Page 52 of Griffin Food

Vander grins, points at me, and crooks his finger.

Chapter Fifteen

Darrion

“Something troubling you?” I ask as I drop down without invitation into the chair opposite Atlas in his study.

Fenix drops into the seat next to me and likewise regards Atlas with curiosity.

“No,” Atlas says defensively, like his wings on full display behind him is an everyday occurrence.

“You still have your wings shifted,” Fenix says bluntly, going straight for the verbal kill.

“Like a green cub getting his first whiff of pussy,” Darkan, my griffin, offers his snarky opinion.

I smirk.

Atlas glares at me like he is thinking of liberating my head from my shoulders.

I casually adjust the cuffs on my silk jacket.

We have just finished putting Rafe and Lark through their paces under the guise of a training session. Well, Vander did. He went easy on them, which is more than he does for Fenix. The idea was to assess them, not break them. The omega has bonded to them, although the three of them appear clueless as to what lurks beneath—what drew them together. The spark, if you will, that doubtless ignited the moment they met.

“They don’t know what they are,” I say by way of deflection before Atlas decides he needs to remind me why I’m second. I very much like this jacket, and it would be bothersome to see it ruined. Obtaining good-quality silk is not easy; getting it tailored is harder still.

“We don’t know what they are either,” Fenix points out, his brows gathering. “The younger one is a shifter of some kind, only he doesn’t feel quite like a wolf. He is definitely not a bear shifter.”

“That’s for the best,” I say drolly. “Given your aversion to their kind.”

Fenix has a lot of aversions… and a long memory.

“We need to trigger them,” Atlas says. “Aldric believes he can coax the shifter out, and if that does not work, then we shall need to do it the other way.” His lips form a tight line. “We need to be prepared for what we might unleash.”

“Why not skip to the good part,” I say.

“We shall try the other way, first,” Atlas repeats, his wings wafting broodingly and his eyes narrowing on me.

He is not one for brooding; that is more Fenix. I should not push him in his present frame of mind. But the omega is fucking with all of us, and I cannot help myself. Her scent is all up in my nose. It has latched onto long-buried instincts. Delectable. I should like to feast upon her slick cunt for an hour or two, maybe then I could shake this compulsion to challenge my leader for first fucking rights.

Not that any of us are getting first rights when the other two bastards have been fucking her through her heats for Gods knows how long.

So tiny. Precious. She does not look like she can take a regular dick, never mind the shifter bastard’s fist. I can only anticipate the sweet pleasure sounds that will fall from her lips when I stuff my barbed cock all up inside her…

“Fuck!” My wings spring into being. There is no fucking room for them in the carver chair, and I shoot to my feet. My right wing smacks into Fenix, batting him from his chair and sending both crashing. On my other side, a vase from some forgotten era likewise crashes to the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Aldric is goading us,” Darkan announces imperiously. “We must display our assets too, lest the chosen one overlook us.”

“She is not fucking here?!”

“Her scent is… We are practicing.”

“I really hope this is not catching,” Fenix says seriously as he rights his chair.

Atlas is looking smug. Bastard. Also, how does he make fitting his wings behind him in the chair look so effortless?

“Her scent fills the room,” I say inadequately. It is a poor excuse, but I cling to it regardless.