by J. C. Owens
He had started to drift off again, drowsy and warm, when he felt Ceris stiffen and give a warning growl.
He was instantly completely aware, his hand sliding down to the sword that never left his presence. Andon never slept without being completely clothed, and always with his weapons to hand. He had no reason to trust the people here; they were no less vicious than the street people he had lived with as a child. They only masked it with fine manners. It had been difficult to hide his abuse from Vren, but then the man’s inability to see the dark side of people had helped his cause…
Slipping from under Ceris’s wing, he straightened, one hand sliding into her mane, a gesture that bonded them, a comfort to both.
They listened, silent now, motionless, until the sounds came again. People, several of them, within the wing house. Their voices were loud and discordant in a place that knew only silence. There was the bray of a donkey, then another, odd when the base had no such creatures. A laugh and several comments in a voice he had only just heard.
Captain Phalnir.
He would not…
Andon sheathed the sword and strode for the barricaded door. It took some time to release all the locks and bars he had fashioned to protect them. He flung the door open, eyes widening as he stared down the dusty hallway.
Piles of lumber were being hauled into the area by a small army of men, none of whom Andon recognized. His gaze swung to where the captain was speaking with a short, broad-shouldered man who was ticking things off as the lumber was piled high.
Fear and fury rose to twine together. They were invading his space.
“What in the hells is going on here!” His roar made everyone freeze in place.
Captain Phalnir glanced over before a welcoming smile softened his face. He left the man he was speaking to, striding down the hallway to meet Andon.
Andon had to fight down the urge to draw his sword and confront this latest threat. The man had, so far, given him no reason to do so, and he was painfully aware that Commander Lasrem would be the only one to allow this to happen. He worshiped Lasrem, in his own reluctant, distrusting way. He could not shame the man, if this was by his order. Certainly not by attacking one from the corps itself.
Ceris came up behind him, snapping her jaws in warning, wings mantling to either side of him.
The captain stopped, but he did not seem to be unduly alarmed by the grif’s behavior. Instead, he gave a slight bow to her.
“I will not harm your rider, Ceris. In fact, we come to protect him. My riders and I will move into this wing house during our tenure here. There will be no disrespect given to Captain Grazon while we can prevent it.”
Andon could feel Ceris’s shock at the direct address, words addressed solely to her. Respect—to her.
She tilted her massive head, one way then the other, eyeing the other man. Slowly, her mane began to settle. She had made her judgment, and it seemed to be in Daren Phalnir’s favor.
She would not trust any more than Andon himself would, but obviously she was willing to give this newcomer the favor of the doubt, something that Andon had never seen her do before.
Blinking in disbelief, he looked back at Captain Phalnir, wondering what his grif could see in the man. He was tall, annoyingly tall, standing at least a foot over Andon’s stature. He was powerfully built, but it was all proportional, almost perfect in balance. His face was a thing of masculine power, with a strong jaw and sculpted cheekbones. His green eyes were ever so slightly slanted, pointing to a western heritage, perhaps Jartor or Balneen, the birthplace of the hereditary royal family. His short, black hair was unruly, almost spiked. Altogether he was striking, but what Andon noticed the most were his hands, as one was held out to shake.
Long, incredibly long fingers.
Andon swallowed with difficulty, a strange heat curling in his belly. The calm in those eyes drew him like a magnet, and he fought a surge of fear. To feel an attraction to anyone was so foreign as to be terrifying. No one had ever caught his eye or stirred his sexuality. No one.
Now, without even trying, this man had done the impossible, and Andon wanted to hate him for it.
He gave the hand a cold glance, and it finally dropped to Phalnir’s side, though his smile did not dim in the slightest.
“We got permission from the commander, and he has sent supplies.” He gestured to the short, stocky man who he had been speaking to. “Yanra is going to be our teacher as we work to get this place back in form and livable.”
“Lasrem is ordering this?” He tried not to feel a surge of betrayal. After all, this wing house had been on the list for renovation since before Andon’s arrival.
“He is.” There was a calm sympathy in that green gaze that Andon had no intention of acknowledging.
Andon gritted his teeth, feeling the muscles in his jaw twitch with the force of it. He would not go against Lasrem, whatever the cost. Fool that he was, as loyal as a dog and little more respected.
It took great effort to bring himself under control, his mind racing to find a workable solution to what this change would mean. For the moment, he was trapped, but he would not accept that fate for long.
“Fine,” he bit out, unable to dredge up any courtesy in the face of this coming disaster. “Don’t expect any aid from me. I have work to do, as I would’ve thought you would also have.” There was a snap in his tone—anything to drive this attractive stranger away from his personal space.
“Oh, we will have a list of our duties by week’s end, but for now, we can work on this freely.”
Andon snorted, gesturing to Ceris and pushing past Phalnir’s form as he led his grif down the hallway, feeling grim amusement as the workers who had come to unload the wood leaped aside, stark terror evident as they stared at Ceris.
She played her part to perfection, arching her neck, mane bristling, holding her wings out slightly to the side to make herself look even larger, and snapping her jaws so that the sound echoed in the confines of the wing house.
He wished he could do the same.
Xaxter watched them go, admiration and lust equally twining in his expression. “I just know I could make him smile. All warm and sated under my touch…”
Daren found himself growling under his breath, cursing silently when Xaxter’s keen eyes swung to view him with intense interest.
“Oh ho! Captain, my captain, are you laying claim? I know his grif is going into heat, no doubt in a day or two, but being all possessive before the fact?” The exaggerated leer made Cansi break into laughter, while Olnar and Paulsa rolled their eyes. “Besides, maybe that incredibly beautiful grif will choose my handsome Bavlin.”
Daren tried, and failed, to see that scenario.
No. Gretnel was the epitome of power and grace, his size a good match for Ceris. She would choose him over Bavlin, he was certain of that. Whether there was another grif she might favor within the base, he did not know. Pray that it would not be either Captain Vatner’s or Captain Byrant’s grifs. From what had been said in the salle, he had the feeling that such a thing had occurred in the past. A grif in heat reverted to instinct and would choose the most powerful male in the vicinity, regardless of the rider.
The only thing he currently knew was that he wanted this mating with a power and depth of anticipation he did not understand. Andon was a sea of anger and loathing, not something Daren typically found attractive in the least. Yet here he was, watching that slim ass walk out into the morning sunlight and licking his lips.
Something definitely going on here…
* * *
Andon lay back in the meadow, letting the sun warm his body into melted relaxation.
Very determinedly, he did not think of what awaited him upon his return to the base. For now, there was only the warmth of the sun, the faint buzz of insects among the plethora of flowers that grew in abundance in the rich grass.
Overhead, he could see Ceris soaring high above, a speck in the sky. Free of any burden, she romped through the clouds, sp
inning and diving in a manner she could not when he was upon her. It was enough that he could watch, feel her boundless joy in flight.
He had never expected to become a rider. Even when he and Ceris had become close, he had not realized it was a true bond. He had just seen her as a friend, albeit in a different body form. With no training, he had no inkling of how powerful the bond was, how unbreakable it would become, for them both.
When the military had come to claim Ceris, he had begged her to fly free, to return to the wilds, free of human interference. She had refused. Without fuss, without a sign of any sort of regret, she had chosen him, making it very clear to the military, mainly one Commander Lasrem, that she would suffer no other rider than Andon.
Lasrem had listened.
It still worried Andon, after all these years, that their bonding had ended up being an imprisonment for Ceris. She had been free, and now… Now they were both prisoners. There was no place for a rider and grif outside of military control.
There were two instances of men who had deserted the corps with their grifs recently. Each one had been hunted down and annihilated, man and grif both, before they could join the ranks of the rebels.
Rogues were not tolerated.
How Ceris could be considered rogue when she had been born outside human control, he did not understand, but Commander Lasrem had made it very clear what would happen if they should try to find a life outside the corps. The commander had not been happy about it, but there were many things, tradition and laws, that bound the man just as deeply as Andon himself.
Only old age or injury would see them free, and even then, the corps would most likely find him something to do that did not include flying.
At first, he had not been allowed to fly on his own, but had to have escorts, guards. His every movement was curtailed or controlled. It had driven him to the edge of insanity after living so long under his own control.
Even now, they preferred to have him train cadets rather than fly in formation. It was only when the commander flew that Andon was asked to be part of a wing. It had been made very clear by palace officials that they expected Ceris to mate and produce more grifs like her, a new, powerful bloodline that would improve the captive griffon-salant population.
Lying with his arms folded behind his head, he watched her with wistful fondness. If only she had not met him…
“Stop. You are my sosi. That will not change. It was my choice and nothing you did to coerce me.”
He shook his head, closing his eyes and letting his mind slide away from the past.
For this moment, alone with his grif, life was good.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I am completely astonished this heap has not come down upon his head,” Olnar grunted, viewing the room they were standing in with a jaundiced eye.
Daren had to agree. They had started by getting Yanra, the contractor, to inspect the entire structure. The tutting noises and frowns, along with pages of scribble, was concerning. When, at last, the man was done, he gathered them together to discuss his findings.
“The foundation is strong. That is about all I can give as good news. I would recommend the entire northern wall be ripped out and replaced. There is rot and mold, and the wall joists are anything but stable. The roof is slate-covered and seems to have weathered relatively well, with only a few repairs needed here and there. The interior—I would pull out most of it and start fresh. Update everything. The chimneys for the fireplaces are a menace of their own. For the gods sakes don’t start a fire in any of them. The whole place would burn down, not that it would be much of a loss.” Yanra scowled at the building as though it had personally offended him.
Cansi looked perplexed. “Captain Grazon lives here though…”
“The man does not use the fireplace in his quarters by the look of it. I have no idea how in the hells he keeps warm when the nights get cold. The only space that is safe is the next room, which seems to have had some newer repair.”
Daren nodded. “I would assume that Captain Vren was in that room then.”
“Could be. I met him once or twice. Good man, kind, not given to fancy airs. He was handy at most things, especially carpentry, so I could see him redoing this section.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon coming up with a daily plan, including using their grifs to pull the wall down rather than try to do it by hand.
“We will need to temporarily brace the roof and the other walls until we can get the new section in.” Yanra seemed unfazed by the coming endeavor, but Daren and the others were beginning to wonder if they had bitten off more than they could chew.
Still, they had the wing house they were currently in as shelter.
“I am going to stay in Captain Vren’s quarters from now on.” Daren held up a hand at the almost instant protests such a statement garnered. “Once we get the other rooms ready, you can all move in, but for now, I want to be present if there is trouble.”
“It is all well and fine to protect this man, but not at the cost of your safety!” Cansi said, her disapproval and worry written all over her face. “What if that Vatner comes back with the other riders?”
“Then the odds would be five to two. Do you not think me capable of those odds?” Daren raised an amused eyebrow.
“Of course. Then again, I don’t think these bastards do upfront conflicts. It seems more like they would strike from the shadows, as Captain Grazon said.”
Daren grinned. “Then you better get this work done swiftly and move in with me.”
Xaxter snorted at Cansi’s frustrated scowl, a snort that turned into a yelp as she turned and smacked him, hard.
They were at it again. No wonder their grifs were constantly squabbling.
Paulsa rolled her eyes before stepping forward to lay a hand upon Daren’s forearm. “Are you sure about this, Captain? One of us could stay with you…”
“You saw the size of those rooms. Two grifs? Two riders? Gods no.” He sighed. “I miss our new quarters back home. Roomy enough for two.”
Paulsa laughed. “That is because they were designed with Gretnel in mind. The rest of us rattle around like peas in a pod with that much room.”
“The commander wanted the new wing houses to be able to accommodate mates, if need be.” Daren always felt he had to protect his commander. Not that Thasin needed his efforts. The man was pure steel, and now, with Tawwen moved in, was happy and secure. It was a beautiful thing to see, even if it promoted more than a twinge or two of longing.
Daren’s parents had been bonded for most of their lives and were so completely content with it, their love evolving, but never fading in the least. He wanted that. Now that his career was on track, his wing settled as to permanent members, he felt a need to have someone in his life, someone for him alone. It was romantic nonsense of course, and the likelihood of meeting someone within the military establishment was low at best.
He could not stomach most of the officers he met. The other riders, of lower birth, always seemed too grasping, always trying to raise their circumstances. He had tried a time or two, but always ended up going back to his solitude, something that seemed safe and uncomplicated.
He had no patience for complicated, never had. So that made his fascination with Captain Grazon all the more confusing. By the look of it, complicated could not begin to cover the man’s life. The fact that Daren had fairly flung himself into the whole affair was completely out of character.
Yet, nothing he felt urged him to reconsider.
He shook his head, meeting Paulsa’s worried eyes with more confidence than he felt.
“It will work out. We just need to get the wing house done.”
Olnar folded his arms over his massive chest. “I suggest we ask Commander Lasrem for some cadets. Get the little buggars to do some honest work for a change. Do them good.”
Xaxter rubbed his hands together. “Excellent idea. They can do the grunt work. I am far too delicate for this type of thing. Look, I tore a nail alre
ady.” The outrage in the tone made the rest of the wing scoff in unison.
Xaxter and his acting. The day was never dull with him around.
Andon did not return until the sun was setting. He had missed the evening meal, but then he often did on his day off, so the commander would not worry. The relief of avoiding that daily torture was enough to make him smile.
It had been a wonderful day once he managed to thrust aside the worries of his wing house. He and Ceris had thoroughly enjoyed every moment. They romped, flew, napped in the sun. Andon had fished with the pole he kept hidden near the lake, and they had feasted on fresh-caught fish, the taste divine after the meals of scraps he subsisted on. They were both replete and calmer. Their bond felt stronger for having spent the day together, in peace, in the way that they deemed appropriate, unhindered by rules and regulations.
It had almost been like the beginning, the freedom, the companionship. It was difficult to return, knowing that his only sanctuary upon the base had been invaded.
This late, no one was near the landing site, and Ceris was utterly silent in her approach and landing. He slid down her shoulder, then stood for long moments, head against her mane, leaning on her shoulder, his hands tangled in the fur.
At last, reluctantly, they made the trek toward the wing house, which lay on the far side of the base in the older quarter. Most of the old buildings had been turned into storage places, his wing house one of the few that had survived that indignity, retaining its original purpose. It meant his wing house sat some distance from the other wing houses, which he counted as a bonus and a necessity. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was why commander Lasrem had refused to tear it down, knowing that it was his last refuge.
As they approached, he could see lights on instead of the inky darkness he usually returned to. He stopped, listened.
Inside, he could hear laughter and the sound of hammering.
Swallowing with difficulty, he forced himself forward. In the soundless manner of hunters, he and Ceris padded down the hallway, cluttered now with wood and bins of refuse.