Page 18 of Griffin Food

It has changed both of us. And if it has changed both of us, it has to have changed her as well.

I’ve loved a lot of women—the no-strings kind of loving. I’m an attentive lover, and word gets around with the lasses. Been told often enough that I’m easy on the eye, and that doesn’t hurt my quest to spend any spare moments getting my fill of pussy.

Then a crazy princess crashed into my life, nearly getting herself killed on a stallion she had no business riding, and mayhap she left an impression back then.

She has been changing me ever since, with her sassy mouth and back talk with Rafe, her adventuring, and her grit.

“Aye, you’ve got it bad,” Rafe says dryly.

“And you haven’t?”

He holds up both hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger. And I didn’t take whatever you just went through in your head for five long minutes to figure it out.”

He has a point. Bastard. One I cannot argue with.

Violet

I wake up and groan, my hand lifting to my forehead as I acknowledge a pounding headache.

It’s daylight. The shutters are closed, but bright sunlight still peeks around the edges. I grimace—no, I wince—as even that small movement sends shooting pain behind my eyes. I have a vague recollection of the shutters being open at some point. Somebody must have closed them.

I glance down at the covers that are drawn up to my neck. I remember being hot, of pushing them off, of a cool cloth against my forehead, of Rafe insisting that Lark cover me back up.

Goddess… What has happened to me?

The pieces don’t fit together for the pounding of my head. I can’t remember anything else beyond the fact that both men were present in this room.

Did they see me naked?!

As the throbbing behind my temple eases, I become aware of aches in my body—unnatural aches. How I feel off… weak. My body is strangely disconnected from my mind, as though it has been used in ways it has never been used before.

I groan and slap my hand over my eyes as if to hide from this… only to remove my hand so my eyes can go to the closed door. Have I just gone through a heat?

It’s not possible.

It’s very possible.

Maybe even likely. At least a mild form of heat… maybe even a false heat. Yes, that must be what it was, a false heat, as I have read about in books. My sluggish mind scrambles, trying to remember all I can about omega heats, false or otherwise. It’s more like having a fever, from what I can recall. Usually, they’re tended to by other women and given herbs to alleviate the symptoms.

I seem to recall Rafe might have suggested sending for a healer, and that I insisted I was fine. Maybe one was sent for after all… Rafe and Lark were here at one point. Perhaps they heard me calling for help?

Thank the Goddess they had the decency not to linger.

There is no use in hiding here. My bladder is making demands, and besides, I can feel and smell the sweat upon my body. A bath is essential. I push the covers up and slowly sit.

There’s a glass of water and a jug sitting on the table, along with a neatly folded cloth, a pitcher, and a basin. It becomes apparent to me that they took care of me—perhaps applied cooling cloths to my forehead. Probably made me drink.

Suddenly, many things make sense.

My shameful act at the window yesterday. My wild, uncharacteristic obsession with their scent.

They have seen me at my worst. Have they gone? Fled?

Powerfully thirsty, I pick up the glass. I have to hold it in two hands, and I’m shaking so hard that I spill some of it down my chin. The whole glass is downed in one. It clatters against the nightstand, and I wipe off my mouth with the back of my hand.

Then I attempt to stand and nearly pitch over.

I reach blindly for the nightstand, catch the basin, and send it tumbling with a crash to the floor.