Ruby Gryphon

by Ruby Ryan

  "Wow," I said.

  "I'm an animal conservationist," she said. "I don't remember if I told you that already. But I'll be studying elephants in Mozambique."

  "That's... incredible!" I said, seizing on my enthusiasm to drown out my sadness. "That sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime."

  "It really is. I'm still in shock. I just found out earlier this week, and I've been studying and preparing nonstop. That's why I came here tonight: to let you know, just... in case."

  "In case what?"

  "I dunno," she said shyly. "In case you changed your mind."

  "Changed my mind and swept you off your feet and carried you to the couch..."

  "Stop!" she giggled, and I could see her cheeks blushing more than just from the cold night air. "But yeah. I leave tomorrow."

  Something came over me. I remembered the totem in my pocket, which I'd grabbed from bed while getting dressed. It had finally stopped pulling on me while I was with Harriet, but now it pulsed in my pocket like a New England lighthouse.

  I reached into my pocket and took it out. The teardrop ruby glowed gently in the night, casting a red glow over my fingers and wrist. Aside from the doctors at the hospital, she was the only person I'd shown it to. Taking it out right here made it more real than before, when nobody else knew.

  "Here," I said, handing it to her. "This is yours."

  This is yours. They weren't the words I'd meant to say, which were this is for you. But what I said out loud sounded more correct. It belonged to her now. Like a piece of me she could treasure.

  Her face lit up in a way that made my heart soar.

  "I love it!" she blurted out, holding it up to her face. "How did you know?"

  "Know what, love?"

  "When I was a little girl, I was bonkers for mythical creatures. I had a coloring book full of them: dragons, and leviathans, and gryphons. The body of a lion, the wings and head of an eagle. It's perfect!" She ran her finger over the head, caressing it the way it deserved.

  All the tension left my chest. I was still sad that she was leaving tomorrow, but while she held the gryphon I thought I could survive. It would only make me yearn for her more in the mean time.

  "Where'd you get this?" she asked.

  I gave a start. "I've had it forever," I said airily. "Just an old thing." Somehow that sounded more like the truth than the actual truth.

  Her smile faded. "I wish I had something for you..."

  "Bloody hell, no!" I quickly said. "I'm giving you this because I want you to have it, not because I need something in return."

  "I know, but..." She suddenly tilted her head up to the sky. "Damn light pollution from the city... there!"

  I craned my neck to follow her pointing finger to the north, away from the city.

  "See that star there? That's Altair." She moved her finger to trace a constellation. "That's the head... these two stars form the wings... and this bit down here makes the tail."

  "The tail of what?"

  "Well, there's no gryphon constellation. At least, not one I know of. But," she said excitedly, "the constellation there is Aquila. It's the bird that carried Zeus's thunderbolts in Greek mythology."

  "Oh wow," I said, finally seeing the shape for what it was.

  "Unfortunately, I won't be able to see the whole constellation while I'm in the southern hemisphere," she said. "But I'll be able to see Altair, the star that forms the head." She turned to face me with a giddy look on her face, and tapped the eagle's head of the stone carving. "You can look at it at night, and know that I'm looking at the same star somewhere else in the world."

  I'd never been into astronomy, but there was something incredibly mystifying about that thought. That somewhere, across the world on another continent, Harriet would be looking at the same thing I was. And my gift to her made her think of it.

  "I love it," I said, kissing her gently on the lips.

  She sighed with happiness. "Three months isn't very long."

  "How much packing do you need to do?" I asked.

  "A little bit. Why?"

  "Because," I said with a wicked smile, "we need to make tonight memorable."

  17

  HARRIET

  It was one hell of a going-away party.

  First Roland insisted on showering, because he'd been laying in bed for two days without cleaning himself, and although he smelled fine and sweet (with just the right amount of musky scent) I said okay. Then I waiting until the water was running, and slipped my clothes off and joined him, running my hands over his body with the bar of soap to help get him clean. So what if my motivations were less than altruistic? He gets clean, I get to rub soapy water over every inch of his chiseled body. Sounds like a win-win to me.

  By the time we got out of the shower we were kissing and groping and pushing all the clothes off his bed to get dirty all over again, this time with me on top riding him so hard and squeezing my sex so tight that I thought I might break him off inside of me.

  We cuddled for an hour and caught up on all the other information we'd skipped: childhood, hobbies, what we were currently watching on Netflix. I'd never heard of Peaky Blinders, but once Roland told me it had Tom Hardy in it I promised to watch it when I got back from Africa.

  And then we were making out again, and he rolled me over onto my side and took me from behind, grabbing a handful of my hair to pull my head back so he could kiss and nibble at my neck, and the combination of that and the angle of penetration had me cumming so hard I thought I might literally die.

  We picked up a pizza and went back to my place; I didn't need to invite him, because we had an unspoken agreement. We were on the same wavelength. Except when I joked about having sex a fourth time, when he practically choked on a piece of pepperoni and said that it might kill him to try. I giggled to myself after that.

  "So why bare-knuckle boxing?" I said while we ate.

  "Why not?"

  "Isn't it illegal, because it's so dangerous?"

  He waggled a finger at me. "That's a lie. Normal boxing's a great deal more dangerous."

  "How's that?" I asked. It didn't make any sense.

  "A few reasons." He touched one finger with the tip of his pizza. "First, gloves are more deadly because they're added weight. They more than double the weight of a fist, so every punch hits harder."

  "Sure, but doesn't the padding make up for that?"

  "No, love. The padding doesn't make a bit of difference. Not when you're punching that hard."

  I chewed that over. "Huh, alright. Kind of like how if you fall out of an airplane, hitting the water is just as deadly as hitting the ground."

  "You're a smart one," he grinned, then held up a second finger. "Two, bare-knuckle boxing limits how hard you can punch."

  He paused to sip his drink, so I frowned and said, "What do you mean? How do they enforce that?"

  "No. I meant it's a built-in limit." He held up his fist. "If I punch a man in the cheek as hard as I can with my bare fist, I'll break his jaw and my hand. So I have to limit how hard I punch. Enough to hurt someone, but not so hard that I hurt my own hand. So the punches in bare-knuckle boxing are far weaker, and less damaging. But boxing gloves? Those bloody things let you get away with punches that'll kill a man."

  "Huh," I said. "I've never thought about it, but it makes sense. So why is one illegal and the other isn't?"

  "Bloody politics!" he said, slamming his fist down on the table. "The boxing agencies are corrupt as all hell..."

  I smiled as he went on his tirade, enjoying seeing him so passionate about something.

  Roland sat on my bed while I packed, and the sight of him in the corner of my eye was an almost insurmountable distraction. Even with the list of things I needed to bring that Doctor Cardiff had sent, I felt like I was forgetting something. The small number of belongings in my suitcase didn't look like enough to sustain me for three months.

  We slept like we were drugged, nestled against each other's body for warmth.

 
; And before we knew it, in the blink of an eye, it was time to leave. Roland offered to drive my car to the airport and pick me up when I landed in June, and that sounded nice so I took him up on it. Driving there, I wanted to slow down time. To drag it out longer, because every second I was with Roland was a delight, our companionship blissful and comforting.

  "You can just drop me off curb-side," I said, but Roland scoffed.

  "Absolutely not! I'm taking you as far as I can go before the guards shoot me. Just see if I bloody don't."

  I turned toward the window to hide my grin while he parked in the garage.

  It wasn't very far: once my back was checked we walked 20 feet to the end of the security checkpoint line. I felt a tightness in my chest as I faced him, this man I'd only known for a week, which in reality was more like two days altogether, but for whom I wanted to stay. He was gorgeous in his tight T-shirt, lean and strong and all mine. Mine. I couldn't believe this man belonged to me. That he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

  "Don't say anything," he said, pulling me into a bear hug. He squeezed me so tight I thought he might break my ribs, but then eased off. "There's nothing to say. Alright?"

  "Alright." And then we kissed, faces coming together with automatic ease, and even though it went on and on I didn't give a damn that we were in a public place. And then I was staring into his eyes, his soft eyes which showed the vulnerability deep down underneath his hard exterior, and I nodded that it was time to go.

  "Text me when you get on your connecting flight," he said, and I promised I would. I kissed him one more time on the cheek, let his hand linger on my arm, and then I turned to go.

  *

  I made it through security and sat down outside my gate before starting to wonder how long I should wait until texting him. I didn't want to seem too... I don't know. Needy? Guys didn't like clingy girls, though by flying across the world I was probably as far away from that as possible. But before I could think of something clever to text him, he beat me to it.

  ASSHOLE ROLAND: You're not gunna be a dick to me when you get back, are you?

  I frowned at the screen before realizing what he meant. I smiled, changed his name in my contacts list, and responded.

  HARRIET: I haven't decided yet. I'm still torn between spiteful comeuppance and graciousness.

  SEXY HUNK ROLAND: I don't think you have a spiteful bone in your body

  HARRIET: Oh, you'd be surprised. When I get back, I'll order two shots of whiskey and drink them both right in front of you.

  HARRIET: It'll break your Irish heart.

  SEXY HUNK ROLAND: Now you've gone too far.

  SEXY HUNK ROLAND: You don't mess with a man's whiskey.

  HARRIET: Told you I could be spiteful. Muahahaha.

  SEXY HUNK ROLAND: I miss you.

  I held my breath at the sudden tenderness in the last text. I tried to keep the stupid grin off my face.

  HARRIET: I miss you too.

  The flight to Atlanta was uneventful, and I was still so behind on sleep that I somehow managed to rest my head against the window and not wake up until the wheels hit the ground. Our flight would leave at night and land in Johannesburg around the same time the next day, 15 hours plus the time change, and Doctor Cardiff had suggested it was best to try to sleep on the plane to get the right sleep schedule set, or at least close to set. So I grabbed a coffee that would hopefully keep me awake another few hours until we'd had our dinner on the flight, and spent the next hour reading documentation about Niassa National Reserve.

  I had another window seat on the next flight, thank God, because 15 hours was a long time to be crammed in between two people. I put my small bag underneath the seat and tried to contain my excitement.

  I was going to Africa. I was going to work with elephants! No more stuffy libraries or offices, or sitting in my tiny studio apartment studying. I was going to do real research.

  It had been one hell of a week.

  My luck continued when the middle seat between me and an elderly man was empty. Extra room, jackpot. The plane took off, and I watched the fading twilight as our plane raced away from the setting sun.

  Once I landed at Johannesburg, I'd have a 14 hour layover before catching a flight to Pemba, Mozambique, on the Indian Ocean. Then we'd drive the rest of the way to Niassa, the wildlife reserve on the border with Tanzania. I wondered how far that was; Cardiff's emails (which I'd printed out) didn't say. Probably several hours, if not a full day. Africa was big.

  The research schedule was set to have one project at a time: everyone would help with every other project sequentially. There were four of them, and mine was third on the list. So I wouldn't get to start on my specific thesis topic for about two months. But that was fine by me; not only would it be exciting helping the others, but it would give me time to mentally prepare for my research. I still had a lot of details to work out: the sourcing of the honeybees we would be using, the ideal spacing between them along perimeter fences. There were probably a million little details that would pop up I hadn't even considered.

  But that's what made this exciting. No matter how well-prepared you were, real life field work always threw you for a loop!

  Once we were over water, and the sun had fully set behind us, stars began to show on the deep spread of black above. Even with the glow of the plane's wing tips, I could make out faint constellations. I couldn't see Altair though, not from this angle. I decided I would look up at it every night before going to bed. I hoped Roland would do the same.

  I reached underneath the seat and pulled the gryphon out of my bag. Holy potatoes, it was so beautiful! I wasn't just being nice to Roland when I said I loved mythical creatures; he couldn't have picked a better gift if he'd literally read my high school diary.

  And the gem! It was obviously too large to be real, but it was mesmerizing nonetheless. Smooth facets around a teardrop shape, the point aiming down the beast's back. Every detail of the feathers on its folded wings was carved expertly, and I wondered how long it must have taken to carve it from the cool stone.

  The ruby kept catching my eye, pulling my attention toward it. Maybe it was my imagination, but it almost seemed to glow in the dim cabin light. I ran my fingers over it, appreciating the weight...

  CLICK.

  I flinched: the ruby moved! It sunk into the carving several millimeters. For a long moment I was terrified that I'd broken it, somehow knocked it loose from whatever prongs were holding it in place. But as I prodded the edge with my fingernail it seemed firmly in place. Like it had never moved at all.

  Huh. Maybe it had been my imagination.

  Holding Roland's precious gift in my lap, I closed my eyes and dreamed of him.

  18

  ROLAND

  I danced around the boxing ring to the roar of the crowd.

  The fighter circling me was scrawny but strong, as evidenced by the three punches he'd landed on my ribs. That's what I got for underestimating the cheeky cunt. But I'd given as good as I'd got so far, and the swollen eye and blood dribbling down his busted lip proved it.

  He was beginning to fatigue, but I had all the energy in the world.

  I advanced on him steadily, moving him back and to the left. The moment his back leg hit the rope I charged, leading with a vicious right hook to the body that sent pain shooting up my knuckles but undoubtedly hurt him more. I followed it up with another body blow with my left, then a third with my right, and he was backed up against the rope and couldn't avoid me, so he moved his arms lower to defend against my barrage but that was exactly what I was waiting for, and the moment he did I jabbed him straight in the nose.

  The cartilage broke beneath my knuckles, forcing his eyes closed. The crowd of Boston men and women screamed with horror and bloodlust.

  I had him dead to rights then, but I eased up to drag it out. A few more blows to his ribs, then I danced back to give him breathing room. He advanced hesitantly, eyes too swollen to see, breathing through his mouth in a bloody semblance of a
grin. One final shot to the gut bent him over, and he fell to his knees, and my hands were in the air victoriously before he finished hitting the ground.

  Boris called the fight, and I strutted around the ring with my hands on my hips like Connor goddamn McGregor.

  It was a friendly crowd tonight, so there were more cheers than boos as I ducked under the ring. Hands slapped me on the back and voices called out to buy me a drink as I made my way through the crowd, but I ignored them and headed straight for the locker room.

  The relative silence of the room made my heartbeat deafening in my ears. I sat on the bench and leaned against the wall, catching my breath and savoring the afterglow of the fight like post-coital satisfaction.

  Fighting was like fucking in a lot of ways. You had a partner (usually just one) who was focused on your every move. You danced together, one person reacting to the other, then switching. Positions changed. Blood pumped. And then it ended in a climax that left you either elated or vaguely disappointed.

  But I wasn't disappointed tonight. No sir.

  I had my fucken mojo back. I was pure, concentrated energy. A supernova. It was as if my week of sickness had stored up my strength, and now I was unleashing it all at once.

  I opened my locker and used a towel to clean myself off, wincing at the ache in my right ribs. Not cracked, but still going to turn into a terrible bruise by morning. I was still good for another fight tonight, though. I'd guard that side if I had to.

  Thinking of Harriet, I pulled my phone out of the locker. She should be somewhere over the Atlantic by now. It made me sad that she was so far away. The next three months would be tough.

  But I could do it. For her, I could.

  When I unlocked my phone to re-read our texts, I saw that I had another four missed calls from Ethan. He'd even left me a voicemail this time. For him to be this worked up he must have forgotten something in Belize and was hoping one of us grabbed it. Shaking my head in annoyance, I pulled up the voicemail and hit play.