Page 96 of Griffin Food

A sting forms at the back of my eyes, but it is not sadness; it is unmistakably joy.

“I would like that,” I say.

Rafe

She already loves him. I don’t know how I have been so blind to what is so obvious now. I knew they were bonding. She served him every day and spent time with him. But now that it is thrust upon me, it is a lot to take in and accept. And yet I find it is easier than I expected. Not cold dread, more an unsettled feeling.

He is fearsome, bold, and self-righteous—that much is true. But I can also accept that he is good for her, that he is no monster, nor cruel, that he is fully committed, as I am, to protecting her from whatever troubles might present, and whether that is her sister or something else. We are not yet aligned in every way, but I can find common ground with him.

It is different from Lark. I was friends with Lark long before Violet came along, and then her heat was upon us, and instincts took over. There was no place for petty jealousy there, and there is no place for it here.

If I did not already think her special, I could not dispute it today. It is part of her. Within her core. The kind of special the eye does not see.

A knock sounds on the door. Lark rumbles a growl. A word from Atlas, and he quietens, moving away and allowing it to open to admit a servant. It is the same woman from the study. She eyeballs Lark with trepidation before taking quick steps to the small dining table that sits beside the window. She sets everything out, gives a swift curtsy, and leaves again.

“Have a seat,” Atlas says, indicating the table where the servant has laid out food and drinks with two settings, rather than three. He takes Violet’s hand to lead her to his side, then sits her upon his lap… which explains the number of settings.

I’m uneasy. My mind does not yet know how to feel about this—about the way he handles her, putting her on his lap, bringing a pretty blush to her cheeks.

My presence here, watching her thus, heightens her experience.

They are used to one another. While I was grafting all day and seeing her only of an evening, I could delude myself that this was not the path before us. But now, here in this room, as I watch him lift the fork to her lips and she opens dutifully to accept the offered food, I can deny this no more.

And so I pick up my knife and fork, and I eat.

“Tell me about the notable soldiers within Queen Elisa’s ranks,” Atlas says.

While Violet chews, he cuts a piece of the meat for himself. Then he fills another fork and offers it to her.

“A commander with three captains. I reported to Captain Ederic. He was a good man. Respected. Queen Elisa is not a patient woman. I definitely appreciated my captain and the buffer he provided. I reported to the other captains on a temporary basis when particular operations warranted it. Redland is dogmatic. If he is here, and if this truly is war, he will be thriving. Bernard, the final captain, is autocratic and cruel. He was closest to Commander Grayson and was known to be favored by the Queen.”

I’m momentarily distracted as Atlas presses a kiss to her lips while she continues to chew. Her eyes widen, and she blinks up at him before swallowing.

He smiles.

I have seen bonded alphas do as much with their cherished mates. Her response to it is undeniable and stirs something latent within me.

“A year’s passed since you left,” he says, going back to the plate. “Changes may have happened.”

“True,” I agree, forcing myself to likewise return to my food. Cutting another strip of the tender meat, I consider how it would be to feed it to her… And the food here is fucking good. I never complained about the thick slabs of bread stuffed with cheese and bacon they would feed us each morning. This stately meal of the finest beef and root vegetables is on another level.

If I must watch my woman being handled by a griffin bastard, at least I shall do so from the vantage of a well-stuffed carver chair, while dining on fine food.

“And what of the common soldier?” he asks. “Are they loyal? A deep loyalty? Or are they merely men who get paid?”

He has put his fork down, and his fingertips trace over her collarbone. Gods, now his hand is against her flesh, setting little goosebumps erupting over the gentle swell of her breasts. He slides his fingers down and skims it along the neckline of her dress… then he tugs it down.

My eyes nearly pop out of my damn head. And I freeze, my fork halted halfway to my mouth.

I snap my mouth shut. Can’t fucking breathe. Caught like a fish on a hook, locked in the moment, as he casually cups her breast and rolls her nipple between his fingers and thumb.

A little gasp leaves her lips.

“Good girl,” he says.

Fuck. My dick is stone hard behind my pants. I guess that answers that. He handles her with assurance, like it is his fucking right. And it is. My mouth is watering, thinking about the taste of her tits… her cunt. I can smell her perfume in the air—hot, aroused woman.

“The common soldier?” he asks, lifting his attention from what he does to pin me with a look.