Page 8 of Griffin Food

Chapter Four

Lark

Two months later…

We pull up at a tavern in a small village on the outskirts of Hydornia. Violet heads inside to settle into our quarters for the night. Rafe and I head for the stable to bed the horses down.

Sometime in the next few days, we’ll cross the border, leaving our homelands behind. This is the farthest I’ve ever traveled in my life—and I consider myself a reasonably well-traveled man.

But it’s not our current location, nor our destination, that troubles me right now. It’s the fucking scent coming off of Violet that has lodged at the back of my throat… and other places.

We are hired soldiers, nothing more, and I need to shut these lusty thoughts down.

“Is it me, or does she smell really fucking good?”

I regret the words the moment they slip out of my mouth.

But also… I don’t.

Rafe straightens slowly from where he’s just stowed the saddle. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He gives me a hard look like I’ve already tried to lift the lass’s skirt, which is fucking insulting now that I think about it.

We’ve been traveling for a couple of months now. A small party. Exactly three people. Close. You learn a lot about a person when you’re in each other’s business every day.

Still… sometimes I need to get things off my chest when the lass is out of earshot.

“I’ve not drained my balls in a while,” I say. “No fucking opportunity to find a lass when we’re always on the fucking road.”

He pauses, the bridle in his hand, halfway to the hook.

“What?” I mutter.

“I hadn’t noticed anything,” he says, shoving the bridle onto the waiting hook. “About the scent.”

“Aye, nothing at all?”

He cuts me a glare.

“Ha!” I stab a finger at him. “You’re not immune to strawberry-blonde curls and a nice plump ass. You got your hands on it the other day, under the pretense of helping her into the saddle.”

His face turns a deep shade of crimson. Fine, that was out of order. The lass is a calamity getting into the saddle even after two months. He either had to put his hand on her ass or watch her hit the dirt… I realize I’ve pushed it too far when he punches me in the jaw.

“Gods!” At least the punch woke me up from whatever madness had me in its hold. “Thanks,” I add. “Needed that.”

“She pays us to protect her,” he snaps. “Not to ogle her. Nor wonder how good she smells.”

“So you have noticed it then.” I’m going there again.

His expression says punching me is back on the table. Unfortunately for Rafe, I’ve never been particularly good at following social cues. “Go on,” I press because I can’t fucking help myself. “Thought it was my wolf blood.”

He raises both brows. “Wolf blood?”

“My father was a shifter. Not something I talk about much, given I’m a mute who cannot shift. Common among those of mixed race, from what I’ve heard,” I say, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Do you not have a wolf, then?” He is all fucking interested all of a sudden. “How do you know you’re a shifter?”

“Of course I have a wolf,” I mutter, insulted now. This is why I don’t talk about it. Folks just assume you’re making it up. “I can feel that part of me. He just doesn’t have any desire to come out.” Now I sound like a defensive whelp! “But this is all fucking irrelevant if you can scent her too. Also, she doesn’t have any monthlies.”

“The fuck?” he mutters, hands clenching into fists like he’s thinking about thumping me again.