Page 98 of Griffin Food

He lifts his head slowly and licks his lips. A lazy smirk blooms on his face, and his eyes slide to the side where his wings have grown to almost twice their original size. His body is huge, and he is glowing. His hair, his face, the surface of his skin, and his wings.

I am utterly speechless.

“She is a true Griffin Queen,” he says.

He has made a believer of me.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Violet

Atlas is huge. I don’t quite know where to look as he helps me set my skirts to rights and returns me to his lap. Here, he feeds me a little more, and the two men talk about my sister’s armies, as if he did not interrupt the conversation to spread me over the table and feast upon me.

A knock sounds on the door. Lark glances to Atlas for approval before moving away and allowing a servant entry. She does a double take upon noting Atlas, but quickly composes herself to collect our finished plates and leaves a bowl of winter fruit, a fresh pot of tea, and cake.

As the servant leaves, Atlas sets me to my feet. “We have matters to attend to. But now would be a good time for you to explore. Rafe and I will be back later.”

They will be back later. Both of them. I’m still unsure of how this will work, but I like that Rafe will be returning here with him.

Atlas cups my chin and leans down to kiss me—a chaste kiss this time. When he straightens, he smiles. “Explore. Go wherever you wish. Have a nap if you so desire. This is your home now. I want you to be comfortable here.”

I nod. Feeling extra small before him. I did that. Made him huge.

Goodness.

Rafe offers me a single lingering look, like he is thinking of kissing me goodbye, too, before he follows Atlas.

At the door, Atlas pauses to look at Lark. He glances across at me. “He would like to stay.”

“You can talk to him?”

Atlas smiles. “I can.” There is something in his expression, enigmatic, like he is keeping a secret. “Lark is very protective of you. I would like to think there are no threats within the eyrie, but his duty is solemn and deeply coupled with his direwolf heritage. They are guardians by nature. Allowing him to take this role is deeply fulfilling to him.”

“Will he ever change back?” I blurt out, suddenly fiercely worried I will never see my Lark again.

Atlas chuckles. “Rest assured, he can change and will do so when he is ready.”

“Well, all right then,” I say. “I like him here. And whether he is a wolf or not.”

“Good. That is settled then,” Atlas says.

He and Rafe leave. Lark pads over and nudges me with his snout, pressing into my touch when I pet him.

“You like this form, hmm? I cannot blame you. It is beautiful. But between you and me, I like you as a man, too… especially the changes to your… ah… cock. The knot is very compelling, and I am already sold on—” I cut off my rambling. I don’t believe he can understand me, but just in case. Lark is a bold man who does not lack confidence. The last thing I want is to give him an overinflated ego.

His eyes are on me. Lark’s eyes. It hardly seems possible that he has hidden this beast for so long.

For now, we are alone, and I am gripped by curiosity. I begin with Atlas’s bed. Running my fingers over the silken covers. The couch before it looks comfortable. Identical to the one in his study. I find one of the oil paintings he mentioned on the wall next to the bed. It is a scene of a farrier at work. If I am not mistaken, it is the farrier workshop in Acton Trussell.

I think about the village, about the threat my sister brings, and about the daughter of a griffin shifter who went to Acton Trussell and saw this very scene. Perhaps sketched it out and completed it here before the big window. Or perhaps she painted it in the village.

This picture represents a snapshot in time.

She is gone now. The farrier likewise. But I like to think that his workshop, still standing today, might have been passed down, perhaps to descendants of this very farrier in the painting.

I turn away, heading through the double doors on the right beside the library nook. Lark, my silent companion, follows me, his nails clattering against the wooden floor. Beyond, I find a long corridor. The first empty room is only slightly smaller, with the same high ceiling and a picture window overlooking the mountains. The views are beautiful, but the space feels far too big.

I explore the rest of the rooms along the corridor, finding spaces of every shape and kind, some with bathing chambers and some without. Yet none of them feel just right, and I return to Atlas’s room and the double door that leads the other way.