Thariff pulls the shelf hard so it breaks. Because he cannot rise, he spills the contents around him. Boxes and bags, jars and jugs. He crawls around amid the debris and knocks things out of his way. A mandrake whines in the pile of dirt and the shards of its pot. A vial of dragon’s blood hisses as it slithers across the coals of the fire. He picks up a wooden chest and rakes his hand through it. Clinks of metal.
Poor wolf, he’s trying so hard. He must really love me.
Thariff drags himself back across the floor to my side. He’s bleeding. He’s cut himself on some glass, I think. I want to drape my wing over him, an instinct to shelter the wound. He takes my talon in hand. His fingers aren’t strong enough to pry open my fist, but he’s trying so very hard. I stretch my claws to aid him. I will hold his hand gently.
The wolf pushes a tiny silver ring over the curve of my smallest claw, where it barely passes the sharp edge before the girth of my claw stops it.
And suddenly Lamrow’s library isn’t my earliest memory. I remember a rookery, a tower where I lay panting on a table, flapping black wings because my body was slipping away, because I was dying and I didn’t understand. I wanted to live. I wanted to fly away so badly, that the witch had to hold me by the neck to push the silver ring around my foot. To bind the wings to the silver. To save me.
Now, a lifetime later, as I lay placidly and wait for death, the magic swallows me again.
It promptly spits me back out, disgusted by the band of silver that isn’t as pure as my soul, as if it only needs this small metal excuse to give me a second chance. This time I’ll remember the gift of flight. This time I’ll tell Thariff I love him.
I shiver. Just a man again. Cold in the high tower and wearing a colorful vest that is far too pretty. There’s a tiny silver ring on my littlest finger. I’m too exhausted to be alive, and yet…
“Aza?” His hands were so weak on my talons and so strong when he wraps around me. He hugs me across his lap.
I smile up at him, settled and safe.
He grins and runs a hand through my hair. All that light and happiness over me. It fills me with so much tenderness, so much affection that I can hardly breathe. I ought to thank him. Ought to confess my love. Ought to say something.
Outside somewhere, the wolves howl. Through the dissipating fog, I see Lamrow and her coven in the distance, coming in a shine of white.
I relax into Thariff’s arms.
“Thariff?”
The wolf looks at me and patiently waits. Gives me time to reflect. For me to phrase things properly. There will be a tomorrow for me and my tomorrow will have this man in it.
In my contrariness, I smirk. “You ought to have fetched yourself a healing potion, as well, you damned fool.”
His laugh warms me to the soul.
Tomorrow. I will tell him I love him tomorrow.
The End
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IF YOU CAN’T STAND THE HEAT
Pelaam
Chapter One
From his position at the far end of the kitchen, Quinn kept an eye on the rest of the crew as some prepped their way through the last of the food for the dinner menu, and others dealt with lunch service.
Although Quinn wasn’t the restaurant’s head chef, it fell on his shoulders to manage when Kevin was absent. Which these days, is quite frequently. One could always tell when Kevin did deign to come into the kitchen. It was as though a dark cloud had descended.
In a professional kitchen, you couldn’t work in silence, you had to constantly speak to your colleagues, keeping everyone updated on progress to ensure food was seamlessly cooked, plated, and served. At least to the outside world.
Quinn was thankful this was his day for butchery, a task he not only enjoyed but excelled at. It also meant he was out of Kevin’s line of fire when he came in on the attack. The sad thing is that at one time, Kevin had been an excellent chef.
Quinn shook his head. But Kevin’s bogged down with the baggage that comes with a line of failed marriages, a high dependency on alcohol, and an arrogant attitude. Kevin increasingly looked for ways to cut corners in the kitchen, and things in the restaurant had been on the slide for several months.
The restaurant’s other owner, Mark, was a nice enough man, but in Quinn’s opinion lacked the backbone to stand up to Kevin and always accepted his head chef’s word that the problem was always lower down the food chain. Pardon the pun.
Quinn glared at the hunk of meat before him and bared his teeth at it as if it were personally responsible for the restaurant’s plummeting ratings.
We’ve already been cut back to the bone in terms of staff, and that fat-assed, lazy bastard swans in here, tastes this and that, and then slopes off to his office to drink the day away. Mark needs to get his own ass down here and smell the fucking coffee.
The meat Quinn was preparing wasn’t top quality either. Kevin had a deal with an out-of-towner. His meat was cheaper because it was inferior quality. But Kevin had assured Mark that he could turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, food-wise, and Mark believed him.
But regular patrons and the local foodies weren’t so easily fooled. A few still came back out of loyalty to a local icon, and because the bar was still top-class, even if the restaurant’s standards were slipping, others found better places, where the quality of food matched the prices charged.
With a deep breath in, Quinn closed his eyes, pushed all the negative thoughts away, and focused on getting the best he could out of the meat he was prepping. Moving on wasn’t an option at present, not when there were two of them who’d need a job.
True to form, ten minutes later Kevin arrived in the kitchen, his slightly unsteady gait eloquently speaking of how he’d spent the morning. His red, blotchy cheeks and nose and rheumy blue eyes a testament to many years of hitting the bottle.
The atmosphere in the kitchen plummeted. Kevin swaggered around, stirring here and there, prodding at cut vegetables, and tasting partly prepared dishes.
“This is under-seasoned. Salt it, boy, salt it.”
Biting back a groan, Quinn rolled his eyes. Kevin could use that term as his slogan. From the comparative safety of the corner where he butchered, Quinn kept his head down, but raised his gaze and looked over toward the station Kevin had just sailed past. The young chef cast a frantic glance in Quinn’s direction and Quinn shook his head. Although it’s almost sacrilege to say this about a head chef, but Kevin’s taste buds are well and truly fucked.
“Chef. If I may have a word with you.” Mark stood at the kitchen entrance and Quinn wasn’t sure if he’d seen or heard the previous exchange. Mark’s expression was unusually somber, and Quinn had a bad feeling in his gut.
For a moment, Kevin just rocked back and forth where he stood, and time seemed to stand still in the kitchen.
“Quinn, can you step up for now. I’ll be back to speak to you all later. Chef, if you please.”
“Of course, Mark,” Quinn called out. For Mark to be in the kitchen, much less making demands of Kevin, was a turn up for the books.
Silence and stillness blanketed the kitchen while Kevin made his unsteady way to Mark, and the door closed behind him.
“Okay, guys, let’s get going.” Quinn clapped his hands to break the eerie quiet once Kevin and Mark had gone. “I’d like to try and get some decent stuff going out for the diners. Maybe without Kevin sticking his spoon or his fingers in, we will.”
For the next hour, Quinn made sure everyone was on track with their assigned roles, leaving Lucas to the last.
“How’s it going in here?”
Lucas looked up and smiled at Quinn. The blond, who had an even slighter frame than Quinn’s own, worked on patisserie, and it was the one area of the restaurant Kevin hadn’t spoiled.
Not competent at desserts, Kevin had happily left Lucas alone to work, and Quinn was certain that without their desserts, even fewer people would be eating with them.
“Perfect. I’m so pleased Ke
vin didn’t come and finger any of my desserts. The chocolate mousses are perfect. They should be dessert of the night. I know people will love them.”
“I’ll let Mark know, get him to put it up on the board.” Quinn patted Lucas’s shoulder and the other man’s smile broadened.
“Quinn, may I see you in my office?” Mark’s voice carried across the kitchen.
“On my way. I’ll let him know about the mousses,” Quinn added over his shoulder as he strode away.
However, once he was in Mark’s office, Quinn’s hackles rose. But it had nothing to do with Mark, or even Kevin, the head chef’s alcoholic scent still lingering. Although Quinn might not recognize another shifter if he just looked at one, there was always a telltale scent that triggered a response. And given how he was instinctively reacting, whoever had visited Mark’s office was a predator.
“Are you catching a cold?” Mark asked. “I don’t know if I could cope if you were ill.”
“What?” Quinn hadn’t even been aware he was sniffing. “No. No cold. What did you want? What’s happening with Kevin? We were surprised he hasn’t come back yet.”
“He won’t be coming back. Ever. I’ve been a complete idiot, and the restaurant is almost at the point of closure. I have a new partner. He’s a chef himself. He’s visited the city many times, and likes it down here in Invercargill, the city of Water and Light.” Mark smiled as he recited the city’s tagline.
“Uh, partner?” Quinn asked, pulling out a handkerchief to hide the way his nose kept twitching.
“He wanted to set up business down here, and I’m a cousin, of sorts. When he heard about the restaurant, he said he’d have a look at it, maybe come into partnership. Fuck, I was an idiot over Kevin. I can’t believe how I took everything he said as the truth. Well, no more. Barin isn’t just going to be co-owner, but head chef too. He can see the potential we have and believes he can get us back up where we belong. I’m sure you’ll like him. An excellent chef, although very demanding of his staff.”
“Yeah. Great.” Quinn hoped he’d injected enough enthusiasm in the response. Fan-fucking-tastic. Two shifters in an enclosed space, and one a serious predator. Not good. Not at all. “May I ask his name?” Quinn asked.
“Barin Thornburn.” Mark smiled and rubbed his hands together. “He’s from overseas. Spent a lot of his time in Alaska and Canada. But he has distant family, like me, here. He came for a visit last winter and loved it so much he decided to stay. He’s very good, Quinn. We’re very lucky to have him.”
“I’m sure we are.” Quinn was far from sure that was the case, at least for him. All he could do was hope things wouldn’t be as bad as he anticipated.
Chapter Two
Mark’s new partner in the business hadn’t shown up the previous day. According to Mark, he was busy acquainting himself with suppliers and making decisions about the menu. Apparently, Barin Thornburn had also done an inventory of the food, and the staff. To Quinn’s horror, he’d put Lucas to butcher a piece of beef, while he was stuck prepping the vegetables.
Giving Lucas a quick glance, it was obvious the other man was struggling, and Quinn decided it was better to incur the wrath of the new man than leave Lucas to struggle. He was halfway across the kitchen when the door opened, and Quinn got his first look at their new head chef and joint-owner of the restaurant.
Framed in the doorway, Barin Thornburn took up most of the space and might have been hewn out of granite. Tall, broad, with pale-blond hair secured in a man-bun, and an expression that Quinn was certain would curdle all the milk and cream in the kitchen.
Barin strode into the kitchen, examining each workbench and the work carried out there. As he reached Lucas, his expression darkened into a frown.
“Can’t you prepare meat properly? For fuck’s sake, do you even know how much money you’re throwing away?” Barin’s voice boomed around the kitchen and everyone stared at Lucas whose face went white, and he looked ready to die on the spot.
“Enough. That’s fucking enough.” Quinn slammed down the knife he held and stomped purposefully toward Barin, his gaze never wavering as he locked it with the ice-blue of Barin’s. Despite only reaching Barin’s shoulder at his full height, Quinn jammed his hands on his hips and gave Barin his best death stare.
“Makes you feel good, does it? Yelling at those under you, smaller than you, whose jobs depend on you? Fucking inadequate, that’s what you are. Probably got a dick the size of a pencil. Lucas, go get our coats. We’re not staying here to work under a prick like this. Of course, he’s going to mess up meat. He’s never butchered in his life. He’s a patisserie chef.”
“What?” Barin rumbled the word like thunder in a storm, but Quinn wasn’t scared. He’d faced down bullies before.
“You heard. You’ve got us all doing things we’ve either never done before or isn’t our area of expertise. Well, Lucas and I don’t have to take it. I can support us.”
“Boyfriend?” The rumble was louder, more ominous, but Quinn still refused to back down.
“Get your fucking mind out of the fucking gutter. He’s my cousin and I’ll look after him if need be. I promised his mother, my aunt. Lucas. Coats.”
“Lucas, forget the coats and go to my office. Now. You—” Barin glowered down at Quinn. “What is your specialty?”
“Meat. Ben and Jimmy worked veggies and generally help out.”
“Is that right?” Barin looked over at the two men who nodded. “Then move over. All of you move to the counter you worked on before I came. You and I will have words later.” Barin leaned down close enough that Quinn could smell his clean, fresh, male scent, unmistakably overlaid with alpha predator.
Pushing aside the way that scent made him feel, Quinn turned to his cousin. “Lucas, if he does or says anything—”
“Enough.” Barin’s bellow was enough to set pans rocking and glass shaking, and Lucas dashed over to stand between them, his green eyes, a shared family trait, bigger than Quinn ever remembered seeing them before.
“Please. I’ll be fine.” Lucas nodded insistently.
“I can assure you that I have never, physically or psychologically, abused an employee or a colleague.” Barin’s eyes were glacial, and Quinn was inclined to believe him.
“Fine.” Quinn’s expression softened as he looked at Lucas. “Okay, go.”
As Lucas scurried away, Barin addressed the kitchen staff. “I may be a hard taskmaster in my kitchen, but if you have talent, work hard, and listen to constructive criticisms, you’ll fly high with me. At the moment, I want to speak to Lucas, one-on-one. You’ll all get your chance. I promise.” Barin looked around the kitchen before focusing back on Quinn. “Especially you.” Barin glowered down at Quinn who glared right back, refusing to back down even one single millimeter.
“Fine.” Quinn nodded curtly, then spun on his heel. “Okay, everyone. You heard Chef. Let’s all get back to doing what we each do best.”
Quinn examined the mess Lucas had made of butchering the meat. Okay, some of it can be used in dishes where the cut itself isn’t important, so it’s not all wasted. But let’s see what I can do to get the steaks properly cut.
Although worried about his cousin, Quinn pushed Lucas from his mind to ensure he cut with precision and made the best of what was left of the slab of meat. By the time Quinn had finished, there was a neat row of perfectly cut steaks and Quinn looked at his handiwork with pride.
“Well done. Good job.” Barin spoke from behind him and Quinn looked over his shoulder. Lucas gave him a smile and a wave from where he was setting up his usual patisserie corner, and Quinn relaxed. A fraction.
“Thanks. I’ve saved most of it. The pieces that can’t be saved could be put into something like a stroganoff as a lunch special.”
“Good idea.” Barin nodded. “I don’t know whether my predecessor deliberately wanted the restaurant to fail, you as staff to fail, just me as your new head chef, or a mixture of all three. However, it seems he deliberately mixed up
what you all did, and your capabilities. Perhaps he did it to hide just how incompetent he was. Quite frankly, I don’t care. We need to look forward, not back.”
Barin’s reasonable attitude took the wind out of Quinn’s sails. He’d been so geared up to defending himself against the other man that adrenaline had been bouncing around his system since Lucas had gone with Barin.
“Uh. Okay, great.” Quinn didn’t know what else to say. Lucas seemed very happy and was focused on his workstation. The other staff were engrossed in their work, which just left him, staring like a goldfish at Barin. The quirk of the man’s lips snapped Quinn out of his spell.
“Are you okay with that, Quinn? Moving forward with me?” Barin’s voice was low, and Quinn doubted anyone else could hear him.
“I … yes, sure. Moving forward is good. Now, I have work to do, Chef.” Quinn picked up a bigger knife and Barin chuckled.
“Glad to hear it. I’m a patient man, Quinn. Something you’ll soon discover.” Barin leaned closer to murmur the words, before straightening up. “Okay, everyone, let’s keep at it. This restaurant used to have a great reputation. I want to get that back. We all benefit from good ratings and full tables. So long as you aren’t afraid of hard work, we’ll all get along well. What do you say?”
“Yes, Chef.” The words came as a unanimous chorus from the rest of the staff.
“Good.” Barin looked over his shoulder, gave Quinn a flash of teeth that might have been meant as a grin, and then strode into the middle of the kitchen where he immediately busied himself with working with the rest of the team.
“Quinn, I’ll take care of the steaks if you can get the rest of the meat ready for a stroganoff. You can make that, thank you.”
For a moment, Quinn stood still as if he was in the eye of a storm and a single twitch of a muscle would whisk him into a maelstrom. Then, with a deep breath, he took the plunge. Laying the steaks out on a dish, he took them through to Barin.
Denying the Alpha: Manlove Edition Page 7