Page 39 of Griffin Food

“Don’t hurt him,” I beg of Atlas. “You promised.”

He arches one brow, and it shuts my stuttered protest right up.

My body is on fire. Sweat is soaking my clothing and making me shiver violently under the icy breeze that buffets me once more.

“They will have to do,” Atlas says with a nonchalant shrug. “Bring them to the chamber.”

Chapter Eleven

Violet

Lifted from the ground, I am tossed over Atlas’s shoulder.

Rafe and Lark’s protests are met with meaty smacks as fists connect with flesh. A low, pained grunt, and we are moving, being taken down a winding stone corridor deep into the mountain, where sconces burn in the walls, bringing pockets of fleeting illumination.

“Food and drink,” Atlas barks at someone that passes in the shadows. Footsteps patter, fast and urgent—human.

I am lowered to a sandy floor, warm under my feet. The air is thick with unfamiliar scents that creep under my skin and bring a tingle.

Released, Rafe and Lark crowd around me, their arms forming a shield—and one I cling to as I fight the pull of my imminent heat. I blink the bleary edge from my vision, trying to work out where we are. The blurred shapes of human servants form a line, laden with bundles of bedding and trays bearing pitchers, covered plates, and bowls. Everything is stacked against one curved wall on a low ledge.

The scent of the food leaves me slightly nauseous.

“Tend her,” Atlas says. His voice, so close, makes me jump. I drag my eyes from the bounty of food and supplies. He is standing right before us. “Make sure she drinks and eats—if she can.”

He pivots before striding away.

“Sick bastard,” Lark snarls.

He turns me away, and my eyes alight on the low, fur-covered circular pit in the center of the room. Surrounding it is the soft, warm sand we stand on, and surrounding that are circular tiers of fur-covered stone benches.

“Where are we?” I mumble. “What is happening?”

I peer up at the high arched roof above, then down and around me. I swallow. Most of the griffin shifters take their human form; two are still griffins, and several are in between, with huge wings flapping wide or curled into their human backs. All are naked.

Five. Six. Seven. Others enter—more than I can count.

The heavy wooden door shuts with a thud.

They gather in clusters, talking low, passing drinks between them, settling down to watch, their attention firmly upon me.

Rafe curves his arm around my waist, guiding me down to the softness in the center. “Don’t look at them, Violet.” He turns to Lark. “Get her a drink. Let’s see if she will take a little.”

I can barely see, only feel, my senses narrowing on the male who holds me and the soft fur under my stumbling steps. I sink to my knees, a goblet pressed to my lips, and I gulp greedily, cool water quenching my blazing thirst. As I finish the last drop, I knock the goblet away, sending it clattering against the stone.

Too much, too fast—and I cry out as savage contractions rip through my womb.

A hush falls over the room.

“It’s alright. We have got you,” Lark says, his voice strained. “It is just us. We have done this before. We know you remember. Do you trust us? Do you trust us to care for you?”

I do. Memories of past times are front and center in my mind. But maybe it is always like this—maybe I always remember only to forget. I cannot bear to forget them again. It makes me want to weep.

“Strip her,” Atlas commands. His voice is soft, yet it seems to fill the small chamber.

I glance across, finding him lounging on the fur-covered tier directly ahead. A golden goblet in one hand, his vast gray wings spread out behind him and appearing almost black in this light. To his right sits a younger man with tousled red hair and an intent, brooding expression. To his left lounges an aristocratic man with ash-blond hair, his narrow lips curled into a smirk.

Instinctively, I know these two men are the russet and the brown griffins whom we met in the forest.