Page 84 of Griffin Food

“What. The. Hell,” Lark mutters.

“I have heard the legends,” Fenix says. He flexes one arm, closes his fingers into a fist, and then relaxes them again.

“What has happened?” I ask. “What does it mean?”

“It means,” Fenix says, still grinning, “that you are indeed griffin food.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Atlas

By unspoken consensus, we leave Rafe and return to my study. Here, Darrion and I reflect upon all we have learned and the growing concerns pertaining to the attack and Violet’s sister.

“She belongs in silk,” Darrion muses into the quiet pause.

She belongs in whatever I choose to put her in, but I am too tired from the battling, and conscious that I will have a different battle on my hands tomorrow as I seek to turn Rafe so I don’t rise to the bait and point this out.

“We always knew she was royalty,” Aldric states with insufferable smugness only a griffin can achieve.

He did not, in fact, know she was royalty; none of us did, nor could we suspect. Also, she could have been the offspring of pig farmers, and Darrion would still want to dress her in silk.

What she is, is intelligent, intuitive, and beautiful inside and out. When she submits to me on her knees, I find a higher purpose. The thought of anyone, especially an older sibling who should be a protector, bestowing cruelty upon her makes me seethe with rage.

As for her sister’s mate, I pray that nefarious alpha accompanies his Queen so I might have the pleasure of gutting him. Only a weak male preys on unwilling women. An alpha is well-versed with scent markers. The scent of fear is very different from that of arousal. It was not only Violet’s omega sisters he terrorized by all accounts. He deserves an eternity suffering the Goddess’s wrath, and I am more than happy to deliver him to her justice.

“I’m surprised Fenix didn’t return here,” Darrion says, stirring me from my dark rumination. “Probably tired and returned to his quarters.”

My head snaps up.

Darrion’s eyes meet mine, and his brows bunch. “He wouldn’t…”

“Be able to fucking help himself,” I growl, already pushing back from my chair.

“He is particularly bold when subject to his instincts,” Aldric informs me. “And young. Like his griffin. They excel at insubordination.”

“Not fucking now!”

Before I can reach the door, it swings open without a knock, and Vander enters. “He’s on the upper entry.” His voice is a low rumble, but his eyes hold amusement. “And glowing like a beacon. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say he’s fed well.”

He doesn’t tell me who he is. He doesn’t need to.

I’m going to strangle the impudent fuck.

I emerge onto the upper eyrie landing platform, a seething mass of boiling rage. Darrion is hot on my heels. And behind Darrion is Vander, and if the passage of boots is any indication, the entire griffin contingent is following on. They’ve heard the news and come to see the showdown.

Fenix’s head swings around. The term “beacon” does not do justice to the otherworldly glow that emanates from my third. I might growl. It’s very hard to tell. The terror that enters his eyes as they widen would be comical under any other circumstances.

I shift. Snap my wings wide and issue a mighty screech. It triggers Fenix’s shift. He drops off the cliff, a glowing streak of red-gold feathers. As I drop down from the cliff after him, I’m caught somewhere between my rage and wonder.

“I am sorry,” Fenix says. His wingspan is half as long again as its normal length. There is no mistaking the power imbuing him. Still, he is no match for me, even so.

“We shall teach the insolent cub a lesson,” Aldric informs me. “Eating out of turn is simply not done.”

I want to roll my fucking eyes at his pragmatic insights.

Fenix dives to the right. I dive after him, folding my wings in for maximum speed.

“Did you fuck her?” I demand.