Denying the Alpha: Manlove Edition

by 5 Author Anthology

  Another shudder. Sorrel struggled to stay coherent, struggled to remember his purpose—to hunt—for what? Food, allum.

  Underneath him, Darryl’s gasping grew faster, more feeble. The vial lay empty in one clutched, sweaty hand. His face glistened with a pale pink liquid.

  Bliss spread across Darryl’s face as the allum worked its way into his system, glazing his eyes over, every muscle relaxing.

  Darryl’s heart still beat, blood still warm under Sorrel.

  Gone.

  Gone.

  An idea that echoed through him, tearing open avenues he didn’t know he had in him.

  Gone.

  Sorrel roared.

  Chapter Nine

  He curled up next to the man alive but not alive, blood in his veins languid. He waited.

  Something big came through the brush, something that couldn’t see its hidden paths, didn’t fit them. A light piercing through trees, reverse sunrise, bright—

  Light poured out of the human’s hand, Ari’s hand.

  He stood, ears alert, watching, waiting.

  “What have you done?”

  Ari fell to his knees, crawling the last few feet, grabbing fur. It hurt, but he purred, bumping his head against Ari’s chest.

  “Good to see you too.”

  Fingers still clutching Sorrel’s neck, Ari bent and touched the man’s neck.

  “Shit… Hey, hey, stop.” Ari pushed him away from the points of blood on the man’s chest. His hand was bloody, wrapped, but he could smell it staining through. He licked it.

  “Sorrel, Sorrel.” He pushed his hand past his tongue, onto his head, petting him. “Listen to me, Sorrel. Shift back. Okay?”

  His ears pricked again. Hand feels good in fur.

  Come back?

  His breath caught, the need to have a different mouth that could do human things swimming up. Something his inflexible lips and too-big teeth couldn’t do.

  His muscles didn’t listen. The memory wasn’t there, wherever he looked for what else to be.

  “Sorrel, concentrate. I need you to shift back.”

  The only memory of human was vague, like remembering sound and smell and taste from a dream.

  The human’s pets didn’t feel as nice, aggressive, and the human buried his face in his fur. He smelled salt, felt the human shaking, felt distress rolling off him like mist.

  “You idiot,” the human whispered. “You fucking idiot.”

  Again, the bump of familiarity, the craving for something he couldn’t do.

  Again, he reached inside and was met with silence. Not sure what he tried to do.

  Chapter Ten

  Ari sniffled once, pushing his tears away in an angry swipe. This won’t do.

  Sorrel—it was hard to think of him as truly Sorrel, this giant mountain lion that sat patiently, his tail tapping a slow rhythm. But no, even as a mountain lion, he watched him just as intensely and unblinkingly.

  As they studied each other, Sorrel’s eyes half-closed, another purr vibrated through his deep chest.

  “Okay, boy.” Think, he told himself, think. He rifled through his mental library, examining options, dismissing them, head spinning from too much grief to think clearly.

  He sniffled again, struggling against the throbbing pain that already threatened to become a headache.

  “You’re a headache,” he muttered to Sorrel, but it didn’t help him feel better.

  He’d never felt so vulnerable or helpless in his life.

  “Okay, um.” Ari stood and spared one last glance at Darryl’s comatose form. He’d be back for him.

  Sorrel sat at attention at his feet, almost more dog than cat. Good. He didn’t know how it worked when someone went feral, if even attraction went beyond that line, but he clung to that as a good sign.

  Ari silently recited a prayer, the ritual pushing back the screaming fear and grief in his chest. “Sorrel.” He clicked his tongue. “Follow.”

  It was a weird feeling, picking through the night forest behind his flashlight’s beam with a predator at his heels. Sorrel moved with practiced silence, the only hint of his presence the occasional heavy breath.

  It shocked him all over again when he saw the sad state of his greenhouse. For one, he could actually see in, all illusions and wards broken. A scattered pool of glass glittered in the grass, and something still smoldered. Snow dripped into melting puddles.

  He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to run back and kick the shit out of Darryl, comatose or no.

  How had Darryl even gotten in? That rune Ari found, the one that broke the wards, had been on the inside.

  He shook his head sharply, firmly controlling his thoughts to his goal.

  The poor allum plant, its last growth of leaves half-gone from the blizzard. The frailest of its leaves were blown about the greenhouse floor with the rest of the mess. He’d have to make do with what was left.

  Sorrel bumped his head against Ari’s hand, a warmth that might as well have been fire from the way it burned. He pushed Sorrel away, ignoring the way Sorrel put his ears back.

  Ari worked quickly now, ripping off the last of the leaves into a bowl, grinding them up into a fine powder, adding water to the mix. His hands trembled as he worked, a fact that made him grit his teeth and press harder into the mortar and pestle.

  When it was as done as he could get it, he frowned down at the soup, pale red with bits of pulp and leaf floating in it. It was not brewed to potency, but…

  He held the bowl in front of Sorrel. “Drink.”

  Sorrel sniffed it and then looked at him.

  “Drink,” he repeated, setting it down in front of him, ignoring his panic.

  What if he couldn’t even get Sorrel to drink the damn thing? He’d pour it down his throat. Ari swiped off another tear before it could spill out.

  Sniffing the bowl again, Sorrel crouched and gave it an experimental lap. It took Ari tapping his finger against his folded arm and all his self-control to not shove Sorrel’s nose into the bowl.

  With huge, messy splashes, Sorrel slowly lapped it up. Each drop that landed outside the bowl felt like yet another stab of loss, little sparks of pain.

  Once Sorrel finished drinking, Ari slid off his stool, running his hands through his fur while Sorrel licked his chops impassively. “Okay, now listen. Sorrel, can you hear me? I need you to shift back, Sorrel. Please, Sorrel.”

  He whispered his name, over and over like a lifeline, like one of his many useless charms that could not help him now. Why had he given up making those that could? It was nothing but wounded pride. Now all he had to show for it were callused fingers, and nothing that could bring Sorrel back, just the pathetic, impossibly hard to grow allum.

  And under the mountain lion’s unblinking gaze, Ari crumbled, finally and shamelessly weeping into his bent knee.

  Chapter Eleven

  Interesting smells, claustrophobic space—

  But something was wrong.

  He felt it like a bristle across his fur, another sense.

  The liquid still coated his tongue, bits of plant stuck to his teeth. He tried to clean it off, clean out the bitter taste.

  Something was wrong.

  He felt the whisper of a name not his own and realized he couldn’t remember it.

  And the thought of losing it was enough to make him try to pull himself upright into the shape of a man.

  His muscles trembled in protest, the memory of human limbs faint.

  But he braced his paws on the floor and clung to that one name, the only one that meant anything in his existence.

  And he pulled.

  And gasped with human lungs, human mouth, human teeth. He gasped, and he gasped again, knowledge trembling in his muscles, knowledge of how far gone he had been, how close he was to losing everything, to losing—

  Him, huddled in the ruins of his greenhouse. He seemed dead to the world, curled up into his knee, arm over his face. His wet hair still plastered to him, and a stained bandage a
lready slipped off his hand. His shoulders shook with silent sobs.

  “Ari.”

  Sorrel didn’t know if his heart or his mouth said it, but Ari looked up with red-rimmed eyes that grew huge. Knocking a bowl with his knee, Ari flung himself across the short distance, grabbed Sorrel, and clung to him. His entire body shook and his arms squeezed him too tight.

  “Never leave again,” Ari choked out with a voice thick with tears.

  Sorrel wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him back just as tightly. “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be, you goddamn idiot!” But Ari peeled himself back just enough to inspect him, running his tattooed fingers over Sorrel’s face and hair as if hunting for signs of injury or animal.

  That instinct, he finally realized, the animal instinct, had gone quiet. His memories of the time gone were fuzzy, just far away glimpses. He felt immediately present, aware of everything, fully feeling those hands against him, feeling no tremble or haunting in his soul. He was finally completely human.

  An echo of memory came back, the echo of Ari’s voice shouting something at him.

  “I came back,” he whispered.

  Ari kissed him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Police took down their notes with a healthy skepticism, standing in the middle of the greenhouse, all snow melted by the time they arrived. But, between the two of them, Sorrel and Ari told as much truth as they could, leaving out the allum. They chased Darryl because they were concerned about him, they told the police.

  As far as how Darryl had gotten in, together they pieced together he must have slipped his runes in while Ari and Sorrel talked with the greenhouse door still open behind them. Just long enough for Darryl to get his foot in the door, figuratively and literally speaking.

  None of the officers noticed the waxy red leaves in the middle of the mess, or the empty table where a pot used to be.

  Ari clutched Sorrel’s hand the entire time they spoke to the officers, refusing to let go.

  They clapped their notebooks shut, and paramedics extracted the blissful-looking Darryl from the forest. One of the officers warned Ari there might be further questioning, but it was late, and no one seemed willing to make a big deal out of an open-shut case.

  “A poor shifter turned junkie. Shame, clinic could’ve helped him,” was the collective mutter.

  When they left, it was still dark, too late to do anything productive.

  So Sorrel and Ari showered together. “To save time, I’m tired,” was Ari’s excuse. When Sorrel looked in the mirror afterward, dripping wet, he saw a human man. Dripping, tired, in desperate need of a haircut, but human.

  When they went to bed, there was no question where Sorrel would sleep. They both felt the close brush with not-quite-death, felt their worst fears made alive and real that night. They clung to each other’s reassuring warmth, limbs tangled, barely talking but unable to sleep.

  By the time dawn began to touch its pale light through the window, though, their lips found each other, hands seeking, and they became an even more tangled mess under the sheets until they wore each other out and needed another shower.

  It was only then that Ari finally slept, dozing off in Sorrel’s arms. Ari’s face was slack, his forehead still damp from the sex. Sorrel smoothed his hair back, gently kissed his forehead, and followed him into sleep.

  Many of the plants suffered from the blizzard. Ari announced a grim diagnosis for the worst hit plants, but most could be salvaged. As he told Sorrel this, he smiled, warm with relief. He smiled a lot that day.

  The greenhouse itself was another thing entirely. Replacing the glass would be costly, replacing the wards even more prohibitive. Sorrel spent the day shooing people off while Ari crunched numbers, distastefully breaking his own tradition to use a calculator.

  “I don’t see how I can save this place,” Ari said, hours later, rubbing a kink out of his neck. Face still wearing the tired marks of last night, he frowned at nothing. “I think I’ve had it with this town anyway.”

  With almost no discussion, the next day they put most of the shop’s contents up for sale. Some inventory was held back, cluttering the little apartment until they had to climb over things to get something as simple as food from the refrigerator.

  Ari, meanwhile, piece by piece, warmed to Sorrel. At first, it was the fear of losing him again, relief at having him around. It clung like a shadow that haunted them both. And then, it was fear of Sorrel himself, of the same worries of it happening again, of opening up to Sorrel, leaving himself vulnerable.

  But there were many kisses and caresses, low voices, and soon Ari’s soft, surprised laughter. Every time he laughed, there was a little pause of disbelief until Sorrel kissed another laugh out of him.

  Two weeks later, they loaded the last of the inventory into the small truck. It smelled of gasoline and rust and too many herbs for a small space, but it had a window on the side for business, a small space for one bed behind the cab.

  “I guess you’ll have to teach me what it’s like,” Ari said as they studied the truck.

  “Hmm?” Sorrel rubbed Ari’s arm, who tipped his head against Sorrel’s.

  “The nomadic life.”

  As they pulled out of the shop’s drive and down toward the town, he caught a glimpse of Ari’s face and saw the pang of loss as he tracked his shuttered-up shop in the mirrors. But then Ari shook himself off, set his eyes to the distant horizon, and flashed a smile Sorrel’s way.

  With that, they turned on to the main highway, a straight slice through the mountains that were once Sorrel’s home, a true line leading to wherever their new life was, together.

  The End

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  HUNTED BY HIS ALPHA

  Marie Medina

  Chapter One

  Gregor arrived at the fae palace early so his Beta, Luke, could inspect their rooms to his satisfaction. They had adjoining suites in the luxurious building that looked like something out of a fantasy novel. Gregor had been given leave to roam the palace freely—apparently, a servant would find him when he was needed. Gregor wasn’t completely sure he wanted to know the details of how the fae pulled that off.

  While he was glad the fae were finally ready to form an alliance, he had to admit he didn’t exactly understand the fae. They insisted on staying in their own realm most of the time. If he understood correctly, their “realm” was basically a very small continent hidden in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Asmund, the fae’s current king, had offered a weary smile when Luke had asked if they were responsible for ships and airplanes disappearing. As that smile had faded, Gregor had noted that the king hadn’t actually answered the question.

  As shifter packs all over the world expanded, the danger of discovery grew. The fae had remained hidden for thousands of years with the aid of their magic, and soon, shifters might have no choice but to depend on that magic to keep them safe from the humans who would likely fear them.

  Gregor eventually found the gardens and took a deep breath once he was back outside. He hated being cooped up for too long. He doubted he had time to shift and have a little run, but he could at least stretch his legs.

  As he walked, he felt his body stirring. Gregor hadn’t taken anyone to his bed for a long time, yet now seemed an odd time to suddenly start feeling desire building. But soon, a scent hit him full in the face—and other places as well. The Alpha stopped in his tracks, confused. He scented another wolf shifter. It was faint yet unmistakable. Gregor moved slowly as he tried to track down the scent. A soft sound caught his ear, like a page turning, and he walked down a hedgerow toward it.

  On a bench in the middle of a tall circle of hedges, Gregor saw a man lying on his stomach and reading a book. He was thin and had the delicate, beautiful features of a fae. His long dark hair spilled down his back, stopping just above the perfect curve of his ass. The man seemed to sense he was being watched, and when he looked up, Gregor gasped at the beautiful golden hue of
his eyes.

  He’s part wolf. And mine.

  Gregor approached slowly, even though he wanted nothing more than to kneel and kiss the man’s full lips while sliding one hand over his ass. The man wore leather pants that clung to him perfectly, but he was barefoot. The material of his loose-fitting shirt was so thin it did little to hide his body, much to Gregor’s delight. The man closed his book and sat up as Gregor approached.

  “You must be the Alpha of the wolf pack,” the man said.

  “Yes. And who are you? I smell wolf on you, but no wolf has ever been as beautiful as you are.”

  The man smiled and rose, standing just a little over five feet tall. “I’m Jared, the king’s cousin. And one of the reasons you’re here, actually.”

  “You are?” He definitely liked the sound of that.

  “Yes. My mother was fae, but my father was a wolf. He left when I was very young.” Jared looked down, frowning. “Because I couldn’t shift as a child.”

  Anger rose in Gregor. “What was his name?”

  “Aaron.”

  “I can find him, if you wish. Abandoning your mate and your cub is a crime.” I’ll beat him senseless for hiding you, for nearly robbing me of my mate.

  “He’s dead. A car wreck over ten years ago. My mother has passed away as well, though much more recently. Asmund has been more like a big brother than a cousin to me, and he finally decided to give this alliance a chance because he wants me to know your people. My other half, so to speak.”

  The entire time he’d been talking, Jared had also been moving closer to Gregor. Reaching out, Gregor slid his hand around Jared’s waist, which made the smaller man gasp.

  “Did you even realize you were doing it? Moving closer to me?” Gregor whispered.

  “No.” Jared looked up at him, arching into Gregor’s body a little. “Is it because you’re the Alpha? I know so little about shifters.”