Page 26 of Griffin Food

I blink a few times as I take this in. “Where do baby griffins come from, then?” I blurt.

His laugh is a little nervous. He busies himself taking the book from me and closing it shut. “Well, I dare say they do not want for, ah, companionship of a less permanent nature. All eyries have a community of human servants.” He smiles ruefully. “They do have a weakness for the prettier lasses. But alas, no chosen one has revealed in these parts for many years, and Pride Leaders only mate permanently with a chosen one.”

I swallow thickly. Chosen one is just another term for omega. “Oh,” I say inadequately.

Lark

“We shouldn’t have left her alone with that old bookworm,” I say the moment the door to Master Pugstone’s residence closes behind us. “Who knows what nonsense he will fill her damn head with.”

Rafe grunts and rolls his eyes before he strides into the street.

I catch up with him as he reaches the door to the tavern where we are lodging for free.

It is a wealthy community—gem mining is a profitable endeavor. The rumors of the griffins that grew ever more elaborate the closer we drew suggest the average thug is wary of testing their luck, and this is further supported by claims that any such raiding parties mysteriously disappear.

My hackles are up. The latent beast within me is prowling with agitation and hungry for another taste of our little princess’s soft cunt. It’s been too long since she went into heat. She is overdue, and it is making me edgy.

The proprietor, Jim, gives us a nod and heads over to join us as we reach the bar. “Left your mistress with Master Pugstone, then?”

“Aye,” Rafe says. His eyes light up as he notices they have Pilkington ale on draft. “Two pints of Pilkington, please.”

“Coming right up,” Jim says, grabbing a tankard. He pulls the pump, frothy ale filling it up. “Griffin lore. An unusual occupation for a young miss.”

“It is,” Rafe agrees. “Her family is wealthy and indulgent of her scholarly pursuits. Her other sisters have taken the duty to continue the family line. Visited all manner of scholars for hints on where a griffin might be found.” His laugh comes with a practiced edge of ruefulness. “Not that I expect to ever see one, but you know, we’re paid to keep her company and get to travel.”

It is the cover story we have used from the start. Violet only has to speak, and it is clear she is a woman of noble breeding. No point in trying to make her out to be a commoner. Better to stick as closely to the truth as we can.

“Well, you came to the right place,” Jim says, passing the first full tankard across the bar and reaching for another. “Don’t see them much this time o’ year, although you can be sure they are looking out for any mischief. They tend to keep out of sight during summer when outsiders are here.” He winks. “But if you’re still around come the winter solstice, then you’re in for a treat.”

My mind immediately sinks into debauched images of revelry and rutting… our pretty princess bound on an altar, ready to be worshiped… a line of suitors cloaked in shadows, waiting their turn.

“A fine tale,” Rafe says, drinking deeply of his ale.

My mouth is fucking watering, not only for a decent pint of Pilkington, which I haven’t had in a while.

Jim chuckles, passing the second tankard across the bar to me. He accepts the coins Rafe passes over and drops them into his coin drawer. “Aye, many don’t believe. As that last raiding party would attest, being left naught but blood and bones.”

I swallow thickly and bury my nose in my ale. Damn good pint. This is going down fast.

“We are not raiders,” Rafe says, his humor vanishing in a flash.

“Aye, didn’t think you were,” Jim says amiably. “When you’re a wealthy community, you become adept at taking the measure of a man or woman. We’re open about our griffin protectors. Those here for trouble don’t usually live to tell the tale. And the others, well, they understand.”

“You’re not fucking with us?” I ask doubtfully. Going to need another pint to deal with this bullshit. It was fine while she was chasing myths. Buried instincts tell me letting our Violet anywhere near an actual griffin is a very bad idea.

“No,” Jim says, grinning. “For the most part, they keep to their eyrie, having their own community and servants there. We pay our due by way of food and other supplies, and we’re happy to. They’re always there when you need ’em. It’s a mutual agreement that has been in place for as far back as anyone can remember.”

Rafe takes a sip of his beer, grimacing as he puts the empty tankard down. “Shame we won’t be able to stay to see one.”

“Well, nothing is stopping you from staying,” Jim says. “Always work here for honest men. You look like you could turn your hand to most things.” He gives us an assessing look. “Still, they have an eye for the prettier lasses, if you know what I mean.” He winks. “Being a broken pride and all, they don’t hold back when it comes to indulging in human pleasures. No chosen one has been born in this region, and the Pride Leader has no mate.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Rafe stomps his heel down on my boot… was I growling?

“Griffins with humans?” Rafe asks slowly. “They’re like centaurs then, claiming a chosen one?”

My mind is full of white noise. Thank fuck Rafe still has his wits.

“Aye, they have a human form too. Shifters.”