Page 13 of Griffin Food

The sudden change to her scent, one even I can detect as a beta, brings a whole new trouble to our door. If I’m not mistaken, she is going into heat. Thank fuck Lark extended our stay, for we cannot move until this is done, and will need to guard her closely through this. There are yet rumors about omegas, about what heat does to them, and what it can also do to certain beta men chosen in place of an alpha. The desperation of it. The way it strips everything back to something animal and urgent.

My eyes go to the closed doors. Behind one is Lark, with a spare bed for me. Behind the other is Violet.

I reach for the ale, and this time I drink it. Then I sit very still, and I listen to the silence the way a man does before a battle.

I cannot fail her.

I need to keep her safe.

The window is still open. The night air comes through it, cool and indifferent.

And then, from behind her closed door, I hear her moan. A sound so small I might have imagined it. Soft. Confused. Like someone waking in a strange place and not quite knowing where they are.

I set the cup down.

Another, deeper moan comes from behind the door.

Violet

I wake up disoriented, my body bathed in sweat. For a long, stretched, terrifying moment, I have no idea where I am.

And then the haze slowly lifts. The room is darkened. The window is shut, but the shutters are open, allowing moonlight to spill into the bedroom and across the bed where I lie.

My hand goes to my chest. Hot. I’m so hot.

I have vague memories of arriving at the tavern, of Rafe and Lark stabling the horse. Something about feeling unwell… I heard them saying they would extend the stay until I felt better… And then… taking to my room. Here, a pitcher and basin with a soft towel had been left out for me by the tavern proprietor, and I’d used a cloth to wipe the worst of the travel from my body. That had calmed me some before I had slipped into bed.

The covers are rumpled like I have tossed and turned. I’m naked. I didn’t even bring my saddlebag through with my nightgown. This omission momentarily stuns me. My body feels strange, like it is not part of me. A rattly sound erupts from my throat, soft, low, almost like a purr. It has a strange cadence that shifts as I breathe in and out.

I become aware of sensations, of a tingling between my thighs. Of the sensitivity of my skin as I draw my fingers slowly along my thigh, lost in the wonder of how delectable it is, even so gentle a touch.

My legs part. I have no idea why I part them, only that it feels good. There is a throbbing sensation deep in my core, an ache, a pervasive need to be filled.

My fingers slide further up until they find my pussy. I’m drenched. Just how much so is truly shocking. My fingers smear through the stickiness. I lift them from out of the covers, brows puckering as I examine them in the moonlight.

“Help me,” I whisper. I don’t know who I’m entreating, only that I need help.

“Oh.” My next moan is deeper, louder. Slave to the strange sensations rippling through me, I plunge my fingers into the needy place between my thighs and pump my fingers erratically, desperate to assuage the terrible ache. Distantly, I sense that this is all wrong. That I shouldn’t be doing this. Yet the fear and confusion do not take hold. Nothing can touch me in this hazy, carnal cloud.

Soon, my hand is drenched. The bedding beneath me, likewise. I cry out openly now, lost in the throes of pleasure, as I coax my body toward a climax until it finally, blissfully, crests.

I pant into the aftermath, already moving my fingers, albeit slowly now, for the climax offered barely a hint of relief. Faint sounds emanate from the other side of the wooden door—low voices. I pay them no heed.

Memories of scents linger in my nose. One belonging to a tall, sandy-haired soldier and another with pretty blue eyes. I think about their scents and their built, strong bodies as I thrust my fingers wetly in and out of my pussy. Then I think of them above me, their lips upon my flesh, their weight pressing me down into the bed.

“Please. Goddess, please.”

They are outside the door. Close. My strange, fuzzy intellect latches onto this point. They are right outside. And I need them. Why do they not come in?

“Please help me.” My voice is a low, weak rasp. My fingers still move stickily in and out. Only it does not take me toward the culmination the way it did before. It leaves me wretched.

I snatch my fingers away with a sob. It erupts from my chest, filled with self-pity and need.

The bedroom door slams open. Rafe is standing in the opening, his expression wild, his eyes intense. Another shadow lurks behind him—Lark.

I hold out my hand. “Please, I don’t—I don’t understand.”

He covers the small distance in quick steps and takes my hand. “Get her a cool cloth,” he barks at Lark.