Page 40 of Griffin Food

My eyes drop unwittingly to the huge cock nestled between Atlas’s spread thighs. There is no mistaking the deep ridges curling around it. It flexes against his belly, fully erect.

“Strip her now,” Atlas repeats, “or I shall do it. And I am in no condition to be gentle.”

“She needs somewhere quiet,” Rafe grits out.

Atlas raises the goblet to his lips and drinks slowly. His cock flexes again, and clear stickiness leaks from the tip and slides over the crown.

My throat is parched again. I cannot tear my gaze away. The scent hits me, reaches into me, rips open a gnawing hunger in my belly.

Atlas lowers the goblet. “Rest assured, thief, we shall not interfere with your tending and shall remain suitably quiet. No one shall disturb us. No one shall disturb you.”

Heaven help me, they intend to watch.

I’m too far gone to care and claw at the collar of my shirt, pulling at the fabric, desperate to be free of it. I can’t stand the feeling of material against my skin.

“Gods,” Lark says thickly. “We need to help her.”

Rafe growls, sharp and angry—I have never heard him growl like that before.

“Strip. Now!” Atlas’s command booms. It sends another traitorous cramp through me.

He is an alpha, of sorts. That is how this works, how they mate with omegas… His scent, his presence—his command—are already affecting me.

Rafe stiffens. His face is a savage mask of hopelessness and fury.

“We need to tend her,” Lark presses again. “We cannot take them. We cannot stop them from watching. She needs us, Rafe. Our princess needs us.”

Lark

My father was a shifter and met my mother while traveling on pack business far from his home. He died protecting us, before we made it back to his pack.

It is not as unusual as one might think for shifters to take human mates, but I also know packs do not readily accept outsiders. Seeking to join my father's people would not have been easy—we would have been the lowest of the low, and pack life is brutal by nature, especially for an unmated human woman with a half-wolf whelp. So we lived among humans. My mother missed the shifter she had met so briefly for the rest of her life, right up until the fever took her to the Goddess's side one winter.

I don't think about that side of me often. My wolf is content to remain in the shadows of my mind. Nor do I linger on my past. I made my peace with the dice that rolled and took up a position as a soldier for the estate that belonged to Violet's family. There I found contentment and connection with the men I worked and fought beside. But then I met Violet and her adventuring, and I found a different kind of belonging—a sense of home—with her and Rafe.

But this place, this debauchery that is unfolding, has my animal side prowling and snarling.

She belongs to us. She is ours.

Only we don’t stand a fucking chance. The bastards bested us with contemptuous ease. We are nothing to them. That they allow us this much is part of some greater scheme. I’ve no doubt they will eventually push us out or kill us. Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll get some menial role here as a servant, where we might at least see her.

Maybe that would be worse than nothing.

Maybe this moment here is all we shall have. One final time that she will remember.

One final time to love her before she is ripped away.

“I assume you have some clue as to how to tend her,” the big blond bastard sitting beside the leader drawls.

Chapter Twelve

Lark

Rafe’s chest rattles with a low, ungodly growl. This is only the second time I’ve heard it—both were today. This place is affecting him, dragging something feral to the surface, the same way my wolf claws at me.

Her pheromones hang thick in the air, clinging to my skin, sinking into my blood. My cock is hard, aching to be inside her, but I know what is coming, how the craving never lets up.

I can feel the silent watchers, a dozen of them, maybe more—sick bastards. They represent a threat, yet I still can’t stop wanting her.