It’s happy day for me — “Night Owl” has seen the light of day and is now out at Changeling Press. With the FWF folks’ kind permission, I’m bringing you an excerpt, and hope you enjoy!
Instead, Alder finds him.
An owl who takes the form of a man, Alder’s exotic, affectionate, passionate and loyal… 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.
Here’s the book info link: Night Owl.
(Excerpt under the cut.)
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.
“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.
Written by Willa Okati
Possesses an abundance of crazy ideas, writes constantly, always tries new things, and drinks an insane amount of coffee. Manlove (and femmelove) is more than a passion -- it's a way of life. You can find Willa at http://www.willaokati.com or at her newly-renamed Yahoo group, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/got_ink_willaokati
Visit The Author's Website
L.M. Prieto wrote,
*hug*
It’s an awesome story :)
Link | July 3rd, 2008 at 11:50 am
Willa Okati wrote,
*hugs back* You are all the awesome ones!
Link | July 3rd, 2008 at 11:53 am