Gryffin Strain: His Female

by Madison Hayes

  The young captain jerked his chin at one of his men and his sergeant approached the Gryffin with a short length of tough rope.

  Jarrk’s hands hung loose between his knees then moved lower to grasp the stool’s legs. Suddenly, Jarrk was on his feet as the heavy stool came between his legs and smashed upward, crushing the soldier’s face. The man crumpled, clearing the way to the young captain.

  The last thing the captain saw were four blue barbs in a massive fist—just before they smashed away his life.

  As he fell, Chiarra jerked the captain’s blade from his slackening fingers and spun to join Jarrk but the conflict was done. With the stool in one fist and barbs out on the other, Jarrk had crushed his way through the remaining five soldiers.

  Chiarra looked at the dead captain, his broken sergeant. “I told him not to touch me,” she muttered, shaking her head. Her eyes caught those of the men across the room. Mouths agape, they stared at the pair. Four men scraped back in their stools in an automatic attempt to distance themselves from the violent Gryffin.

  Jarrk’s eyes swung to the taverner, a rage of challenge in his eyes. The greasy little rat of a man shrank to the far end of the counter. “You’ll want that food to go,” he suggested in a croak.

  Jarrk gave him a dangerous nod.

  * * * * *

  That night Chiarra lay beside Jarrk, under the low-slung boughs of a giant conifer, shaking under the hand of that terrible trembling weakness which accompanies the worst nightmares. Only she hadn’t been sleeping. And it wasn’t a nightmare. She nudged up close to him, hungry for reassurance and connection, hoping to stop the tremors, desperate to regain all she’d lost in one unwelcome vision.

  She’d lost something. Something important—precious—in a vision she knew, with cold certainty, she would one day witness.

  She’d seen herself tied. Seen Jarrk with a purse in his hand. “Take her,” he told the yellow uniforms.

  She trembled against Jarrk as she clung to him. Trying to bring back everything that the vision had cost her. But something had been lost.

  Trust.

  Love.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jarrk turned concerned eyes on his female. Throwing off his cloak, he glanced around the dingy little room they’d rented then stooped to build a fire in the small grate.

  The incessant running was taking a hard toll. She was barely eating. Her once delicate curves had all but disappeared—she looked so small and fragile. Tar’s Pit! Every time he thought they were clear of the Yellow Guard, the damn uniforms showed up again. They made a conspicuous pair—the tall silver Gryffin and his little human. The reward offered for their capture was enormous. They might escape the Yellow Guard, but they were never going to escape that reward.

  “Who in Tar’s Name did you kill?”

  She shrugged and mumbled an answer. Something about the Benign Dictator.

  “The Benign Dictator’s brother?”

  “No,” she said sorrowfully. “If I’d killed her brother I’d have probably been given a medal. I killed her lover.”

  “Oh.”

  “I didn’t know who the man was. And I didn’t mean to kill him.”

  He sighed. “I know. You were just trying to stop him. But next time you see a man beating his horse, try not to get involved, will you?”

  “It wasn’t a horse,” she said quietly.

  So quietly that he didn’t hear her and was left to wonder why she looked so sad.

  “I think—”

  “—we should split up,” he finished impatiently. “I know, Chiarra! We’ve had this discussion.”

  “We might escape notice if we were on our own. We could meet up again on The Spit.”

  “And if you never showed up?” His eyes narrowed as he stared at the ground. “I would never know…how you died.” He raised his eyes to her. “I would only know you’d died alone and I’d done nothing to stop your death.”

  “If we don’t split up, we’ll both die—certainly.” He watched her lower lip tremble. “I don’t want to watch you die, Jarrk. If we split up, we might both live.”

  “I won’t leave you,” he said quietly as he stood. “We’ll head north.”

  “North! You wouldn’t survive the winters.”

  “You’ll just have to keep me warm.” He smiled at her. “I’ll keep you busy. We’ll be all right.” He looked away when she didn’t smile then threw himself on the small, hard bed—left her staring into the fire. “And you’re sure you see nothing of our future?”

  She shivered.

  “Think, Chiarra.”

  Her voice was dull. “I can’t see the future, Jarrk.”

  He was only silent a moment. “I don’t believe that.”

  She exploded. “I can’t see the future. I can’t. I…sometimes get useless, meaningless visions that foretell nothing!”

  He sat up and frowned at her. “Tell me about the visions.”

  Silence.

  “Are we together? Do you see us together?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  She saw Jarrk. There were yellow uniforms behind him, a wall of green beyond that. “Take her,” he said, and stepped aside. One of the uniforms put a purse in his hand.

  “Are we together?”

  Her eyebrows drew together to make a sad little arch and she nodded.

  “We’ll swing by The Spit on the way north,” he announced. “I need to make arrangements for my fold. Let them know I won’t be coming back.”

  She shook her head slowly, the leafy background of a vision bothering her. “It’ll be dangerous. They’ll be expecting us to turn up there—the Yellow Guard. If they’re anywhere out there—waiting—that’s where they’ll be.”

  “We’ll be careful. Slip in at night. Go to Tranth.” He didn’t see her shake her head again. Her voice was small when she finally spoke. “What?”

  “Make love to me,” she repeated as she stared into the fire.

  He took her carefully, gently. As she lay beneath him, his hand stroked down over the skin stretched tight over her pelvic wing and he was reminded just how much she’d lost. He didn’t move on her, knowing his surge alone would bring her to climax. Her eyes were closed and he watched a tear swell at the corner of one eye. Then another.

  He pulled out of her.

  She turned her head to hide her tears. “Make love to me, Jarrk.”

  “So you can leave me when I sleep?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You’re my female,” he said. “I won’t let you leave me.”

  “Make lo—”

  Standing quickly, he disconnected the strap from his quiver, returned to the bed and had her wrists wrapped before she could react. He stretched her wrists above her head and tied her to the headboard.

  “Jarrk!”

  He covered her mouth with his hand then replaced his hand with his lips. “I won’t let you leave me,” he said into her lips. “You’re my female. Don’t you get it?!” He got between her legs and kneed them apart. “I’ve taken you so many times, your blood runs with mine. I own you, Chiarra. I’ve put too much into you to let you leave me now. You’re my female,” he said as he thrust into her. “To do with as I please. To take when, and where I please.” His knuckles burned as his hackles pulled back and his barbs thrust forward. Blue poison welled at their tips and he ached with an instinctive, primal need to drag them across her flesh, to mark her as his own.

  Tar! Was this how Grat’s human died? And was he no better than Grat? He clenched his fists beside her head and put all his weight on them. She turned her head and—Sweet Tar Below—sucked hard on his barbs as she pulled her mouth over his knuckles. His vision blackened at the sheer erotic pleasure evoked by the presence of her lips. Falling on one elbow, he brought his other fist to her mouth. He gasped as she sucked off the aching excess then smiled down at her as he dragged his barbs lightly around the swell of her breast. The barbs caught at her skin and four blue lines followed his hand up around the side
of her breast.

  A whimper wrenched from deep within the girl as she arched and lifted from the bed. Like bands of steel, his arms went under her and crushed her in a pure male desire to bind her to him. His hips took her hard.

  His heart took it harder.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tranth jumped to meet them as they stepped inside his lodge. “Tar, man. What are you doing here? The Yellow Guard…”

  “I know. We saw them.” Jarrk flashed a grin at his friend. “But they didn’t see us.”

  “You can’t…”

  Jarrk gave him a warning look and Tranth bit back his words when he saw the limp girl Jarrk supported in one arm.

  Later Jarrk sat with his friend, staring at the sleeping girl as they talked quietly. “I might have turned back when I saw the Guard but the girl could go no farther. Besides, there’s nowhere else to go—believe me, we’ve been there—everywhere except north.”

  Tranth shook his head. “You won’t be able to go too far north.”

  But Jarrk wasn’t listening. His eyes were on the sleeping girl.

  “You killed those two yellow bastards?”

  Light glinted on the hard surface of Jarrk’s eyes.

  “Any others?”

  “One other.” Jarrk shook his head. “Chiarra tried to warn the man.”

  Tranth nodded his understanding. “So are the stories true? About human females?”

  Jarrk’s hard expression softened slightly. “Tar, Tranth. You can’t imagine—what it’s like. To have that little bit of female thrashing on the end of your cock—”

  “Thrashing?”

  “She’s so hot and so tight and so…wet. All over. Her mouth, her cunt, her—”

  “I’m getting the picture,” Tranth interrupted with a laugh, “as well as getting hard.”

  Jarrk shook his head. “She’s so small. And so strong.” His eyes narrowed on his friend with keen emotion. “There is nothing so beautiful as fucking Chiarra.” Jarrk turned his eyes to the sleeping girl. “She’s exhausted,” he said softly.

  “Sleeping like the dead,” his friend affirmed.

  Jarrk blinked as he stared as his friend.

  “Does Akela know you’re here?”

  “What?”

  “Akela.”

  Jarrk gathered his thoughts. “No. I need you to take her a message for me. But first, bring me something I can use to tie Chiarra’s wrists.”

  Tranth gave his friend a look of surprise.

  “She’s been trying to leave me. To protect me. Who would have guessed humans could be so noble?” His smile was more than a little proud. “Do you have something I can use as a stake?”

  Tranth put a short knife in his hand and, while Jarrk pounded the steel into the ground, he gave Tranth his instructions for Akela. After Tranth had left, he dragged Chiarra’s loose pants off, wrapped her wrists and knotted her off at the steel’s hilt.

  * * * * *

  She woke to the realization that something was wrong. Jarrk’s body was wrapped around hers, his hand inside her jerkin and tucked around her breast like he owned it. Dawn light filtered into the lodge in a thin green wash. Sounds outside filtered in and almost suffocated her. “Jarrk!”

  His eyes blinked open as he stared at her, listening. She watched his eyes fill with fear. He gave her jerkin a tug downward to cover her breasts. In one smooth motion, he was on his feet and moving to the curtain of vines at the door. Moving his head back and forth, he peered through the vines, sifting the images as he put together a picture of what lay outside.

  “Jarrk!”

  “It’s the Yellow Guard.” He pulled on his pants and reached for his knife.

  “Jarrk!”

  “Be quiet, Chiarra,” he commanded.

  “Jarrk! Untie me.”

  “Be still.”

  Sounds of command from without became louder.

  “Jarrk! They’ll kill you.”

  He shook his head as he headed for the light at the door. “Remember what I told you, Chiarra? When the dragon almost killed you? An animal is at its most dangerous when wounded.”

  He ducked out the door.

  “No,” Chiarra screamed.

  Chiarra twisted against her bonds, raging tears of frustration, fear and dread as she fought to her knees. An animal is at its most dangerous when wounded!

  He was going to sacrifice his life for her! Knowing he couldn’t survive but thinking he could take them all with him. Take them with an animal’s wounded rage. But Jarrk wasn’t an animal.

  She found her own tears wet on Tranth’s blanket and stared at the dark stains. Outside there was a fearful silence, ominous and dead. She held her breath, stared at the door and strained her senses, trying to understand the message in the silence.

  Eventually the light blotted at the door. Jarrk stepped through.

  Three uniforms followed.

  Jarrk’s eyes were on the floor as he stepped aside for the uniforms. “Take her,” he said.

  The captain sneered at the sight of the woman, naked from the waist down, bound and staked to the ground. “Tar and Breeza,” he said with disgust. “She’s been letting him fuck her. She’s been letting the animal tie her and fuck her.” The captain’s eyes scraped over her body like an unsharpened knife.

  But Chiarra’s eyes sought Jarrk’s.

  Jarrk watched the ground carefully.

  “Look at that! She expects the animal to help her!”

  “Jarrk?”

  Jarrk took a breath. “I’ve negotiated for your life, Chiarra.”

  “Wh…what?”

  “You’ll be permitted to live.”

  She shook her head in disbelief.

  “It will be prison. But I’ve assured each of these men that if anything happens to you, I’ll hunt them down singly and kill each one of them.”

  She stared at him as her mind raced to understand.

  “It’s better than death, Chiarra.”

  She watched as one of the uniforms put a purse in his hand. And that hurt. She couldn’t help it hurting, no matter how she looked at it.

  Their eyes connected as the captain cut her free and pushed her at the door.

  Jarrk whirled on the uniform, angry. “Let her dress,” he hissed.

  Fingers numb, feelings numb, Chiarra fumbled her pants on.

  Jarrk backed through the door ahead of her.

  The bright light stung as she stepped through, her wrist went up to shield her eyes.

  The clearing in front of Tranth’s lodge was packed with curious Gryffin. She frowned at them. Frowned at Tranth’s concerned expression, Akela’s downcast eyes, Grat’s cold look of satisfaction.

  Then at Jarrk.

  “Don’t look at me that way, Chiarra.” He put himself in front of her, blocking her. “Chiarra. Please. You might as well put a knife in my heart.” She saw the glint in his eye as he pulled her head down onto his chest. She saw the glint of his knife.

  “You sold me,” she said, in whispered disbelief. She took the knife.

  Chapter Eighteen

  There was blood everywhere. Jarrk’s blood. She didn’t recall stabbing him. There had been a struggle—just after she pulled Jarrk’s blade. The uniforms pulled her away from him.

  In the next second, she watched Jarrk as he reeled away a step, opened his bloodied hands to stare at them. Full of shocked disbelief, his eyes swung to her.

  His fist shot out and the back of his hand caught her hard above her jaw; her head snapped around and she crumpled in the arms of her captors. All in the space of a second.

  Jarrk gasped as the men let her slide to the ground. Blue poison welled from two red slashes near her ear.

  The uniform choked back a sudden snort of laughter as he watched, with morbid interest, the blue line of poison snake down Chiarra’s jawline toward her chin. “Well,” he said, staring at the girl, “it wasn’t the execution we’d planned but it was very effective, nonetheless. I suppose I should thank you for saving us the trou
ble—”

  “No!” Jarrk shook his head, unmindful of the blood streaming down his chest. Akela was at his side but he shook her off. “She was to have lived!”

  The uniform turned to his friend. “I told you he’d believe us.” He shook his head at Jarrk, his face full of scornful pity. “Stupid animal.”

  But Jarrk had fallen to his knees and dragged the girl into his arms. His shoulders curled as he buried his face in her neck. “No,” he whispered. “No. Chiarra. I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to…”

  The yellow uniform brayed his hard amusement. “Sweet Breeza,” he choked. “Look at him. He loves her!”

  “That poison will finish a dragon in ten seconds,” his companion drawled. “She’s screwed.”

  The first uniform’s eyes lit with mean fire. “How many Gryffins does it take to screw a human woman?”

  His companion just laughed.

  “I guess it’s true what they say about animal intelligence,” the first snorted, “there isn’t any.”

  Jarrk lifted his head with slow dawning realization. “What kind of animal was it?” he asked with sudden, quiet menace.

  The uniforms didn’t appear to understand his question.

  “What kind of animal?” he repeated, as Chiarra slid from his arms and he stood to face his tormenters. “What kind of animal was Chiarra trying to save, when she killed that man with her crossbow?”

  The uniform stopped laughing long enough to give the Gryffin a haughty sneer. “An animal not dissimilar to yourself.” He cocked his head arrogantly. “The Gryffin was smaller, younger—”

  Jarrk’s hackles rose on his bunched knuckles.

  Four crossbows lifted to train on the silver Gryffin.

  Jarrk glared at the uniform with helpless fury. Powerless to do otherwise, he watched as a shadow loomed behind the man and a golden arm came across the man’s neck, jerked tightly. Grat sank his barbs into the human’s life vein.

  A crossbow bolt crashed into Grat’s skull and the clearing exploded into violence.

  It was all Jarrk could do to stop his people from killing all the humans.