by Zoe Chant
“Try to keep Socks in for a little while,” she cautioned the others, checking behind the couch and in all the small spaces where the cat frequently hid.
“Are you concerned for her health?” Trey asked with a frown.
“She should be in no further danger,” Rez added. “But I am happy to check her for any lingering effects.”
“Oh, she’s probably fine,” Gwen said swiftly. “But I was just out, and there was someone from animal control warning that there was an aggressive black dog on the loose.”
Robin, who was frowning over a photograph, presumably of the kingdom of Ecuador, straightened in alarm. “A black dog?” they pressed.
“Could it be a dour?” Rez mused, clearly following the fable’s train of thought.
“There are normal black dogs here,” Heather pointed out. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Robin frowned, unconvinced.
Gwen stood up from her fruitless search beneath the couch. “Well, either way, try not to let Socks out. She’s got the common sense of a gerbil and would take on dours or dogs, as well as enspelled evil swords, and I already almost lost her once.” She gave a shaky laugh. “And of course, she’s lost now.”
Henrik knew that tone of her voice, that brave timber that hid her anxiousness. “Perhaps she is under your bed?” he suggested.
“Let’s check,” Gwen said, and her tiny sideways smile felt like ample reward for promising to help find her pet.
18
Socks was hiding under Gwen’s bed, exactly as Henrik had suggested she might be, shoved into the very furthest, darkest corner with only her pale silvery-blue eyes visible. She had no interest in the treats that Gwen rattled at her, and only retreated further and growled discontentedly when Gwen tried to reach under for her.
“I could…go to your feline,” Henrik suggested hesitantly. “Make sure that she remains untainted.”
Gwen nodded slowly and sucked in her breath as Henrik shivered and shifted. Would he be his full, glorious size, she wondered, just as he began to shimmer. It had been a helluva kiss, and he’d said...
“I think...you’re a little bigger than you were,” she said hesitantly. Possibly he was, but not by much.
Henrik cocked his tiny eagle head at her skeptically and snapped his wings out in disgust before folding them down against his back.
Gwen watched him crawl under her bed. He gave a soft little trill to Socks, who gave a little mrrrrrt in return as if she could not help herself.
He loves me, Gwen remembered, despite everything else that was happening. He loves me.
She should have said it back to him. She should have told him all the ways she was sure she couldn’t live without him any more, about all the empty places inside that he filled. If she had, would he be too big to fit under her bed?
He seemed to be having a conversation with Socks, little tiny noises of comfort and counterpoint. There was no hissing, though the cat gave a few of her almost-spoken meows. All that Gwen could see was the occasional swish of Henrik’s tail, and the blink of Socks’ bright eyes. Her eyelids slowly closed, and there was a two-note chorus of purrs.
Gwen gave a sigh of relief and crawled up onto the bed. She lay looking up at the ceiling, staring at nothing and wondering why she was so wrapped up about a cat who barely tolerated her.
Gwen woke up, not sure when she’d fallen asleep, to find both of them curled up beside her on the bed. Henrik had his wings tucked in tight, but one of his front claws was draped over Socks’ neck where she was curled up in the curve of Gwen’s side, and his beak was resting on her head.
Gwen stayed as still as she could, watching the gentle rise and fall of her cat’s side and the corresponding motion in the tiny honey-colored gryphon, breathing in unison. It was so hard not to reach out and touch them, to see if Henrik’s feathers were as soft as she remembered.
Socks woke with a sneeze, twitching, and sat up with a guilty look. She glared around accusingly, then stepped on Henrik’s neck and angrily groomed his feathered head. Henrik opened one eye and clacked his beak but did not protest or struggle. Socks cleaned him just enough to prove some feline point, spat out a feather, stalked to the edge of the bed, and jumped down. The door was open just a crack and she walked out of the room with her tail proudly in the air.
Just as Gwen was wondering how Henrik would tolerate being scooped into her arms and shamelessly cuddled, he shifted.
He clearly misjudged how much space his human form would take, and Gwen found herself wedged up between the wall of her room and a whole different kind of wall, the bed deflecting beneath them.
“I, er, apologize,” Henrik said contritely, trying to back away without actually touching her. “I should…” He rolled back off the bed and looked a little lost. “Socks seems quite recovered.”
“You should close the door,” Gwen said firmly.
“Very well,” Henrik said, but he clearly didn’t understand her reason, because when he turned back from softly latching it, he looked stunned to find that Gwen had taken off her shirt.
“I...ah...uh…” He looked like he was trying very hard not to stare at her, and failing miserably.
Gwen chewed on her lower lip and tried to smile bravely, feeling suddenly shy and uncertain. “You know, there’s one thing we haven’t...uh...tried yet. To get you to your full power, I mean.”
Henrik sat heavily beside her on the bed, and Gwen just caught herself from falling into him. “Lady Gwen,” he said, and the reluctance in his voice made Gwen’s breath catch.
Did he not want her? His panting breath and his lingering looks suggested that he did. His flexing fingers implied the same impatience that Gwen was feeling, and he swallowed before going on.
“I don’t want—”
Gwen’s heart fell in her chest. Was she this bad at people?
“—to do anything you don’t want to. Our friends mean well, but this must be something you truly…”
Gwen cut him off with a kiss, unable to form the words to convince him but hoping that her body would suffice. Henrik gave a growl more suitable for his gryphon form and wrapped strong arms around her as they desperately struggled closer in unison
At first, it was just hungry kissing, all but clawing at each other. Then, as Gwen thought she might burst from the pressure of her need, Henrik suddenly tipped her back onto the bed and simply held her there, gazing down with an expression of adoration.
“Yes!” Gwen cried. “Do you need me to say it out loud? In writing? Notarized? Yes, a hundred times yes, please, yes! Don’t stop, don’t ever, ever stop...”
Then his mouth was over hers, and his weight was deliciously pinning her and Gwen had never regretted clothing so much in her life. She got her arms up around his back and dragged her fingernails over his shirt as she pressed herself up against him. He kissed her jaw and a place under her ear that Gwen had never once even thought about but immediately decided was her new favorite skin.
She whimpered, without meaning to, and tugged at his shirt because she wanted nothing between them, not cloth, not the trappings of destiny. This was just Henrik, her glorious, golden gryphon knight, and her own raw self, offered entirely.
He took her hint at last, sitting up but still straddling her, to rip off his shirt. Then he gazed down in confusion. “I...do not know how to remove this garment,” he confessed, slipping one finger under the strap of Gwen’s bra. “It ties? Buttons?”
She wriggled up into a sitting position. “It clasps in the back. It’s a little tricky, let me…”
Henrik sucked in his breath as she let it fall away and sat in gratifying awe for a moment before he dared to reach for her, a tantalizing finger at first, then cupping her small breast in one eager hand. He leaned forward to explore her with kisses as he pulled her closer.
Gwen was not sure what was better, the exquisite attention to her screamingly sensitive breasts, or the fact that she finally could touch the beautiful landscape of muscles that had b
een haunting her memory since she first kissed his glass ornament. He had shoulders like silk-covered rocks, and she didn’t think she would ever tire of running her fingers over them, or of tangling her fingers in his long hair.
His mouth was as expressive on her skin as it was to his moods, and she thought that there could be no greater pleasure than the way he worshiped her with every part of him. His mane of curls trailed over skin he left burning with his wandering kisses.
“Clothes,” Gwen gasped. There was too much clothing between them. She was greedy for more, insatiably hungry for all of him. “Take off your clothes!”
Obediently, he retreated from her and Gwen almost pulled him back because she wanted him too badly for logic. Instead, she began to strip herself, eager for the promise of more.
Henrik had clearly improved his button and zipper technique since she’d released him from glass; by the time Gwen had wiggled out of her jeans, he was naked. Gloriously naked. Gwen dragged her gaze from his attentive cock and tipped her head up to his face.
He paused, not touching her, and it was like torture after all the exquisite caresses he’d teased her with. “Yes,” Gwen said, in case he feared his permission had expired. “Yes, please…”
With a low groan in his throat and a snapping of teeth, he was tipping her back on the bed at last, and Gwen was spreading her legs to welcome him. “Yes…” she cried softly, not for him, but because everything in her world right now was yes.
She had a moment of wondering if she should be embarrassed by how wet she was, but it was brief, and driven away by the way he filled her, deeper with every thrust, until she was whimpering and biting the air to keep from screaming in release.
He drew back just at a moment that was either terrible or wonderful, Gwen couldn’t tell.
“I must...I shall…”
“Yes!” Gwen commanded, clawing at his shoulders. Her orgasm crashed over her with his return, and his own desperate, pounding release spiraled her down like the notes of a familiar song.
19
Henrik lay in Gwen as long as anatomy allowed, holding her close against him in a blissful denouement.
She was limp with satisfaction, much as he was, with her eyes closed and her mouth curved in a helpless smile. He recognized that his own mouth must be in just such a smile; he could not quell his feelings of delight and relief.
It wasn’t long before the chill in the air made Gwen shiver. The blankets were tangled beneath them, but when Henrik tried to extract one to cover her with, she sat up. “Well, that was certainly a thing. I may not relish the smug I-told-you-so looks, but damn. They told me so.” She grinned at him as she swung her legs off the bed. “Want to sneak into the shower with me?”
Henrik could imagine nothing more delightful than sharing a falling water box with a soap-lathered Gwen, but he paused.
Gwen stopped in the act of standing up and settled beside him again. “You want to try shifting?” she asked hopefully. “Can you...feel magic?”
Henrik closed his eyes. “A little,” he confessed, testing his perception. But none of the power he could sense would obey his whispered command. Perhaps...as a gryphon? His magic form had always been attuned to the leylines more closely than his human form.
Not sure of how much space he would need, he pushed back a table and a chair draped with clothing. Gwen crawled back up onto the bed and tucked her legs under her, watching anxiously. Henrik tried not be distracted by her beauty, forcing himself to focus. He was a magnificent gryphon, he would take up most of the empty space in the room.
When he dared to open an eye, it was as he had feared, he rattled in the emptiness and had to look up to see the top of the bed.
Gwen came to the edge and looked down at him. “You’re bigger,” she said encouragingly.
He was larger than Socks and Vesta, perhaps, but the hound Fabio would still stand above him at the shoulder. When he spread his wings, rather than filling the room with his glory, he could barely touch the bed and the chair at the same time.
And when he reached for the power, it slithered through his mental fingers, without substance, just as it had before. He sat, folding his wings against his back, and shifted.
“Sorry,” Gwen said softly, trying to laugh. “I guess that was pointless...”
Henrik’s heart twisted in his chest. He guessed that she was trying to lighten the mood, but she should not be dismayed by his failure, or try to take the fault for it.
“No,” he said. He stood and padded to the bed. Gwen moved aside to let him sit, but he reached down and pulled her to her feet instead. “It was not pointless, lady, and you should not be sorry.” He gazed down at her. “You are my key and I love you and I could show you with my body what words were not made for. You complete me, beloved. You are mine, and I claim you. It is not a pointless act and a knight’s body is not lightly given.” He took her hand into his and pressed it at his chest. “My heart is yours.” He put her hand at his throat. “My voice is yours.” At his mouth, it was, “My breath is yours.”
Her own breath was delightfully ragged. “Henrik…”
He knelt at her feet, and then crushed her into his arms, his face just below her perfect curved breasts. “My key,” he said in complete satisfaction.
They stayed that way for a time, unspeaking, Henrik taking a pleasure in her naked body against his that wasn’t carnal, only content.
Then she shivered.
“The shower,” Henrik said. “Let us bathe in hot water and face our shieldmates.”
It was not a swift shower; Gwen was exactly as distracting as he had imagined she would be, and Henrik lingered over soaping her, and drawing the hair cream through her shoulder-length hair with his fingers.
They kissed, more than once, and though their urgency had abated, she seemed as enamored of his body as he was of hers.
“You are so beautiful,” Henrik said in awe.
She peeked from beneath the towel at him. “I’m...not beautiful.” She looked confusingly pleased, however.
“You are the loveliest thing I have ever laid eyes on,” Henrik told her, and color rose in her tawny cheeks. “I would change nothing.”
She opened her mouth and closed it again several times without speaking. Henrik was delighted by the pleasure in her eyes. He would have to praise her more often, he decided. It was clear that she was unused to admiration, and he wasn’t at all sure why. She was so perfect, with her hooded brown eyes and her bee-stung lips.
“They’re probably waiting for us downstairs,” she finally said shyly, furiously drying the rest of her body.
Wrapped in towels, they crept back to her room and got dressed.
Indeed, his shieldmates gave him knowing looks when he and Gwen arrived downstairs, looking flushed and freshly washed. But no one said anything about it all, and the conversation centered largely around the excitement of finding Tadra’s key and Robin’s pending departure to bring him to their home.
20
They gave Robin a send-off the next day at the cafe where Daniella and Gwen worked, after it had closed. Robin rarely joined them on outings, because showing up with a fairy in public was even riskier than dragging around a knight who might put his fork in an electric socket at any moment.
Gwen thought Robin seemed a little sad that they couldn’t be included when everyone had gone out to dinner a few days earlier, so she made the suggestion and the others had gleefully agreed. She insisted that Ansel join them, too.
As it was, the pizza delivery driver gave them a long skeptical look. Heather was wearing a medieval dress, and the knights would never look less than knightly, even in worn jeans and logo t-shirts. If the long hair and broad shoulders and courtly manners didn’t give them away, there was something about their eager curiosity. Henrik was poking at a napkin dispenser like it was going to take his finger in exchange for the folded paper strip.
“I don’t usually deliver to restaurants,” the driver observed, as Ansel signed the receip
t over their protests.
“It is a momentous eve!” Rez said merrily. “We are close to fulfilling our quest!”
That earned him a long, dubious look and the delivery driver said, “Yeah, okay,” and left quickly.
“How long do you think you’ll be gone?” Gwen asked Robin as the fable bent to flip open the lid of the top pizza box.
“You were pretty easy to convince,” they said with a laugh. “Who knows if this one will be.”
Gwen hadn’t thought about the moment Robin had showed up for a long while, despite the fact that it had been a turning point in her life. Sometimes, everything that happened before she was here in Michigan trying to ready herself to be a magic knight’s key seemed surreal. It felt so far in the past that it seemed like she had been someone else entirely.
She’d been such a scared girl, trying desperately to please the people around her, craving a destiny or purpose...and then she’d been handed one. Now she had friends, purpose...and most of all, Henrik.
He was peeling a string-clinging piece of sausage-laden pizza from the wheel. “How do you do this with cheese? You keep saying your world does not use magic.”
“Do they have pizza in Ecuador?” Rez wanted to know.
“I’m pretty sure that pizza is a worldwide phenomena,” Ansel said, moving the pizza aside to get the box of breadsticks on the bottom. “At least in some form.”
“You want to dibs a slice of this one before these knights devour it down to the cardboard boxes?” Heather offered Ansel.
“Lactose intolerant,” Ansel said with a shrug. He had taken to writing threats of eviction on his almond milk in the fridge. “I’m on a strict breadstick and beer diet.” He brandished his drink.
“Oh, duh,” Heather laughed sheepishly. “I forgot!”
“How do you keep your girlish figure?” Daniella teased him. “If I ate carbs like you do, you’d have to wheel me to our final battle in a wagon.”
