Page 64 of Griffin Food

“And what is that, pup?”

“You’re trying to kill me,” I sneer, “and pass it off as a training accident. She’ll know.”

He punches me again.

The blow sends me sprawling into the sand.

“Damn whelp,” he growls, shaking out his fist.

It gives me grim satisfaction to know that beating on me is hurting him as well.

“If I wanted to kill you, I’d have tossed you off the cliff and been done with it,” he continues in the same low, more irritated than angry tone. “I’m trying to fucking help you.”

“Help?” I croak. My vision swims. My head rings. “This is not fucking helping. This is beating me within an inch of my life.”

I force myself to my knees, teeth clenched against the agony. Before I can gain my feet, he grabs me by the throat. His sheer power, and how little beating on me has troubled him, is made apparent when he plucks me from the floor like I’m a bag of feathers and not a heavy-assed grown man.

And I’ve got nothing left. No resistance. No fight.

His face is all harsh planes and savage beauty. So close. So terribly inescapable.

My eyes start to roll back. I’m slipping.

He taps my cheek, rousing me.

“Fuck off.”

“Pitiful.” He drags me closer still, until our bodies are flush, until I’m left dangling and the only thing holding me up is his fist around my throat.

“Shift, wolf. I know you’re in there, that you can feel my alpha calling to you. Even if we’re not the same kind, you recognize me as your leader. Open your fucking mind. Open or I shall keep beating you until you do.”

He shakes me.

“Open yourself. Now. Yield.” The command is a thunderclap inside my skull. It’s not just a voice—it’s a force. A storm. A tidal wave slamming through every fragile place I’ve kept hidden.

My wolf whimpers, sinking deeper into the recesses of my mind, cowering away from the ungodly power bearing down on us. “It’s not safe.”

“It is safe.” He’s inside my mind now, and there is no escape. “You are safe. I am your alpha now, and I call you to my command. I bind you. I claim you. Not to a lowly pack, but to a pride. Come. Take your place. Take your birthright. Take your destiny!”

I stare into his silver, swirling, bottomless eyes.

The air rumbles like distant thunder, and the very rocks of the mountain shudder. A great whooshing sound fills my ears like wind tearing through a canyon.

My will breaks.

And I break with it.

Shattered into infinite pieces only to be smashed together and rebuilt.

Scents slam into me, sharp, visceral, unrelenting.

I shake out my coat.

Wait? Coat!

“Big bastard,” Vander says, stepping up beside Atlas, rubbing his jaw. “Where does he contain this much beast?”

Atlas rolls his eyes.