slip out of his hold and I opened one of the shutters, just enough to see the moon in the western sky. Couldn’t be long until dawn. Still, I was sequestered until noon. I had hours to while away.

  And the perfect distraction to while them away with. I leaned against the wall and looked at the wolf in my bed. Tangled in my blankets and clutching my pillow and hugging it to his face. Relishing in the scent of me.

  “I can’t believe you broke past our security.”

  He hardly stirred but sounded less sleepy than before. “Well, darling, I was getting desperate. You haven’t been to market.”

  I had avoided the market to avoid him.

  Thariff smiled without opening his eyes. “I wanted to kiss you.”

  “You wanted to do more than kiss me.” Looking at him, a crush of despair sank into my bones. He was so handsome. So dark and perfectly made. If he spent hours gazing in a mirror, I wouldn’t blame him, but could he appreciate his own perfection?

  Thariff became aware of my gaze and teased me. Lifting himself on one elbow, posing for me, gorgeous and dark in the feathers and rags of my nest.

  “You like it when I do more than kiss you.” Thariff ran a hand through his hair and pushed his chest and half-hard cock out at me. “Like what you see?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, you have me. Why do you look so depressed?”

  “Because…” I wasn’t worthy. I wasn’t going to say that. Because I loved him. I had no right to say that. So, I answered too sharply. “My reasons are my own.”

  He sighed. “Wish I could keep you soft a little longer.”

  His words did soften me, and I uncrossed my arms and relaxed my face. I returned to the bed and took a breath to … say something nice. Something loving. But I didn’t know how to be vulnerable, I was too used to being distant. And I was always a man of deeds and not words.

  I kissed him and he made a sad little whimper I couldn’t understand and caught me fiercely in his arms. He pressed me back amid the pillows. He kissed me and I moaned and melted into him, circling my arms around his strong back. Giving him my body entirely, because it was the only thing that was truly mine and I wanted him to have everything.

  Then to my surprise, Thariff leaned away. He brushed a hand over the ribbons, jangling the silver rings together. “These are to change your shape?”

  It was such an instinct to put them on that I hadn’t noticed when I did. “Oh. Yes. Why?”

  “You wear the crow one. The others are an eagle and…”

  “Sparrow.”

  “Ha.” He tilted his head. “I didn’t know you had a sparrow shape. Can I see?”

  “It’s the same process. You’ve seen it a hundred times, I’m sure.” But still, I twisted the crow ring over my knuckle.

  “But not you.”

  The absence of my crow ring was strange. I tied it to the empty ribbon, then placed the sparrow ring over the naked finger.

  It was a foolish thing. To perform magic tricks for a lover. But while he sat and watched me eagerly, I tugged the ribbon tight to my throat and transformed.

  I didn’t like being a sparrow. It was disorienting to be so small. And any thought besides fear of larger animals and the basics of movement happened outside my little body. But Thariff extended his hand. I fought my overwhelming sense of danger to land in his hand. I hopped across the moist dark skin, fluttering my tiny wings to show off.

  I trusted him. Too much.

  I wasn’t fast enough to fly away when he cupped his other hand around me.

  Trapped in the hot darkness of his palms.

  I hurt myself in beating my wings. This was a joke. Must be. He’d laugh and release me and I’d turn back into myself and harrumph and carry on and—

  The light returned, and I flew toward the moon. But instead of the sky, there were metal bars. And when I understood I was in a cage, I saw the door closing. He had a tiny lock, for his tiny cage, and he had thoroughly trapped his tiny lover.

  He wrapped the cage in my multicolored vest and while I beat the bars and chirped, he swung the cage. The world got darker. Harder to understand, to hear.

  The cage was in a bag and his voice was muffled when he said, “Are you still making a ruckus, little bird?”

  I shrieked in my loudest voice, and he muttered, “Good.”

  ****

  From the darkness of the bag, I heard what made Thariff a great Alpha. He had a clear, constant communication. Messengers, probably those pups I heard so much about, said things like, “Enemy Alpha engaged in West” and, “Saura owns library” and, “Lost fight at Southern Wall. None captured. Takael down, mild injuries. Rast sent Bo with him.”

  Thariff replied with orders. “Well done. Tell Saura I’m on my way. Divert remaining Southern forces to the west and south of Coltheart’s forces.”

  When he opened the sack and brushed around near the cage, I squawked loudly, but by now, I was too weak and too worn down to be heard. “You get the kids in place. Everyone else reinforce Rast at West wall. Retreat as soon as Saura gets back. Hopefully no sooner.”

  Half a dozen voices answered affirmatively. The pad of feet. Then silence.

  Then a sound like some great bow being drawn and the shatter of glass.

  Something heavy thudded against my dark world. Another sack slung over Thariff’s shoulder. Then we ran again. I clung to the bars of the cage to s
top my fragile body from breaking as it was tossed around the tiny prison.

  I saw the street briefly through the colors of my vest and cried out again. Flapped uselessly toward the light. Then the cage was put into a cart and something bound in iron and glass was put in the cart with me. I could have fallen over dead.

  Madame Lamrow’s grimoire. Still encased in its protective glass. In an iron net.

  Chapter Six

  “Traitor!” For the first time in a long time, I behave like a crow and scream. I don’t have the energy for my rage. I don’t have the freedom to thrash, but my heart is too full to be controlled. “I’ll peck out your eyes. I’ll eat your damned tongue.”

  My body slides on its own between shapes and my hands become blood-soaked wing-tips. The ropes slide off and I lunge at Thariff, half-man and half-crow. My talons aimed at his chest to tear out his heart. “I dance the merry fool for no one, wolf.”

  It never rang less true, for this mad lunge is the most passionate, most ill-advised, most crow-like thing I have ever done. I should use this last bit of my strength to fly to the window. I could crash among the trees, escape, sleep until I recover my strength. Or die like a bird, nameless but free.

  But I hit him with my wings, which are also partly my arms. He doesn’t hurt me, doesn’t try to restrain me, but he defends himself. And I topple at his first punch into a puddle of myself, too weak to rise now, too broken to do anything but feel.

  Real pain can’t exist anywhere except in the heart.

  If you mean to torture someone, a broken heart is good, shattered is better. A broken heart stings but will heal. A shattered heart, frozen and decimated, is viciously painful, cold until it thaws a bit and mends itself.

  But the best is when the heart isn’t certain if it’s breaking or not. Where there’s just enough tenderness to suggest the fresh cut is actually an old wound healing. The greatest pain is a heart tortured by hope.

  His witch is confused. “Why does he take you so personally, Thariff?”

  “Madame, you’ve taken his mind to pieces.” Thariff very calmly binds my arms again. I don’t bother to fight. “Isn’t it possible he’s gone a bit insane? Taken me for another wolf?”

  The hag seems satisfied and says gently, “Little bird, will you have some coffee?”

  The bitch … sneaking what she could from my mind. Thinking it was something as simple as coffee and kindness that bound me to Lamrow.

  “Tell me her secrets and I’ll heal you. Or do you fear her more than you fear death? Is she that terrible?”

  I smile faintly at the idea of Madame Lamrow being fearful. “Ah, you’ve cracked open my secret.”

  She believes me. I thought I was being sarcastic, but apparently irony doesn’t mix with blood. Keldrith says earnestly, “Tell me how I can open that grimoire and I will have the power to shelter you from her.”

  “Very well. I’ll tell you all her secrets.”

  Thariff jolts across the room, shocked that I’m confessing, that I’m finally surrendering.

  His witch leans forward. I take a stupid delight in this performance, making my voice quaver. “She has a great weakness… Lamrow is easily tempted by chocolate.”

  The hag contemplates this a moment, as if it’s serious. As if Madame Lamrow could be defeated by pelting her with cherry bonbons. Thariff hides his face in his hand.

  Then Keldrith understands my mockery and she loses her temper.

  Her preferred form of punishment is forced transformation. And while I will admit there is nothing quite as terrible as someone more powerful than you making extreme demands on your body without your consent, it’s nothing my life with the horde didn’t prepare me for.

  And Thariff’s hag, while evil, lacks imagination. She jumps right to bone deconstruction. A very novice move, really. It’s difficult to build trust or tension after breaking someone’s bones.

  So, very soon, when she screams, “Give me the secrets of the book, or I turn your eyeballs to jelly,” I don’t particularly care.

  She can batter and rend my body all she wants. She’d never do half the damages her wolf has done. I surrendered to him. Let him in. I told him about my newspaper clippings, showed him the colorful vest. And he’d listened like it meant something, treated me with kindness like he needed me, all so he could stand in the corner of this room beside his mistress while she tortured me.

  I’m whole again, more than just a set of shrieking vocal chords. My jellied eyes reformed and adjusting to the perfect white palace outside the ring of slick gore and dead blood.

  “Tell me the secret of the book,” she demands.

  “Its secrets protect themselves,” I answer.

  She makes the skin curl up my arm. Better. That’s how she ought to have started. Peeled me like a grape and maybe I would have broken. Right now, though, I’ve lost too much blood and when the world swims, I fall into its current and land hard on the floor.

  Have we been here before? How many times tonight have we danced this distinctly unmerry dance?

  “Thariff, slit his throat and put him in the entrance hall to frighten the next messenger she sends.”

  Good. A fitting end for my trust. That’s what I get for not resisting the temptation of a wolf. I deserve a slit throat to warn off other crows. To remind them, there really is no escape. Born a crow, die in shadow. No difference whether you drink every dime or serve with dignity, it all ends with a witch mangling your wings and a dog slitting your throat.

  Why had I ever thought I was more?

  A bit of the smoke curls out of the puddle forming a single flower. Lion’s-teeth. It seems to be in a stream swirling, like the river, like the park.

  ****

  Once, who knew how long into the affair, not the first nor the second time, but closer to the beginning than the end, I lay beside him under the willow tree, both of us nearly naked and sprawled on top of my cloak. I was partly asleep, comatose with satisfaction, when Thariff stirred beside me to put on his shirt.

  If I stayed silent, eyes half-lidded, he’d kiss me sweetly and say something lovely. He was full of lovely things to say. Lovely things to do.

  But quiet tranquility wasn’t really in my nature. “Oh, finally finished with me?”

  Thariff grinned, amused. “For today.”

  “Forever.” I rolled my shoulders to combat the growing ache in my spine from his earlier rough treatment. I reached for my trousers.

  He snatched them first. “For today.”

  I frowned at him. “Let’s not ruin a perfectly nice set of trysts by pretending they mean anything, shall we?”

  “Don’t be cynical. I want to see you again. Where do you live?”

  I got to my feet and rustled my cloak so it covered me.

  Thariff growled as I exhausted his patience. “Let me guess her name?”

  I crossed my arms. It was past gloaming and the long shadows of the moon streaked across the grass, catching the light in thin slithers.

  “Give me a hint,” Thariff demanded.

  “She’s a wealthy witch who keeps a crow.”

  “Well, you do her shopping, so her magic is either too strong or not strong enough to bake on credit.” His lip curled and he looked so intent on solving this problem than I was almost inclined to give him the answer.

  “I remember those dandelions, so she must be casting a hell of a protection charm.”

  I tilted my head but gave him no more than the slightest nod. It made me uncomfortable watching him remember the details of my errands. “Oh, the lion’s-teeth. She’s fond of the color yellow. She displays them on the dinner table.”

  He snorted. “Lion’s-teeth, how charmingly pretentious of you.”

  “I like to give things the dignity of their names,” I answered. “Now, do you have a guess or shall I leave, wolf?”

  He grinned a little at my small insult and said, “Is it Madame Fontril?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fontril is a hair away from irredeemably wicked.” />
  “So, she really is a good witch, one of those prissy, pretty ones?” Thariff considered. “I thought you were being contrary when you said—”

  “Enough guessing. Give me my clothes.” Fontril was in the same league as Lamrow. He’d gotten too close.

  “Well, a good witch, who has business with Aplez…” He had other things he was thinking, a hundred little hints I’d given him through act and deed. “With a crow for a messenger.”

  Out of habit, I scoffed.

  And Thariff noticed, “Oh, higher in the household, are we? A personal secretary, perhaps or … steward?”

  He hit on Lamrow. The lazy pleasantness of his face tensed and darkened, the openness shut into a combination of startled fear and deep regret.

  Or perhaps I was projecting because watching him realize I was Lamrow’s steward, I saw he had no subterranean motive in seducing me.

  But now he did.

  He begrudgingly extended the trousers. I accepted them graciously but didn’t say anything. He watched as I slip them on beneath the layers of the cloak. Then he said, “Give my regards to Madame Lamrow.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.”

  I tightened the ribbons of my cloak around my throat, closing the loop of the magic. There was a momentary pop where my body failed to exist and then it reformed.

  He looked after me, forlorn. When I clawed for the sky. I resolved never to see him again.

  But, of course, I did see him again. Somehow and for reasons that have utterly escaped my memory, I let him back into my life. I’d led him into my nest. And in doing so, I practically handed him Madame Lamrow’s grimoire.

  ****

  “Madame,” Thariff says lazily. “May I suggest healing him instead?”

  What does he see in the smoky baskets and flowers of my thoughts? Do they trigger memories for him? Maybe there was a time before he meant to deceive me, but that time is long gone.

  But maybe he’s deceiving his witch.

  Keldrith looks at him with distrust. “Why?”

  “Lamrow is inordinately fond of him. Perhaps she’ll ransom him in exchange for the secrets of her book?”

  “No witch loves an animal that way.”