by Jami Gold
Niall’s face contorted into a grimace. “He shapeshifts, he does.” His tiny body swung to and fro, his hands punching the air. “And ye, stop makin’ eyes at the human, and let me go. Whatever the Great Owl may or may not have said not be matterin’. I swear on my pot of gold that I don’t know where your lost treasure is.”
Heaviness weighed down Griff’s limbs, and the arm that held Niall aloft drooped. Leprechauns never swore on their gold unless they were telling the truth.
The woman gave him an appraising look, as though not at all disturbed by the details of his existence, and then her eyes scrunched. “You seem like someone just told you your dog died. Anything I can do to help?”
He didn’t have the words to provide an answer. His three-hundred-year quest to regain the lost treasure bound to him—the treasure that gave his life meaning—and to break the curse that had separated him from the sun couldn’t be understood by someone with the reference point of a human lifetime.
The curse. He lifted his hand again and stared at the mischief-maker in his grasp. “What about the curse? How else I can break it?”
“Ye be knowin’ that as well as I do. Only one thing can break your curse—findin’ your treasure.”
Griff’s other hand clenched into a fist. Someone had to be lying.
From the cardboard box, he pulled out the magically enhanced cage that kept Niall from teleporting away when not in his grasp. Maybe the troublemaker would talk after being locked up again.
Niall eyed the container and thrashed. “Don’t be puttin’ me back in there, Griff. I’m tellin’ ye the truth, I am!”
“We’ll see.” He stuffed the little man into the cage, locked it, and slapped the key onto the table before storming away.
Now what? Over a hundred years spent tracking down the Great Owl to learn the answer to his problem—all for nothing.
He moved toward the window out of a habit so deep even 300 years hadn’t broken him of it yet. And now he was out of ideas.
The thick material protecting him from the sunlight slid between his fingers. He let the fabric drop and sighed. It was time to face the truth. He would never see the sun again.
His front door clicked open and closed. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to see an empty apartment and be reminded of the pointlessness of his life.
When a gryphon succeeded in his mission to guard the treasure under his protection, he was blessed by the sun, noble and strong. When one failed...
The doorbell’s buzz brought his head up. For reasons he didn’t understand, his feet moved to the door and prevented him from ignoring the sound.
The woman stood there, lifting a translucent container in offering. “I might not be able to solve your problem, but I’ve found there are very few things in the world that good food can’t help make more tolerable. May I come in?”
The word “no” sat on his tongue, easy and habitual, but he stepped back with wordless acceptance.
She entered and set the container on his kitchen counter. “Okay, let’s redo our first meeting.” She extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Kala Kaneko, your new neighbor in apartment 715.”
Her slim fingers slipped into his palm, somehow both gentle and determined, and he allowed her to shake his hand. His thumb stroked her skin, soft and smooth. Odd. It shouldn’t feel this pleasurable to touch a human—even one that looked like her.
She angled her head and met his gaze. “And now you’re supposed to introduce yourself.”
“What? Oh.” He tugged his hand away from her distraction. “I’m Griff Cyrus, and you already know where I live.”
She gave him a dazzling smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Griff.”
“Blech.” Niall slumped in the cage. “I’m goin’ to be sick.”
Griff grabbed the crate. “Then let me put you in the bathroom. By yourself.”
By the time he returned from relocating his captive, Kala had set out two plates, each heaped with bright red strawberries beside a frothy white mound. She shrugged, the self-conscious gesture making him more at ease.
“These were leftover from work this morning, and they’re at their peak today. I’m glad I have someone to share them with, or I’d be eating them all myself.”
Long forgotten, his manners reappeared, and he pulled out her chair.
She blushed an attractive shade. “Thank you.”
After she took her seat, he joined her at the table and stared at the pile of white foam. Strawberries, he knew. But how was he supposed to eat this food? Assuming it even was food.
More than half his meals were the result of his gryphon-form hunting for animals every night, the only time he could leave the building. The rest of the time, he tended toward no-fuss calories like beef jerky. Humans’ eating habits weren’t something he’d needed to understand.
She scooted her chair closer and leaned toward him. “Do me a favor. I want you to close your eyes and tell me what you think of these flavors.”
That seemed easy enough. He closed his eyes.
“You have to open your mouth too.” Her words held a hint of laughter.
After he obliged, her scent intensified and warmth drifted over his lips. Despite his superior strength, the situation still raised the hairs on his arms. He forced himself to remain motionless.
She placed something between his teeth. “Take a bite.”
Beyond the simple taste of strawberries he expected, an explosion of tart and sweet, firm and soft, cool and smooth filled his mouth. He groaned at the flavors and textures and scrutinized the plateful of food.
“What is that?”
“Just strawberries and cream, but the whipped cream is my own recipe. You like it?”
“I’ve never tasted anything so good in my life, and at my age, that means something.”
“Good.” She took a bite of a whipped-cream-dipped strawberry, leaving white speckles on her lips. Her tongue darted out, drawing his eye as she licked the stray cream.
The oddest urge to kiss those lips swept through him. He shook his head and sat back. That wasn’t possible. Gryphons didn’t get involved with, or even kiss, random women. When they mated, they mated for life.
By her fifth bite-and-lick maneuver, his body didn’t care about such logic.
She smiled and indicated his untouched plate. “Are you going to eat those strawberries, or are you going to sit there debating whether or not to kiss me?”
Her question made his decision for him. He waited for her to take another bite before giving an answer.
“Neither.” His voice was rougher than he expected.
Her eyes widened to the size of the strawberry she’d just finished off, and her tongue forgot to do its job. He leaned forward and took over cleanup duty. He nibbled around her mouth and traced a path across her lips. His tongue then insisted on a second pass, just to be sure. She tasted as good as she smelled. Even better than the strawberry.
What am I doing? Gryphons had one mate for their entire, nearly immortal lifetime. Choosing a short-lived human to fulfill that role would be asking for heartbreak.
This was just the despair of his curse affecting him. It wasn’t about her.
He pulled away, his muscles taut and his nerves on edge. She blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream.
Then she swallowed and kissed him back. Despite himself, he responded.
Her tongue slipped across his mouth, and she sucked on his lip. Every part of his body now joined in his response. A moment later, her lips parted, and he dove in, desperate to taste more of her.
Her soft lips, her sweet mouth, and her sexy moans overran his logic. He could stay here a bit longer.
Just a little bit longer.
Chapter Three
Kala didn’t ask herself why she was being so forward. Part of it was her loneliness, to be sure. Part of it was a test to see if he’d be put off by her boldness, a result of dealing with too many guys who expected her to be demure and passive because of her Japanese-cute looks.
But this connection was deeper. Stronger. More heartbreaking.
His loneliness called to her, implored her, seduced her. The emptiness in his heart tempted her like an irresistible flavor that made her tongue beg for another taste. Whether he knew it or not, he needed her.
And that was a situation she couldn’t resist.
A rumble, halfway between a growl and a purr, resonated in his chest, and she melted, ready to pour herself into his lap. As though reading her mind, he pulled her closer until she straddled his thighs. His body was so large that, even in this position, he still matched her height.
Heat enveloped her from everywhere their bodies touched—his arms around her, his legs beneath her, his chest pressed against hers, and a rather large “package” nudging her below. His lips seared hers with near-manic urgency, and his hands gripped her as though he was ravenous.
So this was what it felt like for someone to think of her as sexy, not just cute.
She liked the feeling. A lot.
She wove her fingers into his hair. Freshness and warmth wafted toward her, as if from a summer breeze, and she melted even more in his embrace.
This was crazy. She knew that.
She was not only making out with a total stranger, but he wasn’t even human. Oddly, that fact made her feel better about her actions—as though the unreality of his existence made it acceptable to follow her heart instead of her head. Nothing about the situation was logical, so it made sense to ignore rational thought.
His tongue, rougher than hers, stroked the inside of her mouth. Shivers swept up her spine, eliciting another moan. Her nipples tightened, thoughts of what that tongue could do to the rest of her body exciting her far more than she should allow. Far more than was safe for her own starving emotions.
But her heart did want. Oh, did it want.
He pulled back and held her upper arms. “I can’t do this.”
He lifted her off his lap and plopped her into the other chair. Her heart plummeted, landing just as ungracefully as her body.
Okay, technically a breather was probably a good idea. She needed a break from the dangerous path her thoughts had been traveling. But years of rejection from men for being either too assertive for their expectations or too cute to be a serious girlfriend—complete with the nickname “Hello Kitty”—took over her response.
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
He paced to the blackout fabric and back, his hand wrenching through his hair. “The things I want to do to you—they’re not acceptable. That’s not how my culture works.” He gestured toward her. “I shouldn’t have even been kissing you.”
He strode to the window and clenched the blanket, as though about to rip it down. His voice descended into darkness. “I deserve to be cursed.”
She sighed and reset her emotions. His confession that he wanted to do things to her meant he hadn’t rejected her, right? They could still be friends, at least. Maybe more, if his protest was just a temporary freak-out and not really a “no.”
Step one: Be a friend.
She moved to his side and laid a palm on his arm. “Will you tell me about this curse? I’d like to understand.”
He yanked her hand away, squeezing in his haste. Pain shot from her thumb up her forearm, and a quiet whimper escaped her. She looked at the barely-healed-over cut. A drop of fresh blood leaked from one end of the wound.
Normally she wouldn’t be such a wuss, but damn, he was strong. Like, crush-her-as-easily-as-a-bug strong.
He glanced down and released her hand. “Forgive me. I didn’t intend to injure you.”
“You didn’t.” She rolled her eyes. “That stupid delivery guy who dropped off your package at my apartment caused that cut.”
“Then I suppose I’m still responsible.”
Before she could disagree, he took her hand—gently this time—and lifted it toward him. With the fingers of his other hand, he unbuttoned his shirt.
Uh... She wasn’t going to complain—the view of his bare chest alone distracted her from the earlier pain—but this wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Her throat tightened with the sudden need to swallow. Was she drooling?
He placed her palm on the bare skin of his chest. She longed to slide her hand—exploring, caressing—but he kept her in a firm grip. She settled for curling her fingertips in mini-strokes, her blunt nails too short to leave scratches.
His chest rippled, and a patch of dark gray-blue feathers appeared under her palm. She didn’t need to look at him to know he was watching her, waiting to see what her reaction would be. His attention weighed on her like an interrogation spotlight.
Honestly, it was a little freaky to see a spot of feathers on an otherwise human—or make that superhuman—looking chest. But the feathers’ texture was so unlike a normal bird’s that she continued fondling him to feel the fur-like down underneath.
As a pastry chef, she’d learned to adjust recipes by texture, and kneading dough by hand was one of her favorite activities. Her fingers instinctively cataloged temperature, moisture content, pliability, and more, and her dough never failed to rise perfectly. So this opportunity to experience an unearthly sensation under her fingertips—silky and smooth on top, and soft and fluffy underneath—outweighed all the freakishness in the world.
His chest muscles added another dimension to her texture exploration, the ridges and valleys of the hard planes creating a variable background under the feathers. Too bad he still held her wrist immobile, deterring her exploration beyond the stretch of her fingers. Almost without her being aware, her other arm rose and inched toward him.
Too soon, he pulled her hand away from his chest. “All healed.”
Sure enough, the cut beside her thumb had disappeared. The feathers on his chest wavered and vanished a moment later, leaving only smooth skin above the six-pack of his abs. The change didn’t erase her urges. Either way, she’d be happy to get in a full caress. Very happy.
Before a sigh of longing could embarrass her, she refocused. “Your feathers have healing properties?”
He didn’t answer, and she finally met his gaze. The intensity of his stare matched that of an eagle scrutinizing an ant from a hundred feet away.
His voice was a whisper. “Where did you come from?”
“I was born in Hawaii, but I grew up here in L.A.” Her shoulders moved in an automatic shrug.
Obviously, that wasn’t the answer to his real question, but she didn’t have a response for that one. How could she explain that she’d waited her whole life for someone to see her as he did? She certainly wasn’t going to turn around and be judgmental of him for being different.
She tilted her head and echoed him. “Where did you come from?”
“The Mythos plane, the source of all human mythology, from faeries and unicorns to dragons and gargoyles.”
Her jaw slackened. “They’re all real?”
“Did you think your earthly cultures came up with similar myths across the globe by chance?”
He had a point. And whether or not he realized it, he was not only still holding her hand, but he was massaging it too. That gesture gave her the confidence to step closer.
“Now you’re here. And you need me.” She pulled his knuckles to her lips. “Let me help you.”
He looked about to deflect her with some “lowly human” statement, but she kissed each of his fingertips, interrupting his plan.
His eyes scrunched at the corners. “Even if you could help me find my treasure and break the curse, gryphons don’t...”
She swirled her tongue around the tip of his index finger, and his words faded away.
He swallowed. “Historically, humans always attempt to steal the treasures under gryphons’ protection, so they are our...”
She stroked her tongue along the underside of his finger until his protest silenced again.
Her distraction technique was definitely working, and he hadn’t stopped her yet. She embraced the temptress role and sucke
d on his finger, sliding it deeper into her mouth with a slow pull. Just as his texture was like nothing she’d ever known, his taste was unique and unquantifiable. Warm and explosive, like a savory tang. His gaze now focused on her lips.
He swallowed hard again, and his reluctance to explain himself seemed to shatter. “The treasure I was bound to guard was stolen three hundred years ago. That shame banished me from the sun’s rays. I won’t be able to walk in daylight again until I find what should be under my protection.”
She ignored the tidbit about his age—he looked damn good for his years, after all—and skipped ahead to how they could make things work between them. Her job schedule meant the “no sunlight” thing wasn’t a big deal, and she’d slept through the whole day many times. So the big question was, how did gryphons feel about dogs?
She held his hand between hers. “And you don’t know where the treasure is.”
“No.” He indicated the maps on the wall. “I’ve traveled most of the Earthen plane in search of it, but I don’t even know what it looks like. Gryphons aren’t like dragons. We don’t own the treasures we protect, much less sleep on them. We’re merely guardians. The treasure bound to me was secure in a box, and that’s all I needed to know.”
“Could it be in that myth place, where you came from?”
“Mythos plane, and no. Transferring non-living material from one plane to another would unbalance both worlds. I’d feel it if the treasure were there.”
She waved toward the back of the apartment. “But Mr. Lucky Charms knows something?”
“I thought he did.” He scratched his cheek. “He was supposed to know.”
“Supposed to?”
His lips pressed tight for a moment. “One hundred years ago, I went in search of the Great Owl—one of our myths, I guess. She’s supposed to be so wise that she sees the future.” His jaw clenched, and he stared into nothingness. “Last month, I finally found her. She told me if I captured Niall and sent him to this apartment, I’d find my treasure. I didn’t question her instructions. If nothing else, capturing a leprechaun obligates him to grant your wish. But if Niall doesn’t know where it is...”