Page 116 of Griffin Food

“Me!” Fenix rouses from his brooding to level me with a glare. “I backed you up, even though you were an idiot of the highest order.”

“Exactly, I was an idiot, and then you were a bigger idiot challenging Atlas when he is already riled up!”

His glare turns flat and judgmental. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on the bigger idiot part. I believe my arguing with Atlas was minor compared to you nearly getting Violet killed!”

He makes a valid point. “She was not nearly killed.”

He raises a brow.

I roll out a crick in my neck. This cell is not fucking comfortable. Vander did not even bother to lock the door. He knows that neither of us shall leave until Atlas orders him to return and release us. “Fine, she was closer to danger than I ever want her to be again. And I was an idiot for agreeing.”

“That’s what happens when you let your dick make decisions for you,” he says, all chipper now, like we are not cooling our fucking heels in a stone cell. “You were likely backed up and not thinking straight, which is what I was trying to tell Atlas before he went all raging alpha bastard on us.”

Atlas is the furthest thing from a raging alpha bastard. Although he certainly did not pull his punch, as my aching jaw will attest.

“I believe he was testing me,” I admit. “Asking me to watch her when he knows negotiation is my forte.”

Fenix smirks. “Yeah, I figured that too. Spoiler alert. You failed.”

Asshole.

The sound of footsteps redirects my attention to the passage. Vander coming to notify us that our penance is done? A little early. I fully expected Atlas to leave us here for the night… but no, the footsteps are too light and accompanied by a familiar clatter of claws.

Violet.

And Lark.

At least the brat did not wander down here alone.

Fenix sits bolt upright, his head swaying toward the bars as we await her arrival.

And then she comes into view. A pretty silk gown that, while simple in cut, is utterly charming. The burnt orange color makes her blue eyes pop. It would seem the seamstress I instructed worked fast.

She pauses at the door, her eyes sliding from me to Fenix and back again before she tugs upon the skirt of her dress. “Did you make this for me?”

I smile. “Not personally. My skills, while considerable, do not extend to dressmaking.”

Fenix snorts.

“But I did order and specify its design. Do you like it?” Gods, I sound eager for a crumb of her approval. I’ve got it bad. Still, she looks stunning in the gown I commissioned for her, her true beauty shining through. Ravishing. I very much want to ravish.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, shyly now. “Master Pugstone is going over the findings from our history research. Atlas ordered me to stay in his quarters. I snuck out with Lark. Atlas and Rafe are still in the council room. I have my suspicions they will be there all night.”

The mention of the council room dampens my mood. I should be there now.

But I am not.

I am here.

So is she.

Fenix is leaning forward on his bench, his body coiled with tension and throwing off enough pheromones to choke the very air.

So am I.

So is Violet.

Lark, our silent companion, I judge, will not interfere.