Page 95 of Griffin Food

I feel the weight of the changes. Not just of my sister’s arrival, but of what is happening here with us. How Rafe is freshly cleaned up, in new smart clothes, Lark embracing his new form, and Atlas no longer treating them as labor or burdens to be managed, but as men with standing.

Atlas stops at a broad wooden door. He opens it and shows me inside. Rafe follows us, as does Lark, who waits for the door to close and lies down with his back against it. I nip my lower lip and smile at his overprotective ways as he settles down as if to sleep.

My guardian.

Only I do not linger upon Lark and his antics, for I am caught in wonder at the huge room.

It is broad and stately in size, although intimate in feel. Double doors lead to the left and right. Centering the wall opposite the entry is a rock face with an enormous window that looks out across snow-capped, thickly forested mountains. Sunlight streams in, bathing the room in a heavenly glow. Two fireplaces are on the outer wall, to either side of the grand window. The wall behind me curves like the upturned hull of a ship, glistening wooden boards sweeping over me until they meet the cliff face directly ahead. The floor is similarly gleaming, highly polished wood scattered with rich, thickly woven rugs.

The chamber is easily twice as broad as the Grand Hall in my childhood home. The scale of the area is simply vast.

To the left, a huge, canopied bed with rich royal blue swags dominates. Before it, a crimson couch and a low table. Another seating area. This one with two carved chairs, another couch, and a table sits before the huge window. A six-seater dining table creates yet another section beyond it.

To the right is a library area, with tall bookcases and ladders and yet more soft furnishings, an occasional table, creating a slightly more intimate space.

There is a scent in the air—subtle, masculine. The room has a quiet, soothing presence, one that feels almost alive.

It belongs to Atlas.

I glance across at him. He offers me the very briefest hint of a smile and releases my hand as though encouraging me to explore. After a swift glance at Rafe, I head directly over to the window. A beautiful brass telescope is positioned to one side, beside which is a small study table with an open book, an inkwell and pen, and a few scattered scrolls. Nestled in the window corner is a tall pedestal with a globe on top.

I have never seen this world thus. I go over to it and slowly spin it, noting the seas and landmasses, and the little inscriptions that indicate portals.

Then, finally, I take in the view. And what a breathtaking view… It is like I am a deity looking down upon the world.

To the left, a craggy opening. The place where I first landed at the eyrie, which feels like a very long time ago.

As I watch, griffins launch into the air. My breath catches in my throat. I spot Fenix and Darrion among them. They drop before catching the air currents, and then, almost as though they sense my silent study, they flap broad wings in deep, heavy strokes that bring them past the window. They bank suddenly, peeling away and soaring into the distance.

“Quite a sight,” Rafe says, surprising me with his closeness; his voice is thick with emotion.

I swallow. “Truly amazing.” When I dreamed of seeing a griffin, it was always a distant glimpse, something to store up and recall fondly. An adventure, brief and perfect. Yet what I experience is impossibly more.

“It feels ordinary to me,” Atlas says. “But I experience it anew through your eyes.”

“These are your quarters?” I ask, although I already know as much.

“They are.” His fingers move casually to draw my hair back from my cheek.

I sense a slight stiffening in Rafe, though he says nothing. My eyes clash with Atlas’s. His wings are broad and sweeping around us, almost protectively. I blink and glance back to the window, where I can just see the last little specks of the griffin wings before they disappear from my view.

“She refused food in your study,” Rafe says.

“She did,” Atlas agrees, and then his voice turns no-nonsense. “She will eat some lunch.”

I feel inexplicably shy as I move into a new phase of my life, even as my mind still lingers in the past. A transition is upon me; that he brings me here to his room is meaningful.

“Will I still go to my nest at night?”

Atlas’s fingers curl around my cheek, and his thumb brushes lightly over my lower lip. My breath catches, my belly takes a slow swoop, and a thick, languid flutter kicks off between my thighs.

“You will nest. But not the one in the ritual chamber. That one is gone. It would give me the greatest pleasure for you to make a new nest here. These quarters have several antechambers that might fit your needs and preferences. This has been the Pride Leader’s quarters for many generations. You are not the first omega to make her nest here, and I dare say you shall not be the last.” He indicates the telescope before the window. “This telescope belonged to Aribold, the leader before me. Many of the botanical books on the shelves were collected and curated by his mate. The globe was designed and hand-painted by the great Denyor, who reigned many centuries earlier. The pretty oil paintings you will find dotted about are the legacy of his daughter. The wheel moves. Each generation leaves its mark. This is our time upon it, and your time to find the room that you might make your own—your forever nest.”

Emotions stir within me. I sense Rafe’s presence, solid and steady beside me. An anchor. It has ever been what he is.

And I want this. A permanent nest, and a forever home. To live where generations of omega have before me. To accept my time upon the wheel, to leave perhaps an echo or memory behind, one that future omegas and their mates, many years from now, might happen upon.

The passage of time and my place as I exist in the now create a sense of deep poignancy.