Page 148 of Griffin Food

But I’m an alpha now.

It feels complete.

And although I didn’t need this—already had more than I could have hoped for—I’m going to fucking embrace it.

My fingers tighten lightly around hers. Her return smile is brief, and within it lies the worry for what is about to unfold.

As we leave the quieter sleeping quarters behind, new sounds fill the corridors: the thud of boots, shouted orders, the clatter of weapons, and the hurried murmur of voices. The distant screech of griffins carries from an open corridor leading toward the upper eyrie entry. Now and again, we pass a room where wounded men are being treated, their low groans leaking out.

A reminder of the war.

Two soldiers stand guard beside the council room’s double doors. They snap to attention and swing them wide as we approach.

The room is familiar, though it feels like a lifetime since I was last here.

The night of the cell incident—the night my change began.

A broad oval table dominates the chamber. The ceiling is high, supported by thick stone pillars, with tall windows along the walls letting in pale morning light. Outside, I catch sight of a wing of griffins launching into the sky.

Today’s gathering is smaller: Atlas, Commander Dirk, and one of his lieutenants. The commander’s temple bears a crust of dried blood and a heavy bruise from the fighting, no doubt.

I share a nod with the men, and catch Dirk’s young lieutenant studying me as though trying to reconcile what I am now with what I was before.

He quickly averts his gaze.

I cannot blame his curiosity. I don’t know what the fuck to make of myself either.

Atlas’s wings snap into being. His eyes slide from Violet to me, taking in the gold-plated armor and the sword at my side.

His lips curve faintly. “It is a little pretentious, but I dare say you will grow into it.”

Now the bastard is baiting me. I raise both fucking brows, even as the shared humor feels good.

“I’m glad to see you standing,” he adds and gestures toward the map. “Matters have escalated.”

I direct my gaze to the large chart spread across the table, held down by stones and markers showing the positions of hostile forces, noting how close they have come to the eyrie.

Reality slams back into me.

The fever dream of transformation is over.

Today we are at war.

I am no stranger to conflict. Though my role was that of a Queen’s Guard and mostly involved small skirmishes and patrol disputes, there were occasions when we rallied to support neighboring kingdoms.

I took such things in my stride. Yet this is on a different scale.

Atlas plants a finger on the map. “The line of attack has changed three times in as many days. They came first for the smaller settlements. When that failed to break us, they turned toward the roads, hoping to sever our communities from the eyrie and isolate them.”

His finger shifts toward a point near Acton Trussell. “Here. And here. They do not come to plunder and leave. They seek our lands. Our mountain. Our people. Perhaps even the pride itself, enslaved as they enslave the orcs—twisting them into their rocklings through dark magic.”

A tightness pulls through my chest.

“Had the resonant bonding not occurred,” Atlas continues, “unleashing the surge that strengthened us pride-wide, our position would be far more perilous. Particularly in light of what we have learned from captured soldiers.”

His eyes shift to Dirk.

Dirk nods grimly.