Chapter 33
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.
Here I find a shorter corridor, a decadent bathing room that is clearly for Atlas himself, and finally, at the end of this corridor, another room.
The moment I step inside, I know that this is the one.
It’s a smaller, more intimate space, with soft, lush carpeting beneath my feet and a small balcony carved into the mountainside.
A long couch lines one wall, along with an occasional table and two plump wingback chairs in burgundy velvet that I could see myself snuggling on with a book.
The center of the room has a notable space. One that all but demands to be filled with a nest.
My smile softens at the nesting material stacked against one wall, along with a chest… almost like he knew I would pick this room… The latch on the balcony door yields to my fingers.
Lark yips.
Ignoring him, I step out. The air is sharp and cold, though the balcony, hewn from the mountain itself, is sheltered from the wind. The stone beneath my feet is solid, with a wrought-iron railing at the edge.
Lark issues a low warning growl and nudges me away from the railing.
“This is safe,” I say. I imagine it is stunning here in summer and offers the perfect view of the eyrie’s highest entrance, the one the griffins use when they take off for their patrols.
To my left, the widening of the balcony provides the perfect platform where a griffin might land. Perhaps another omega stood here once, waiting for her lover to land on the balcony so that she might welcome him into her nest.
I’m distracted from my musing when Lark grips the back of my dress in his teeth and hauls me toward the door.
“Fine, I was coming in, anyway!”
He drops me to the floor once inside. I glare at him as I get to my feet. I close the door and feel the warmth immediately, which is curious, for there is no fire in here. My hand goes to the polished stone wall beside the window.
“It’s warm,” I say, smiling. Not hot, but just a pleasant kind of warmth.
The room is perfect. There are fitted shutters at the windows, so I may close them if I choose. For now I leave them open, letting the sunlight spill in.
Time to make a nest.
I go back to the pile of fresh nesting material and the small chest that sits beside it. I drop to my knees before them, only now noticing a small card resting on the top of the chest.
For Violet.
I turn to Lark, who has sat beside me to watch. “I guess this must be for me.”
Curious, I lift the lid and then gasp.
My fingers tremble as I lift out my diary from where it nestled among my saddle bag and spare sets of my clothing. All the things we abandoned at the forest camp.
“Oh, I thought I had lost this for sure.” I clutch the diary to my chest, feeling tears prick the back of my eyes. Then I draw it away, open it, and flick through the pages, stopping here and there, remembering both the words and feelings.
He bought my things… or asked someone to collect them for me. Either way, he thought about me enough to ensure they were not lost. The placement of them in the chest and the little note feels intentional, like they were always waiting there for me to be ready.
Just like this room.
Waiting for me.
This is my time on the wheel. My time in this room, where I shall make my nest. My turn to stand on the balcony and wait for my lover to land.
Only it is more complex than that, for there is no single griffin I call mate.
My mind conjures up the image of a handsome human soldier, a younger soldier who can change into a direwolf, a redheaded griffin shifter with a brooding expression and intense eyes…
it does not stop there, for a regal griffin shifter with ash-blond hair who snuck his silk jacket into my former nest is likewise present.
I slip the diary back into the small chest and close the lid, then rise and tap my chin thoughtfully. “Now I need one of those soft mattresses I noticed stacked in that closet room on the other side of the library nook.”
The air crackles behind me. I spin and gasp as I find the human version of Lark is standing there, naked, with a scowl upon his face.
“Lark,” I say unnecessarily.
“Aye,” he says. “And no fucking way you’re lugging a mattress over here on your own. Show me which one you want, and I will bring it.”
My eyes bob down to where his cock is standing to attention and flexing. I swallow. Words elude me. Where has all the air gone from the room?
“I am up here, lass,” he says.
I drag my eyes up to find him smirking.
He shakes his head and tuts. “Lass, you have a one-track mind. Thank the Goddess. Focus. Mattress first, then you may nest, and then, if you are still inclined toward some play time.” He waggles his eyebrows. “My male parts you love so well are all yours.”
“Male parts…” Someone has swapped my brains for wool. It is very hard to focus when he is right there, roguishly handsome with his goods on display. “Wait!” I hold up a hand. “How did you know about the mattress?” My hands fly to my face. “You can hear me? You heard…”
He smirks. “Aye, the bit about the knot.” He turns and strides out of the door, heading back to the part of the quarters where I spotted the mattresses stowed. I feast my eyes on his ass… and back, and the muscular form of his legs while biting on my lower lip.
What is a girl to do when presented with this much temptation?
I hurry after him lest he pick the wrong mattress, already determined this nest shall be built post haste.