Crow King Mate (Alphas of Whisper Grove #2)

Chapter One

Corvus

Wings carrying me over the lands, the warm winds of late summer ruffled my feathers. Not long before the breezes chilled and dark clouds rolled in, bringing rains of fall and then snows and ice of winter.

My crow held no interest in the future or the past, always living in the moment. Carrying me with him in a way that sometimes made it hard to remember my human side.

At the peak of harvest, days were getting shorter, the evenings coming sooner, but the afternoons held the gold of no other time of year.

The fields outside of Whisper Grove were tall and bountiful, swaying gently as we blessed them in this critical time.

Although they looked perfect, ripe and plump, a rain at the wrong time could ruin the whole season for the farmers.

My gifts did not control the weather, but the blessings we bestowed upon the crops seemed to keep the rain at bay until the wheat and other grains were safely tucked away.

As I flew across the road, I saw a crew driving a wagon toward another farmer’s land.

These men, and women, came from miles away, traveling through the local counties to assist in this busy time.

It was my second busiest season, protecting what I’d blessed at its inception in spring.

The harvest team looked weary but cheerful, strains of folk tunes carrying up to where I flew.

In their wake, in the distance, the fields of neighboring counties had already been cleared, their grains safely stored for sale or winter feeding of their animals, farmers relieved that their whole season’s work was no longer in danger.

Although my blessings provided a measure of safety, I could not guarantee Mother Nature’s cooperation. Our goddess’s mercurial personality could sometimes lead to undesirable results. Or incredible ones.

But for this afternoon, with the harvesters incoming, I could go home and perch, relax, and know my work for the year was nearly over.

Nearly, because as I drew close to my destination, the scent of ripe peaches enveloped me.

My trees were long since finished for the season, but the farmer next door…

one section of his orchard bore the prized late-season variety.

Everyone else in Whisper Grove and the surrounds had sold, eaten, or preserved their peaches, but these were just now coming into readiness.

Heavy, plump, pinkish-orange fleshed and so juicy they should be eaten outdoors or over the sink, there were never enough to go around.

A couple of other orchardists in the area had attempted to get something this late, but they claimed a susceptibility to a bacterial infection could ruin the crop with a single drop of rain.

I wasn’t an expert in which variety was which, but I did know who asked for a blessing and who did not. My neighbor did.

Circling the orchard, I observed his wife and gaggle of children spilling out the barn doors, carrying ladders and various tools.

The man himself drove the cart laden with baskets ahead of them, past the trees that had already given up their fruit for the year.

They would not be hiring help—not with such a big family—and although I told myself I liked living alone.

Mostly I did enjoy it. Watching them at work or play offered a poignant reminder that Fate had not chosen to bestow a mate upon me. Yet. Maybe ever.

They arrived at their destination and went to work, picking only the ripest of fruit.

Farmer Kent would cart most of them into Whisper Grove on market day, garnering the highest prices of any peaches for the entire season.

Of course, they kept some for their own use and in fact were kind enough to leave a bushel on my porch each fall, a welcome gift in return for my blessings.

Most of those who took advantage of my services paid in kind.

Grains, fruits, vegetables, hams, and beef roasts…

whatever they asked me to bless. In a farming area like ours, few had much cash money on hand, and indeed, I had no need for it.

My needs were few, and their offerings more than met them.

Allowing me to gift some to those in need in return.

Widows and the sick, those who were unable to earn enough for their families would wake to find pumpkins or fruits or perhaps eggs or a leg of lamb waiting for them in the morning.

As a single male who often ate in crow form in the wild, it would be sinful to waste all the bounty sent my way.

As Farmer Kent and his family continued their work, I continued on to my property and in through the open window.

One day soon, I would be able to enjoy some of those peaches, never allowing my crow self to mar a single one on the tree, no matter how tempting.

But for now, I would rest. My job nearly done for the season.

Winter’s requests came only in the worst of storms, and those were not yet upon us.

For those blessings, I often received the most precious of rewards.

Shiny things, bits of jewelry or maybe coins.

All those I put aside and kept. My treasures.

Only to be shared with someone very special one day. If such a day came.

I perched on the back of my favorite chair and closed my eyes, resting, fulfilled, but lonely.