Birds of Prey (Box Set)

By Willa Okati

Fidelity. Loyalty. Passion. Beauty. Flight.

An owl who takes the form of a man, Alder's exotic, affectionate, passionate and loyal. Taj could never have imagined anyone he'd love more and vows his fidelity to Alder until the end of time. Even when Alder loses his wings and can no longer fly in the shape of an owl, Taj stands fast, refusing to let his man give up. Whatever he has to do to help Alder fly again, he won't hesitate.

A tattoo artist who seeks beauty in all things, Paulian has had his fill of man's inhumanity to man, and to the world. In the wake of an Atlantic oil spill, he wishes with all his heart that he could save one. Just one: a man named Adek. Wild things are not meant to be caged, but swans mate for life...

It's long been said that the song of a nightingale is one of sorrow for the fallen and the heartbroken. Ger's been dealt more than his share of troubles in recent days. He doesn't expect anything more than a chance to catch his breath when he accepts the offer of caretaking a friend's apartment for a month -- but what he finds in Magnus, the reclusive owner, is so much more.

Publisher's Note: Birds of Prey contains the previously published novellas Night Owl, Black Swan, and Nightingale's Song.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Apr 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9780711902299

Willa Okati

Willa Okati can most often be found muttering to herself over a keyboard, plugged into her iPod and breaking between paragraphs to play air drums. In her spare time (the odd ten minutes or so per day she's not writing) she's teaching herself to play the pennywhistle. Willa has forty-plus separate tattoos and yearns for a full body suit of ink. She walks around in a haze of story ideas, dreaming of tales yet to be told. She drinks an alarming amount of coffee for someone generally perceived to be mellow.

Book preview

Birds of Prey

Willa Okati

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2018 Willa Okati

Second Edition

BIN: 07119-02293

Formats Available:

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HTML, Mobi, PRC

Publisher:

Changeling Press LLC

315 N. Centre St.

Martinsburg, WV 25404

www.ChangelingPress.com

Editor: Crystal Esau

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Adult Sexual Content

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Table of Contents

Birds of Prey

Night Owl

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Black Swan

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Nightingale’s Song

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Willa Okati

Birds of Prey

Willa Okati

Fidelity. Loyalty. Passion. Beauty. Flight.

An owl who takes the form of a man, Alder’s exotic, affectionate, passionate and loyal. Taj could never have imagined anyone he’d love more and vows his fidelity to Alder until the end of time. Even when Alder loses his wings and can no longer fly in the shape of an owl, Taj stands fast, refusing to let his man give up. Whatever he has to do to help Alder fly again, he won’t hesitate.

A tattoo artist who seeks beauty in all things, Paulian has had his fill of man’s inhumanity to man, and to the world. In the wake of an Atlantic oil spill, he wishes with all his heart that he could save just one -- a man named Adek. Wild things are not meant to be caged, but swans mate for life!

It’s long been said that the song of a nightingale is one of sorrow for the fallen and the heartbroken. Ger’s been dealt more than his share of troubles in recent days. He doesn’t expect anything more than a chance to catch his breath when he accepts the offer of care taking a friend’s apartment for a month -- but what he finds in Magnus, the reclusive owner, is so much more.

Night Owl

Willa Okati

Always faithful.

After serving his country in the Armed Forces, Taj knows that family, home, and love are the greatest gifts a man can have. He’s in search of a lover who’ll be his everything, someone he can cherish and who’ll stand strong by his side.

Instead, Alder finds him.

An owl who takes the form of a man, Alder is exotic, affectionate, passionate and loyal. Taj could never have imagined anyone he’d love more and vows his fidelity to Alder until the end of time. Even when Alder loses his wings and can no longer fly in the shape of an owl, Taj stands fast, refusing to let his man give himself up to despair. Whatever he has to do to help Alder fly again… he won’t hesitate.

Semper Fidelis. They aren’t just words. They’re a way of life, and the firm foundation of a love that’ll last forever.

Prologue

Taj’s life changes on a Saturday night.

Three weeks out of the military, he still doesn’t sleep well, too used to tossing and turning in the sweltering heat, in the company of other soldiers, all of them restless, waiting for the next round of screaming missiles overhead. Limbs aching from harsh use, weak from the relentless sun. The skies are not their friends.

Taj doesn’t know anyone in the city he’s moved to, and he prefers it that way. He wants a fresh start. Anyone who sees him with his sable hair buzzed close to the scalp and his erect posture will pin him for ex-military, sure, but otherwise they don’t know anything about him.

He’s free to be all he can be. And what he wants to be most is a man with a home. And for Taj, a home means someone to share it with.

Taj has thought about getting a dog, but as good as hounds are, they don’t fill all the empty spaces in a man’s life. No, Taj wants a man -- and he can say it easily, out here in civilian life -- a strong, tough man with a soft heart and a hot body, a man who’ll challenge him and captivate his fantasies.

That’s what home means to him.

And so ironically enough, he’s at a bar. Some hole in the wall in the trendily ramshackle part of downtown; his neighbor Ray-Don, an ex-Marine, told him about the place. Taj forgot the name as soon as he walked in.

A few folks, less than thrilled with the government, gave him the hairy eyeball when he first arrived, but they’ve forgotten about him now. They ignore him, twined around their boys in eyeliner, black-painted nails thrust through dyed, spiked hair, and crimson-painted lips consuming one another. Some male, some female, and some Taj can’t tell about.

No one for him. Not yet. S’okay. The night’s young.

Taj finds himself drifting toward a window made of one-way glass. Anyone outside who doesn’t know better will see it as a mirror. He likes looking out without anyone else able to look back in. It’s safer to look at the skies this way. He’s forgotten how beautiful they can be, especially at times like now, night shading toward sunrise, coloring the clouds with vivid streaks of red and purple and lush blue.

He used to fly kites, when he was young. Loved nothing better than to see them soaring overhead, proud and bold, bright and brilliant.

Sometimes he dreamed about flying, even in Afghanistan.

Taj sips idly at his beer, long since gone warm, and waits by the window. He’s in no hurry.

He spies a bird, or what he thinks is a bird, out of the corner of his eye. Big friggin’ bird, Taj notes curiously as it approaches, increasing in size. Not a pigeon. What is -- is that an owl? What’s an owl, a great snowy owl, doing in the urban jungle?

Fascinated, Taj watches in awe as the proud avian coasts to a stop outside the one-way window. It ruffles its feathers before smoothing its wings down and cocking its head to blink up at Taj through its black, black eyes ringed with gold. The feathers on the bird’s throat flicker; Taj knows it’s just hooted at him.

At him. This bird can see through the glass, can see Taj. He is sure of it.

Taj wonders if this should freak him out more than it does, then decides, nah. After what he’s lived through? It’ll take more than a bird to scare Taj. Besides, his grandmother was Romanian. A traveler. She told him stories of the old country, where peddlers were princes and Baba Yaga flew across the sky in a cauldron, granting wishes. Stories are as familiar to Taj as ordinary people. Why should he be afraid of them?

He’s always wished that one of those tales would come true, anyway.

Hey there, big guy, Taj whispers, laying his fingers lightly on the glass. The owl tracks his movements. It can see him. Smart, aren’t you? Did you escape from someone, somewhere?

The bird flares its wings.

I guess not. Taj strokes the glass, imagining its smooth coolness is the owl’s warm, soft down. He watches the owl, who watches him in return, studying Taj intently. The owl’s a king among his kind, Taj thinks, pure white from ruff to tail feathers with an odd sort of red-colored barred ring around its neck, a necklace of sorts.

Hey, watch it!

Taj pivots around, moving before he realizes he’s broken away from the window, his reflexes still razor-keen and his nerves edgy. In front of him, a drunk, laughing kid who’s too young to be here reels back, plastic cup of beer tilting crazily in his hand. His buddy, dressed in ripped black from head to toe, points and mocks him for his clumsiness.

Heart beating in his throat, Taj turns back to the window -- and the owl’s gone.

No. Aw, no. Taj’s spirits sink. Damn it, they must have scared the owl away.

So he won’t lose his temper -- they didn’t know what they were doing; they’re just kids -- Taj stays put, facing the window and the mostly-empty street. Everyone who comes down here is already passed out in bed or still partying. He sips his beer, traces patterns on the glass, and wishes the owl would find its way back.

The warm, dry hand on Taj’s shoulder doesn’t startle him, and that in itself alarms Taj enough to look around sharply the second after the touch registers. Who do you think -- he starts.

He doesn’t finish.

Behind Taj stands a man dressed simply in loose dark blue jeans, still crisp with folds from storage on a shop shelf, a white undershirt too small for him that’s molded itself to his ridged torso, his hair soft and nearly white, floating to his shoulders, as baby-fine in texture as bird’s down.

Taj’s throat swells up. His tongue’s empty of words.

The man fingers his necklace -- more of a choker -- made of heavy red wood beads -- and grins slyly at Taj, the tip of his pink tongue wetting his lips. You looked like you could use some company, soldier, he says. My name is Alder.

You’re the owl, Taj whispers.

Alder nods, as if that’s enough. And maybe it is.

* * *

Taj has been keeping company with Alder for three months when he invites him over to cook a simple meal. It’s been a long, long time since his sister imparted the secrets of compatibility tests to him, but Taj remembers her rules. Anyone who can untangle Christmas lights without going crazy, or who can listen to all sides of a question without popping off before he knows everything, or who can help bake the bread you break with them is someone worth keeping.

Taj, not knowing much about owls and nothing about shapeshifters, had thought Alder would eat meat. Wrong. He’s vegetarian, by choice; it’s a matter of respect for other creatures.

Alder’s never had spaghetti. Taj doesn’t like to ask, but he suspects it’s been a while since Alder took on human form long enough to fall into human curiosity over new tastes and textures. Vegetarian’s not his thing but Taj can roll with the changing times, and he sacrifices the hamburger in his red sauce for Alder’s sake.

Besides, there’s a lot to be said for red sauce. By itself it’s smooth, velvety, sweet and spicy at the same time. It goes everywhere, no matter how careful they are -- and that’s not very careful. They’re having too much fun horsing around, daubing smears on noses and cheeks and chins and licking them clean, tasting salty skin and the earthiness of sage.

Taj can’t let a single drop of sauce go once it’s caught his eye. He leans across the kitchen island counter to lick the daub of red from the corner of Alder’s mouth. Can we skip dinner? I think I’m full already.

Alder laughs, the hint of an owl’s call echoing behind the human noise, and pulls Taj into a kiss that goes far, far beyond an ordinary meeting of lips. I could wait a while to eat. I have an appetite for something else now.

Good, Taj breathes before he covers Alder’s body with his own, taking him to the kitchen floor as gently as a feather on a breeze, inexorably as a storm wind.

Tongues battle against each other, striving for the right to explore one another’s mouths; hands tangle knuckle-deep in hair, slide down backs, grip each other’s hips and pull their bodies flush and hard together. Never stopping, always moving. Gyrating to a beat only they hear. Undulating against one another’s bodies in the pulsing rhythm of their pumping hearts, demanding more, more, more, now, now, now.

Tugging at Alder’s belt, kicking off his shoes. Cradling Alder’s head with his rough soldier’s hand to protect it from the cold floor. Searching out Alder’s addictive mouth with his eyes closed. Parting for air only when he has to.

It’s taken Taj so long to get here, to the place in his life where he can just love and be loved. No worrying what he looks like, sounds like, how well he performs. With Alder, he just does what feels good and right.

Alder, an owl, makes Taj a better man, and Taj tries to show Alder that every time he has Alder naked in his arms.

Slick and slippery, gliding on a sheen of salty sweat. Hands scrabbling for purchase and clutching deep, bruising muscle with their effort. Palms tugging sharply, then softly on swollen flesh. Fingers sliding down and down, nudging against puckered holes and pushing themselves in knuckle-deep. Panting, unable to get enough air, dizzy but refusing to stop. Groaning when his and Alder’s cocks, lubricated with their own come, skid together. Forgetting to breathe when Alder positions himself behind Taj, links their hands across Taj’s ribs, and pushes inside.

Alder’s shout when he comes sounds like the wild cry of a fallen angel. He’s barely spilled his last before he turns, guiding Taj over onto his back. He crawls between Taj’s legs and sucks him down, kneading Taj’s hips while he feasts. Taj comes down his throat, his hands knotted in Alder’s soft