Page 36 of Griffin Food

Lark stills. While I’m attuned to Violet’s shifting mood before her heat, when it gets really close and her scent changes, Lark always clocks that first. He shakes his head slightly and frowns—not that then.

She sits down beside the fire, looking anywhere but at us. Then her eyes latch onto my hand where I was sharpening my sword, and she swallows.

“Something you want to tell us, princess?”

“No.” Her voice is a little high and shaky. “I don’t believe there is.”

“She has remembered,” Lark says bluntly, tossing the rabbit he was about to skin to the floor.

Her eyes flash to his, wounded, yet full of fucking heat. My dick goes from semi to full mast in an instant.

I set my sword aside and rise slowly. I don’t want to spook her, but there is no avoiding this. Her chest heaves as I draw closer; my own breath is unsteady. I crouch before her and tip her chin. “Look at me.”

She shakes her head; her cheeks are flushed a deep red in the waning light.

“Violet. Tell me. Right now. Plain words.”

“I-I remember.” Her haunted eyes lift to meet mine. “I’m s-so sorry. So a-ashamed. I c-can’t believe I made you… ordered you to⁠—”

A terrifying screech pierces the evening air.

Then another, louder, sharper, closer. It’s not a natural sound. It is ungodly in nature.

Lark draws his sword. I spin around, snatching up my sword, eyes scanning the treetops.

“Goddess help us,” Violet murmurs weakly. “Is that a⁠—”

“Griffin!” Lark snarls.

A screech rends the air. I cannot see them, yet the hairs rising on the back of my neck know what makes the sound: a griffin, a creature of myth and legend, and a nightmare for us.

I taste bitter inevitability at the back of my throat. We’re fucked. I can’t reconcile just how badly. A thousand and one crossroads, every step, every decision bringing us here. We’re barely a day out of Acton Trussell, and they’ve found us.

The tremble in my hand steadies as I tighten my grip on the hilt of my sword. I share a look with Lark. The sharp cries, full of violent promise, circle above, drawing closer.

I’m just a man. A soldier. What chance do I have?

A crash, and the treetops rock above. Branches snap, and leaves rain down. But they cannot break through easily. The thick forest cover gives us a chance. “Run!” I roar.

Lark takes the lead, grabbing Violet’s hand. I come up the rear. Another piercing cry tells me they are onto us. “Keep running!”

We race on, the narrow animal track weaving left and right. My mind desperately stumbles over possibilities where we outrun them, find a place to hide, and work our way back down the mountain.

Could we reach the village?

Would the villagers help us if we did?

No, they would not. Likely, they would hand us over. And if we tried to slip past the village, they might mount their own search for us, eager to aid their protectors.

Protectors? As if. I sense nothing protective from the monsters’ screaming above. For all the bastards in the village claimed griffins were noble of purpose, deep-rooted, bone-deep instincts tell me this will not end well. We have wandered into a territory ruled by the highest order of predator and brought an omega to them like a fucking gift.

They won’t let two beta men stand in their way.

“Fuck!” Lark cries, coming to a skidding stop.

Ahead is a sheer rock face. We have just run ourselves into a dead end.

Another screech, right overhead, followed by the great rending sound of splitting wood.