Chapter 54
Chapter Fifty-Four
Violet
The eyrie has settled into its quieter rhythms.
The wounded are healing. The villages are rebuilding.
The dark fae have retreated beyond their portal, and the wolves have returned to their packlands with Callum at their head and an alliance sealed that will outlast us all.
The corridors no longer ring with the sound of boots at a dead run.
The bell has not tolled in eighteen days.
I have counted every one of them.
I know I should feel relief. I do—in the way that one feels the absence of pain after a long illness.
A negative thing, defined by what is no longer there rather than by anything present.
The people of the eyrie move through their days with a lightness that tells me they feel it differently, that for them the silence is full rather than empty.
I am trying to learn how to feel it that way, too.
Atlas finds me in the library after supper, sitting before an open book I have not turned a page of in an hour. The moment his eyes land on me, his wings manifest, creating a magnificent fan at his back. Lark is at his side in direwolf form, ears up and alert.
Atlas doesn’t ask what I’m thinking about. He simply closes the book for me, tucks it under his arm, and holds out his hand.
I take it.
He leads me to his study without a word, Lark padding along at my side, nails clattering in a familiar rhythm against the flagstones.
The fire is already lit when we enter. The lamp on his desk throws a warm circle of light across the scrolls and ledgers that are his constant companions—the administrative weight of a pride and its communities, which does not pause for wars or grief or the complicated interior lives of Griffin Queens.
Lark takes up his usual place, lying across the entrance of the door… just in case… for my extra safety.
Atlas sets my book on the corner of his desk, pulls his chair out, sits, and then looks at me.
Then he looks at the cushion.
The damn cushion, just sitting there waiting on the floor.
Something in my chest loosens for the first time in eighteen days.
“I haven’t—” I start, thoughts a jumble and not entirely sure what it is I want to say.
“I know,” he says.
Well, alright then…
I gather my skirts and sink to my knees on the cushion beside him. The familiar pressure of the floor beneath my knees, the warmth of the fire at my back, the scent of him close—all of it is so known, so particular to this room and this man, that my eyes unexpectedly sting.
I drop my gaze to my hands in my lap.
His fingers find my hair. Not pulling, not directing. Just resting there, warm and steady, the way a hand rests on the shoulder of someone who is standing at the edge of something.
“You are very far away,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” The hand moves, slowly, smoothing my hair back from my face. “Just come back.”
Atlas
I have missed this.
I have missed my mate.
The moment feels right, her kneeling on her cushion. Submissive. Letting go. Accepting my touch.
Of course, that little spark of defiance when I nodded at the cushion didn’t escape my notice—and brought an internal smile. But that is what makes it all the sweeter when she sank to her knees.
She is my mate and my queen, and in many ways, it is I who kneels before her. Yet, I need this too, and from the very first time she entered my study, I recognized the beauty and the rightness of her kneeling like this for me.
Fenix
“We are to report to Atlas’s study,” Galeor informs me, gloating like he knows something I do not.
It sets my teeth on edge and sparks curiosity all at once. I haven’t fucked anything up recently. Also, why did Atlas not fucking ask me himself? Why does he need to relay through Galeor? If I’m going to get my ass chewed out, I’d at least like to know what the fuck for.
Galeor clacks his beak in amusement and immediately begins preening, the way he does when he thinks about…
I’m at the study door, so I go ahead and knock.
“Enter,” Atlas calls.
I do, and nearly trip over the mutt who is lying in the way.
He gives me a look and heaves himself up.
He usually gets out of the way, but I guess he is feeling stubborn today.
I don’t linger on Lark and his antics as I’m hit by a wall of enticing scent belonging to a sweet little omega snack.
There she is, kneeling on a cushion at Atlas’s feet.
Her head is resting, cheek against his thigh, while his fingers are running through her hair in a light caress. He has a scroll open upon his desk.
She glances up at me, and a pretty blush stains her cheeks before she quickly lowers her eyes.
My wings snap into being, wafting gently and bringing more of her scent my way.
“You can shut the door on the way in,” Atlas says, reminding me that I’m standing here like a fucking idiot, with the door still in my hand.
I shut it.
Lark flops back down in front of the door with a low rumble and puts his head on his paws.
And now I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do. I’ve only been in here once when he’s handled her like this, and there were other people in the room at the time. I know Darrion came in here once on his own and pulled up a fucking chair. Should I pull up a chair?
“I’ve got some reports I’d like to go over with you,” Atlas says, indicating the scroll in his hand.
Well, fine. I blow out a breath, and my eyes immediately snap back to Violet. All pretty and submissive on her knees. I can smell her arousal, and it’s driving me nuts.
This does something powerful to her when he touches her like this. She’s been in her head too much lately. I know she feels guilt for her sister being part of the attack, despite her having no reason to.
We still snuggle and hold her in the nest, but there is no intimacy. Atlas said we needed to give her time, and I got it, I really did, after all, I’ve had some demons of my own, and I wasn’t ready either, if I’m honest.
But today, and now, I understand that I am, that she is too, that Atlas senses what needs to be done, like he always does, which is why he’s the leader, not only of the Pride, but of our mate bond.
I’ve missed the deeper connection, absent these past few weeks. Missed being inside her. And now I’m staring at her plump lips, just waiting for a male’s cock to slip between them.
I snap out of my daze, and, lest I get another snarky comment from Atlas, I go and collect one of the chairs and set it opposite his desk.
I mean, I position it slightly to the side so I can see both Atlas and Violet. His lips curve the tiniest amount as he acknowledges what I do.
I raise both brows.
Galeor is making his sweet crooning sound, doubtless projecting it so that she can hear.
My tail suddenly manifests, and I bolt out of the chair, scowling at the lashing appendage that is not compatible with furniture.
Atlas quirks one brow.
Violet’s head has popped up.
“What the fuck,” I mutter under my breath as my tail continues to sway and occasionally twitch.
Atlas is smirking again now. Bastard.
I sit back down, finding a better position that allows my tail to snake around the side of me. It does not sit still. It moves about—sometimes resting over my thigh, sometimes wiggling enticingly, like it is imagining little stripes forming across her ass.
Atlas’s hand returns to the back of her neck, caressing her lightly, encouraging her to tuck her head back against his thigh. Her face is very pink now. She gently lowers her head, although her gaze is fixed firmly upon my tail that has a mind of its fucking own.
Which is a true statement when I think that it is Galeor, who is firmly in control of it, and not me.
Fine. He may have his fucking tail. My dick is all mine. And I’m not leaving this room until it’s gone between her pretty lips and into her hot, wet mouth.
I’ve got a bad feeling that Atlas really is going to make me listen to some report. He will make me wait for the good stuff. He might even dismiss me before my dick gets anywhere near her because he’s the king of edging.
Double bastard.
Who knows? I’m not very good at this personal restraint. I’m kind of a just-go-for-it sort of male. So I drag my gaze away from her, and I turn my attention to Atlas and his godsdamned scroll.
He launches into a report about reconstruction work at a local village that was particularly badly ravaged.
It is dry and fucking boring. I could tolerate it better if my Queen were not kneeling a few paces away.
Somehow, I manage to offer my opinion at appropriate times.
But for a large part of his dry monologue, my mind is elsewhere.
Galeor is still crooning. My wings gently waft, and my tail drifts to its own beat, sometimes resting over my thigh, sometimes curling the tufted tip in memory of caressing her soft skin.
Atlas pauses, reaches down. In a swift move that startles a gasp from Violet, he tugs her bodice down roughly, exposing both her plump tits.
I nearly swallow my fucking tongue. So much blood surges into my dick that it tries to bust its way out of my pants.
Godsdamn.
Her eyes slam into mine—her lips part. I don’t know where to look—her face or her tit that he’s handling, pinching her nipple roughly, making it all pink and hard.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Then her teeth sink into her lower lip like she’s fighting back a moan.
Of course she is.
Atlas will stop if she gives any indication that she’s enjoying it. Like he doesn’t fucking know. Like he can’t feel it the same way I can, pummeling me through the bond.
But Atlas is all about restraint. He wants her to contain it.
He moves on to her other nipple, getting that good and sore, and then, satisfied with his torment, returns to the scroll.
I don’t believe any of us are thinking about the scroll anymore or the urgent repair work that is going on at Hotton Loe.
But he perseveres anyway.
A knock sounds on the door.
“Come in,” he calls.
This time, Lark decides to move out of the way.