Page 158 of Griffin Food

I say nothing. I simply look at Rafe, catch his eye, and then turn my attention back to the man in question.

He follows my gaze. A beat of recognition, and then his jaw sets in the way it does when something has been decided. He steps forward without a word.

Atlas’s eyes find mine. One brow lifts. “Something I should know?”

“Unfinished business,” I say. “His name is Maren. He did wrong by my younger sister.”

Atlas watches Rafe’s retreating back for a moment. “I trust in Rafe’s capable hands.”

I look away.

Some things do not need to be witnessed.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Fenix

The dark fae general’s blood is still on my claws when I land back at the eyrie.

I shift back to human on the upper ledge, and the gathering crowd parts as I push past, taking the corridors, bound for our quarters. I pass soldiers, healers, and eyrie residents who come to offer aid—all of them looking at me with something between awe and wariness. News of me taking the dark fae general will have been swift to spread. I ignore every last one of them.

She’s coming. She’ll be landing with Atlas soon.

But I can’t face her here. Not with so many people.

And even before I see her, I know her eyes are full of questions I am not yet ready to answer.

For Molly.

She heard me. Through the bond, she felt it all—the rage, the name, the century of it. And she does not understand.

She will.

But first, I need to remember where it began.

One hundred years earlier…

“Steady, young warrior. No one will hurt you.”

Ah! What the fuck is this trickery? Get out of my head!

I wrestle for freedom from the giant claw even as I wrestle to get the voice from my head.

“He is bold,” the imperious voice announces again. “I like him.”

“He is frightened and has a coarse tongue,” another voice, this one dry, interjects.

A shadow falls over me, and I look up to find another griffin right before us, this one has gray wings with flashes of lighter steel.

“He can hear us,” the sardonic voice adds.

The gray griffin stops, head twisting and whirling, silver eyes inspecting me.

“Interesting,” a new and superior voice says—I would swear it comes from the gray griffin.

Then the air seems to implode, and where the gray griffin stood is a tall, built man with long black hair and simple leather armor.

I might scream.