Denying the Alpha: Manlove Edition

by 5 Author Anthology

  Sorrel gaped at the closed door, wildly turned on and feeling like he’d just gotten dunked in cold water. He almost ripped open the door and demanded more. Biting his lip, Sorrel stalked to the bathroom to splash himself with cold water.

  The next time he saw Ari, the man’s gaze drifted down to his lips, the only sign that their kiss had any impact on him. Then Ari nodded coolly and continued binding plants together.

  Chapter Three

  The problem with being human was Sorrel didn’t know what to do with himself. As a mountain lion, he didn’t think about it, he just simply did it. Without occupation or purpose, he found himself pacing and staring out the windows, an odd combo of restlessness and lethargy inside him.

  He tried to read one of the books in Ari’s room, but they were all about charms, some used textbooks with student names still scribbled inside of them. He frowned over diagrams and scientific names that made little sense to him.

  One book bristled with tabs of paper from one specific part of the book, the rest unmarked. He thumbed it open to a chapter about allum. Ari’s hand, looping and thin, scribbled notes in the margins and on loose pieces of paper shoved into the pages. A leaf slid out and fell on his lap, brittle and cracked from being pressed.

  He scanned the many notes without reading them. The hasty scribbles, scratched-out margins, a crumpled Post-It note, and a discarded stick-on-rune filled them. He twirled the little leaf between his fingers, sniffed it, but any scent was long gone.

  And, with a step missing between dream and reality, he dreamed.

  In this dream, he pressed forward through a thick tangle of wine-red leaves that grew thorns and scratched at him and pulled him back. Tantalizing glimpses in the dim red light, of an eye, a crooked smirk, tattooed fingers, always near, never in the same place.

  “Sorrel.”

  Fur caught thorn, came away to reveal smooth human skin underneath. He shrugged away from the bush, but another piece of him caught and came away, and he kept pushing forward as more and more fur peeled off in the branches, ripped away, fell in clumps until he reached with both paw and hand towards the waiting face—

  “Sorrel.”

  Blinding, stinging pain—

  He woke up, snarling—

  Ari flung himself back out of reach.

  Teeth bared, chest heaving, Sorrel stared stupidly at him, adrenaline thrusting through his veins, everything off-kilter. He tried to speak to the frustration, the horror on Ari’s face, but could not move his lips.

  His hands—his paws—fingertips peeked out of paws like claws, fur trembled against bare arms. He itched everywhere, his insides feeling twisted and knotted in the middle somewhere.

  “It’s okay, big guy,” Ari crooned, edging one foot closer before the rest of him followed. “It’s okay, just a dream.” He spread his hands like he was talking to a wild animal, voice low and soothing and steady—and Sorrel finally realized he nearly was talking to a wild animal.

  Panic surged up. I don’t want to go. I want to sink into instinct. I don’t want to go!

  “Sssshhh sh sh, hey there, it’s okay.” Gentle hands laid on his back, on his head, and Sorrel squeezed his eyes shut. Close, too close, too close to feral.

  All of Ari smelled incredible this close, fragrant in a way his human nose couldn’t fathom, deep and intricate and cloying, calling to him.

  Ari stroked his back, whispering and murmuring, stroking his fur, stroking his panic.

  Not thinking, moving by instinct, he bumped against Ari’s chest, half-crawled forward until he sprawled onto Ari, nearly pushing him down to the floor. Ari let out a little grunt, muttering, “Okay, you’re doing that now—okay.” But Sorrel tied his arms around him and clung to him like a drowning man.

  “Keep talking.” Sorrel’s voice sounded too high and thin, the keen of a mountain lion. “Please,” he rasped.

  “You’re a mess.” But his fingers against Sorrel’s back told him ‘I’m here.’ “What do you want me to say? Don’t answer that.” He paused, then began murmuring a stream of consciousness that Sorrel couldn’t quite follow, punctuated with soothing words and “hm.”

  The pounding in his ears calmed down, and soon Sorrel took a deep breath and untwisted the human and animal in himself.

  His muscles ached and itched, like the feeling of exercising the day after exercising too hard. Sorrel collapsed onto Ari’s lap, human for now, shaking and panting.

  “Better now?” Ari awkwardly patted his back, and his fingers found the edge of Sorrel’s hair and toyed with it.

  Sorrel cracked an eye open. What parts of himself he could see had no fur. “Mmm-hmm. Thanks.”

  “Is this going to be a habit of yours?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Ari’s fingers continued fiddling with his hair, restless, as Sorrel inhaled deeply and let the warmth of him sink in. Though the slender Ari was all angles, underneath him, he felt soft, inviting.

  Ari’s arms wrapped around Sorrel’s head and squeezed him tightly. “You scared me,” he whispered into Sorrel’s hair. “One day, you’re not going to come back from this.”

  His chest squeezed, and all at once he remembered exactly how painful it was to be human, struck by physical pain from inside.

  He gulped, sludging through his exhausted mind for what to say. “Not if you’re here.”

  Ari’s fingers clenched around his hair, then yanked his head back to force Sorrel to look at him—bared teeth, eyes shining overly brightly, a tangled mess of frustration. “My allum plant is dying. What I’ve got brewing is what’s left of it.”

  “Dying?”

  Cold fingers of fear wrapped around him. But no, that wasn’t what he had meant, but before he could say anything else, Ari hissed, “Yes, dying.”

  “I’m still coming back,” he said, but the shop bell jingled and Ari shoved him off.

  “That’s nice,” Ari tossed over his shoulder and then vanished to help the customer.

  Sorrel slumped over in the middle of the floor, thinking of everything and nothing. Everything was still jumbled, tangled, animal and human, instinct and desire and longing and—

  Sorrel punched the floor, well-worn wood with the faded tracks of years of steps.

  Unable to stand being indoors and idle any longer, Sorrel left without a word, through the apartment and the shop and back out into the sunlight and the air and the freshness. Even this high up in the mountains, he could feel the summertime heat coiling off the ground and the sun hot on his face. As he walked, he tipped his face back into the sunlight.

  The constant itching and clawing calmed down, and it felt good to use his legs again, to not have a wall stopping them, to have the breeze in his hair.

  Another part of him, the part that couldn’t take his eyes off Ari, popped its head up and wailed, wanting to crawl back and feel more than just breeze in his hair, to go back before his legs went any further.

  With a sharp sigh, Sorrel turned a little and began jogging a slow, looping circle around the little shop. He jogged and thought and longed to go on all fours and to crawl into Ari’s lap. He jogged until his lungs couldn’t take it anymore and he slowed to a walk, then shuffled back inside.

  As soon as Ari saw him, several funny expressions slid across his face before it landed on mock disdain. “You’re back?”

  Give me a reason to stay, his being cried at the sight of Ari, but he nodded. “Just walking.”

  A silent laugh grew, lighting up Ari’s entire face. “More than just walking,” he said and jabbed a thumb at the windows. “I was watching.”

  The thought of Ari’s eyes seeking him out, looking for nothing but him, sent the internal howling up another pitch. “What did you see?”

  The silent laugh faltered, but he smiled right before his normal disdain slipped into the gaps. “I saw a man who needs a leash.”

  Be my leash, he almost said, nodding vaguely and fiddling with the nearby plants.

  “Careful,” Ari said, squintin
g a little. “That almost looked like a smile.”

  Chapter Four

  The shop was a quiet one but had its regulars and enough customers to keep Ari busy all day. Here, he was weaving another charm; here, he tied freshly cut herbs that smelled of fall; another, he spoke in even, controlled tones to an old woman who didn’t understand that no, he did not carry that plant, yes, he understood she needed it, maybe the apothecary would have some.

  Three college students came in at one point, jarring with their flash, a glamour illusion worked into one girl’s hair so it glowed like struck stained glass. They whispered loudly and talked loudly while following their ringleader as he thumbed through his phone for the ingredients to whatever they were concocting. Ari’s face barely held the idea of a smile as he spoke to them, and the air vibrated with the noise of their presence long after they left.

  Day passed into evening, shadows growing long, transforming the shop interior. As soon as rich red hues of sunset stopped striking the windows, Ari locked the door and shoved a broom into Sorrel’s hands. They cleaned up, Ari tidying and setting things out for the next day.

  Nighttime changed the little place. What had felt nest-like felt more real in the stark lights, like the magic had been stripped, leaving just the truth.

  Sorrel mulled over a hot cup of tea while Ari prepared dinner—rice tossed with spices and veggies, all carelessly thrown together. Ari yawned hugely several times, the day’s work showing in the lines of his drooping shoulders and his rumpled hair.

  More than once, Ari’s sideways glance skated over Sorrel, aware of the gaze that burned into his back.

  “You stare a lot,” Ari finally said, dropping a steaming bowl down in front of Sorrel.

  “Sorry,” Sorrel mumbled. He shoved down a mouthful of food and tried to find something else to look at—the spare bottles, the books, the odd bits and ends that had accumulated over the course of the day for mysterious purposes.

  But Ari always drew him, even from miles away at a distant mountaintop. Even as he chewed slowly, tongue prickling from the low heat of the spices, his eyes snared on parts of Ari. Delicately callused fingers, the gleaming hair as it fell off one shoulder, the little quirk at the corner of his lips.

  Ari ate with the same practicality as he did anything, with a single-minded focus, unhurried but efficient. When Sorrel’s gaze slid across Ari’s face once again, Ari’s eyes would snap right to him.

  They ate in silence, a tension that reminded him of the hunt—when the prey knows something is wrong with the atmosphere. The surrounding wildlife goes still or flees, but the prey stands there, sniffing the breeze, gauging its chances, waiting for the hunter to show its face.

  For just a moment, Sorrel almost set his spoon down and crawled across the table that almost definitely could not support his weight.

  Ari’s voice cut right through his thoughts. “What’ll you do after this?”

  He blinked. “I don’t know yet.”

  In a tone too light, too sharp, Ari murmured, “No work for Sid?”

  Too much was being said that he could taste in the air, read across Ari’s face, hear whispering inside him, but none of it was put to word. Another unreadable expression swam up as Ari studied him, something that parted his lips, creased his brow, a question and a denial. Sorrel wanted to roar until all of the unsaid words got chased out.

  “I never worked for him or with him.”

  Ari nodded but didn’t seem to listen.

  “Ari—” Be a man, he told himself, not a creature. Don’t roar. He gently set his spoon down and folded his hands together, earning a raised eyebrow. “I met Sid at the clinic. He knew I was in bad shape. He knew allum would help, and brought me here.” Leaning forward to drive the point home, he said, “And that was it.”

  Ari twirled his own spoon through his food, the most aimless he’d looked all day. “And what does that mean?”

  “It means.” Sorrel rolled his shoulders and his neck in frustration at his own incompetence at communicating. “I’m not—Sid. Or Darryl. I’m not—going to attack you, or—” He swept a hand out, indicating the home, the shop, the greenhouse.

  Ari’s gaze tracked his hand, and his lips pursed a little. “Not right now, you’re not.”

  He nearly choked on his own breath while Ari’s gaze seared right through him.

  Shaking his head, Ari snatched Sorrel’s empty bowl away and stalked off to shove their dishes in the sink. His back turned firmly to him as he scrubbed the bowls more viciously than he had to.

  Slowly licking the last trace of spice off his lips, Sorrel slid the chair out from under him. At the squeak of wood on wood, Ari’s head turned, shoulders tensing imperceptibly.

  The air grew thicker than ever, thicker than a hot summer’s day before a storm, thicker than the shared breath between two open mouths. It was the crackle before a lightning strike, the rumble of railroads right before the train burst into existence.

  “Ari.”

  His shoulders tensed, and he practically threw down the cleaned spoon onto the counter. “Hm?”

  “Ari—” And Sorrel stopped fishing for the ‘right’ words, instead grabbing at what he felt, and could feel them rushing up like a dam breaking. “Ari, what is it?”

  His shoulders twitched, a shrug.

  “Ari, please.” He slipped up behind him, bracing his hands on either side of him, burrowing his nose into where neck and shoulder met, already smelling that heady mixture that made up Ari’s scent. “Tell me.”

  Ari ripped away, whirling, hands grabbing Sorrel’s clothes, pushing him away as much as they grabbed at him. “I don’t trust you. You keep vanishing, keep going too far, and for what? If you go feral for good one day, then what?”

  “Then—”

  But he didn’t let him finish, teeth clenched like they were fangs as he spat venom. “Then where does that leave me? You realize if you go feral, it’s like death to me? You’ll never come back, not like this. And I—” The fight in his voice grew thin, trembling and choking. “Wouldn’t be able to take that.”

  Sorrel leaned past the iron grip on his—Ari’s—shirt, lips almost touching lips. “I would never leave you,” he breathed.

  Ari’s breath shuddered against his, but he pushed him back with all of his might. “How do you know? What if we have a fight? What if you can’t stand being human any longer? What if—” He wrenched his head away as if punched, biting down hard on his lip.

  Sorrel stared, speechless, even the unsaid words failing him, as he watched all of Ari’s countless defenses cracking beneath his eyes. Ari, always with a smooth word, daring, defiant, even mocking, an unshakable being that seemed a step off from the world around him. Even when Sid smashed up the little shop, even when he had to make his statement to the police, he never cracked. Ari, who now fought to keep his contorting face under control while his hands curled into fists and he refused to meet Sorrel’s eyes.

  Need trembled in him, the sudden twisting grief at causing this pain making him want to peel away before he caused more.

  Instead, he held out his hand between them, the appendage that sometimes forgot how to be a hand. Ari simply stared sidelong at it, as if he was thinking similar things and waiting for it to sprout claws.

  Then shaking his head, he turned his back to Sorrel, picked up a sponge, and resumed cleaning.

  The hiss of water and the gentle clink of the dishes as Ari scrubbed the last of them rattled through Sorrel’s head.

  When Ari finally spoke, the faucet nearly drowned his voice. “If you and I make this leap, I know it’d be the sort of ‘forever’ thing we don’t come back from. And I just can’t do that with you.”

  Sorrel squeezed his eyes shut.

  So many months of shared looks, moments that took his breath away, longing. Months of feeling the slow burn for Ari inside him, of catching glimpses of a similar fire in Ari’s eyes, even in their brief encounters. And this was his answer—Ari’s shoulders, straight and wide, turned b
ack to him while he cleaned the dishes.

  “Okay.”

  He swept the dark fall of Ari’s hair off his neck and placed a lingering kiss on the bump of his spine. Ari’s hands stilled, but he didn’t budge.

  “Okay.”

  Unanchored, drifting and aimless, Sorrel looked around the small room, not seeing anything until his gaze finally settled on the sunset visible through the window, the last violent streaks of color leaking through the trees.

  “Can I still stay until the allum is ready?” he asked, the colors burning his eyes.

  “Your choice.”

  “I’ll stay, then.”

  Ari nodded, hands still busily drying and putting dishes away.

  “Thank you.”

  “Mm.”

  Now what?

  Sorrel stumbled for the bathroom, a little room that felt like he was going to trip over something any moment. He clutched the bathroom sink, breathing heavily.

  Now what?

  But nothing’s changed, a voice whispered. He lost nothing—they never had anything beyond looks and a single breath-stopping kiss. Their relationship was this: Ari supplied the allum, Sorrel bought the allum.

  But everything’s changed.

  With a soft groan, he bent forward, splashed water on his face, and finally looked at his reflection.

  The image startled him. Stubble, wild, red-rimmed eyes, the kind of messy hair that only needed twigs to complete it. He grabbed his own jaw, pushing at his skin, inspecting the alien planes of his own face.

  So this was what Ari saw, neither animal or man, but someone stuck in between.

  Sorrel nearly punched the reflection with every intention of shattering it. He grit his teeth and curled his fists until his knuckles turned white, and breathed in as slowly as he could, then out. Breathe in, reminding his lungs what they were, what ribcage held them now. Breathe out, tasting sap and spice and loss on his breath.