“Adjust?” His eyes flare. “Adjust to the idea of you in a pool of your own blood?”
I snort softly. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Griffin’s face goes blank for a split second before flushing darkly.
Uh-oh. My stomach flips over.Wrong thing to say.
His eyes rake over me, over my bloody clothing. Then he reaches out, grips the neck of my tunic with both hands, and pulls hard in opposite directions, ripping it clean in half. The torn garment hangs from my shoulders, fluttering on a cool breeze that feathers over my skin and makes me shiver.
Griffin undresses me, his eyes as steely and focused as the rest of him. My belt hits the ground, and my pants drop to my ankles, pooling around my boots in what I’m sure is a very attractive manner. Griffin steps back, glaring at my mostly naked body.
I stare back. I’m not sure what this stripping is about, or what he needs to do, but I’m going to let him figure it out.
“Still blood everywhere,” he mutters. He dips down and then lifts me up, slinging me over his shoulder. His arm clamps around the back of my knees.
I grip his hips and push off to keep from bouncing against his back when he starts walking. His free hand rips my boots from my feet, and my pants slide the rest of the way off. We leave a trail of clothing across the meadow.
“Griffin?”
“I’ll neveradjustto the idea of you dying. To the Underworld with the greater good. The idealist who tied you up with a magic rope to keep Sinta in good hands? Gone,” he says flatly. “You and Little Bean—that’s all that matters. And Alpha Fisa beat us today.”
“Beat us? We’re both still here. She had to run away!”
“She ran away because two Gods showed up! And I’m only alive because she’s insanely arrogant. After you went through the window, she knocked me on the head with something. I don’t know what. She probably thought I was unconscious and would burn with the house, but I was only stunned. She was too busy searching for Ianthe’s pearls to pay attention to me anymore. She stormed out once she’d found them.”
My eyes widen.Thank the Gods for Griffin’s hard head!
“I thought she’d gone, but she must have been watching and then came back to finish us off when it turned out we weren’t dead.” He works my tunic off my back, ripping it free from around my wings. “I’m not trusting your life to anyone. No army. No team. NoGod. We can’t count on anyone. Not anymore.”
Oh no. “Is this about Piers?”
“This is aboutyou!” he snarls.
“No, it’s aboutyou!” I snarl back, twisting to try to look at him. “If I gave up and crawled under a rock every time someone betrayed me, I’d have turned into a grub by now.”
Damn Piers!And damn his shortsighted stupidity. Didn’t he know his brother at all? Betrayal from someone he loves is clearly the one thing with which Griffin cannot cope. That, and the thought of losing me. No wonder those two things collided in an epic explosion when Griffin found out the extent of my omissions during our early time together. I broke his trust by not telling him the truth, and loyalty is the air he breathes.
But when Piers betrayed Griffin and tried to get rid of me, the explosion never happened. It was implosion instead.
“Castle Sinta, or here?” Griffin demands, crossing the sloping field with purposeful strides. “Your choice. I’ll build you a Gods damn bloody house right here and never leave.”
“I’ll run away.”
“Then it’s a good thing I have a magic rope.”
“Griffin!” He’s not being rational. I start trying to get loose, and his free hand lands on my bare bottom with a smack.
I growl as we pass in front of the pasture holding our horses. Panotii lifts his head and flicks his ears, nickering at me. Brown Horse ignores my flopping around in favor of the grass.
Griffin suddenly bends down and plops me into the spring-fed stream with a splash. I gasp, ice-cold water shocking me as it rushes over my lower half. I instinctively curl up, and my reaction must have some kind of retracting effect on my wings because they shrink with a rustling of feathers. There’s a quick slice of pain, like a shallow cut, and then they disappear into my back. I think.
I turn, trying to look over my shoulder. “What’s there?” I ask. I can’t really see.
Griffin leans over me and looks. “Nothing. Not even a scar.”
I don’t feel the wings anymore. Not a tickle of feathers. Not a flutter in my chest. Nothing.
He kneels in front of me, uncaring that he’s still partially dressed and getting soaked. He bunches up a handful of my destroyed tunic, wets it, and then presses the frigid linen against my chest. The cold stalls the breath in my lungs.
