Page 150 of Griffin Food

“Go with Dirk,” Atlas says. “Your experience will be valuable on the front line with the army.”

Rafe nods once, reaches to cup my cheek, and then he’s gone, striding from the room with Commander Dirk and his lieutenant.

My legs threaten to give out, and yet they must hold me.

“And what of me?” I whisper into a room empty but for Atlas and me.

“It’s time for you to be our Queen,” he says, rounding the huge table. “To take your rightful place.”

The air shimmers before him, and in his hands are familiar items: goggles, a jacket, sturdy boots, and sensible hide pants.

Equal parts thrill and nervousness assault me as understanding blooms. They look new—like a set Atlas might commission, especially for me. That Darrion implied that he would.

My lips curve up the slightest amount. There is not a bit of silk. Oh, how Darrion would sneer in disgust.

“Do you trust me, Violet?” Atlas asks. “Do you trust me to keep you safe?”

“I do,” I reply. “With all my heart, I do.”

Lark

I sense a presence—forgotten and now remembered—drawing my awareness from the taste of blood and the scent of death.

My snout lifts. A lull in the fighting. I sniff the air, then I turn away from the soldiers and follow the instinct calling to me.

I do not go far before I find them lingering at the border of the forest, where a great gray beast pushes out of the thick undergrowth and moves to the fore.

The pack leader.

No, more. A royal. The leader of all the packs.

“You called us, brother. We heard you and came. For your enemy is ours.”

Around him, wolf shifters of every breed emerge from the forest. Tens upon tens. Hundreds.

“We felt their presence from a great distance, even in our packlands,” the royal pack leader says. At his side stands another gray wolf, almost as huge. “It is time to hunt the dark fae and their rocklings. Guide us, brother. Lead us in the hunt.”

My tongue rolls out the side of my mouth in pure wolfish glee before I pivot on the spot. “Follow me.”

Violet

My hands tremble as I don the clothes. Were Atlas not helping me, I don’t believe I could change at all. He is quick and efficient as he slips clothing into place and adjusts straps and buckles with a familiar ease.

His wings waft slowly, sending a shower of tiny golden dust all over the room and me.

It does not escape my notice that he is both huge and glimmering, almost seeming to pulse with power.

I did that… with a little help from my mates.

And now my cheeks heat anew as I’m caught staring at Atlas’s large, capable hands as he slips my leather helm over my head and tightens the strap under my chin. The goggles go over the top of my helm and rest over my forehead, ready to pull down.

I am ready.

We share a look.

My king.

My mate.