Page 121 of Griffin Food

That was probably for the best.

I spot Lark immediately as I turn the corner. He’s sitting outside the cell. His white coat is glowing. He has grown.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

And in the fucking cell.

If one inch of her skin is scraped, I’ll beat the pair of them bloody. But I’m also fucking churning. Poleaxed. And awed… If this is what I think it is.

Emotions are coursing through me as I draw closer to the cell door. But I hold them fiercely in check and slow my pace.

Lark glances across at me and then back to the scene.

I turn slowly, steeling myself for what I will find.

And there they lie upon the floor, a tangle of golden, glimmering skin, their huge, glistening wings making a cushion for her.

She blinks up at me like a sleepy kitten that has been roused from a nap. Her smile is a little wobbly. She is utterly blissed out—high.

Internally, I roar at the two men who have both once again overstepped the fucking mark.

Outwardly, I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “And you could not wait to consummate this in a proper bed?”

“She’s very fucking demanding,” Fenix offers baldly.

Darrion grunts and surges to his feet, lifting her in his arms. “I don’t often agree with Fenix, and in this case, he’s right.”

The limp, giggling bundle of naked beauty nips at his throat as he steps over to the door and looks down at it expectantly.

Rafe emits a low chuckle, strides forward to move the bolt, swings the door open, and holds his hands out for Violet. “Just in case there’s any fallout,” he says.

Fenix pitches to his feet behind Darrion.

Rafe steps off, murmuring softly to Violet as he holds her in his arms. Lark moves to stand beside them.

Darrion gives me a wary look. “The right side of my jaw is already sore. Maybe hit the other side.”

“I want to strangle the pair of you,” I mutter. “In a fucking cell. In a cold fucking cell!” I am repeating myself, and I am not one for doing as much. It is testimony to my frazzled state that they reduce me, thus. I glance across at Violet and then gesture down toward myself. “But what is done is done. She has chosen. The way I always hoped. The way instinctively I knew she would.”

They wait. Tall. Proud now that their places are acknowledged.

“Your penance is done. Time to get out of here. Clean up. We have a war to plan for.”

Master Pugstone has set up his books at the wide table before the window of my quarters. It is the early hours of the morning, and the weak winter sun brings a glow to the horizon. The fire has been kept stoked, and Master Pugstone has placed one of the lamps on the table close to where his books are scattered and stacked. Beside the lamp, a thoughtful servant has left a bountiful tray of refreshments.

I’m tired.

Aroused.

The scent of the well fucked woman in Rafe’s arms, now modestly covered in a cloak, is driving me crazy.

I just want to tell everyone to fuck off, take her to my bed, and have my fill.

The downfalls of being a leader… I cannot.

“Ah, Atlas!” Master Pugstone, gray-haired and ancient in human years, has boundless energy for griffin lore and history. “Please look at this passage. I think you will find it interesting in light of the incident that has occurred…”

He trails off. Lark has chosen this moment to shift to human, and unlike griffins, there is no clothing manifestation, and he is butt-naked and iridescent.