Page 128 of Griffin Food

An alpha. I cannot linger long on the wonder, for I can read between the lines, and I know what Master Pugstone was saying even if he did not put it to words.

This is rare.

It has risks.

Rafe’s survival is not a given.

And I am terrified for my mate.

I cannot lose you, Rafe.

And then I soften inside, briefly, for if any man were to have a heart of an alpha, it would have to be Rafe. Big, overprotective, stubborn enough to match me. I can still remember in vivid glory him daring to spank me, a princess, after I took Raven out for a ride.

It feels so long ago now.

And as fresh as if it were yesterday.

My resolve hardens. There is no room in this for doubts, nor worries. I am here with him and for him. With all of my mates and their people, for they are now my people too.

We shall get through this. You will come back to me, whole.

Then his body begins to shudder.

“Quickly,” Master Lychen instructs. “The tube.”

I offer no hesitation, drop to my knees, and help him put it into place.

And so it begins.

In this room, we tend a brave man going through an accelerated transition.

Somewhere far beyond the stone walls, griffins, men, women, and a direwolf fight.

Chapter Forty-Three

Fenix

Word comes in from the southern scouts before I even reach the eyrie upper entry.

Rocklings. At least a dozen, maybe more, moving with a fae column toward the lake settlements.

The others absorb this as military intelligence. Troop counts. Threat assessment. Tactical response.

I hear the word and I am thirteen years old again.

One hundred years earlier…

“Fenix, lad, take these scraps out to the pigs,” the cook instructs me.

I don’t mind feeding the pigs. It’s better than scrubbing pots or dishing out slop to the prisoners, which is pretty much my lot.

I’m lost in my thoughts as I cross the inner courtyard. The wind is fucking biting, and there is a bit of shelter in the lee of the pigpen.

Which is when the gates open… the ones to the compound… the compound that rests on the other side of the men’s dormitory and where they turn orcs into rocklings.

I have never seen the gate open before. Not once. I mean, I know it must open, or there would not be a gate. I edge into the shadow of the awning, keeping my eyes on the gate as I toss out the scraps. My neck cranes, trying to watch both the opening crack and what I’m doing.

A guard exits the gate and pauses to speak with another who stands inside, blocking the view of the compound.