by J. C. Owens
Daren understood that way of thinking.
His riders grouped round them both, glaring at a couple of cadets who were whispering behind their hands, their derisive gazes fixed upon Andon. Their cold stares made the boys flush and look away, swiftly going back to their meals with downcast eyes.
Daren heard Andon take a small, shuddering breath and realized how very difficult this was for him. His fingers flexed upon the painfully thin shoulder, and he gently urged his mate forward to the head table.
Commander Lasrem usually took breakfast and lunch in his quarters, so that he could work in peace, so his chair was empty. Daren ignored his usual seat next to the commander, and instead followed Andon to his seat and took an empty one beside him at the end of the table.
Platters for food were further down the table, but Vatner, Byrant, and Habnin made no attempt to pass them down, their stares cold and hostile as they paused in eating to mark Daren and Andon’s arrival.
Daren felt his temper rise…
Palresen, on the far side, rose to his feet with a platter in hand, and strode down to them, placing it in front of them with a flourish. He held out his hand to Andon, and the weapons master looked at it suspiciously before looking up into the second’s face.
“I just wanted to properly thank you for the rescue you single-handedly executed. It was a thing of courage that few could achieve.”
Andon swallowed, then cautiously, as though he feared a trap, took the hand and shook it.
Palresen snapped out a salute that had the rest of the room gaping. Then he returned to his meal with calm aplomb.
Daren knew that Palresen was not noted for giving undue praise, and he saluted no one else on base, only the commander himself.
It was a clear indication of approval and respect—and a degree of protection. If the second was taking note of Andon, then others would be wise to watch their words and actions around Captain Grazon.
Palresen looked down the table and met Daren’s gaze before nodding. It had been deliberate then, a mark of protection.
Daren nodded back, gratitude in his eyes.
Andon thought that it had to be the strangest meal he had ever endured.
For once, he had no need to protect himself from Vatner and Byrant. The two captains made no move to speak to him, and their occasional glance his way did not have the weight to concern him. Even Habnin kept his attention on his meal.
With Daren beside him, he felt like there was nothing to fear. He was not alone.
And what Palresen had done…
He was still slightly breathless from the shock of being publically commended. The second in command was not known for his kindness and was normally stoic rather than vocal. Certainly he had never paid much attention to Andon before this.
Was what he had done really that worthy of note?
It had seemed the right thing to do. It did not seem the mark of bravery, only of necessity.
He bowed his head and focused on the food. Real food, fresh and still hot. He closed his eyes in appreciation.
Good food, and no tension to turn his stomach.
It was a heady combination.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Andon walked into the shower room, looking forward to ridding his body of the sweat and dust that coated him from the salle.
Daren and his riders were working on the wing house again, and Andon was relieved to be free of them for a while. Their support, while warming, was overwhelming in its force, and he was used to being alone.
The need to speak, to respond, was exhausting. He had never understood how people could do it with such ease from day to day. Yet another thing that marked him as odd. There were so many.
He checked the room cautiously, but there were only a few cadets, who glanced at him and then turned back to their cheerful conversations.
He moved to the furthest stall, the exact one he had shared with Daren. The memory still managed to make him warm and flushed.
He put down his clean clothes and towel on the bench, then stripped with alacrity, giving a last look round before stepping behind the curtain. He set his dagger on a low shelf, free from the water spray but within reach should he need it.
For once, there was actual hot water. The large tank on top of the hall that captured rainwater and runoff from the roof was painted black. It heated swiftly in the desert sun and the resulting water was at least warm, if rarely hot. Today, however, he must have beaten the rush of men who wished to shower before the evening meal.
He turned his face into the spray and let the heat soak away his stress, feeling the dirt sluice away. It took effort to pick up the soap and begin to lather his body, the sweet smell comforting.
He did not tarry, all too aware how vulnerable he was here. Several of the assaults he had suffered had been within this room. He had learned swiftly to bring a weapon into the shower itself. He eyed the gleam of his dagger on the low shelf as he soaped his hair, then rinsed it thoroughly.
Pink with the heat, and feeling deliciously clean, he reached out for his towel—and found it handed to him.
His relaxation fled, and he snatched the dagger before positioning himself in a corner and flinging back the curtain.
Vatner stood a small distance away, leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest. His gaze roved over Andon’s body with blatant appreciation.
Andon did not try to cover himself but retained his combative stance, cold eyes fixed upon his nemesis.
Vatner arched an eyebrow. “I appreciate the show.”
Andon scoffed, angling his body so he could reach his clothing and pull it into the shower with him. He refused to close the curtain. He wanted to keep the bastard in his sights.
He dressed with some difficulty, cloth sticking to his wet body, keeping the dagger in his grasp, but he was not taking the time to dry himself under that heated gaze.
“You have gained a fine group of protectors.” Vatner’s tone held no particular inflection, but his expression bordered on jealousy, as it often did. For some reason, the man seemed to believe that Andon harbored some degree of attraction for him.
After all these years, Andon could not imagine how he still managed to delude himself so thoroughly.
“Is there any reason but the obvious that you feel the need to corner me?” Andon stepped out of the shower stall, dagger in hand. He reached for his boots before edging out into the larger area and the benches there. Instead of sitting, he put his back to one of the walls and pulled each boot on, never taking his eyes from Vatner.
The man strolled out after him, eyes glinting with satisfaction at Andon’s precautions. How he took such things as encouragement…
Surprisingly, he did not attempt to come closer, did not provoke Andon into defense. Instead, he seated himself on a nearby bench, his posture loose and relaxed.
Andon eyed him as he buckled his belt.
“You have put yourself in a bad position, Andon.” Vatner’s words didn’t hold the malicious taunting that usually characterized their encounters.
Andon’s eyebrow raised in silent query.
Vatner shook his head. “We have had our differences in the past—”
Andon snorted. “That is what you call rape now? A difference of opinion?” His fingers clenched around the dagger.
“I want to warn you.” Vatner’s eyes were steady upon his, and for once there was no mockery in his tone of voice.
Andon eyed him coldly, not moving from his advantageous position against the wall.
“What you did for the others—it was foolish. Brave, but foolish. Byrant was furious that you endangered Ceris. He has sent a message to the king. Habnin left this morning to deliver it, and I trust that little bastard not at all.”
Andon’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes narrowed. “And you are telling me this out of the goodness of your heart? Why should I believe a thing you say?”
“Because I think this will lead to nothing good. I have tried to keep you from being not
iced by the king, tried to steer Byrant away from any action, but he is hungry for power, and seems to think that you and Ceris will be the path to that power. If the king orders you to go to the capital, Byrant hopes to be made your keeper.”
Andon felt a chill feather over his senses, so that he shivered. “I would never submit to that.”
“If they threatened Ceris? You would obey. If they threaten you? She will obey. You will be caught up in the ruthless maelstrom that characterizes the royal court. Believe me, you do not have the dark nature needed to survive in that pit of vipers.”
Vatner met his stare with a grimace, bringing his leg up so that he could wrap his arms around it, the pose curiously vulnerable in a way Andon would never have associated with this man.
“My eldest brother—he was called to court as a representative of our family. They warped him, so that when he returned, he was not the sibling I remembered. He was dark, and cruel.”
In that moment, Andon understood.
Vatner knew full well what it felt like to be raped. And it had been his brother.
And that had perpetuated Vatner’s behaviors since.
It was no excuse. Andon would not offer such a thing. It was a man’s duty to control his own behaviors in a manner that did not harm others, even if he himself had suffered. Only then would the cycle break.
“So, out of the goodness of your heart, you come to warn me.”
Vatner gave a short, mirthless chuckle. “Goodness of my heart. Not sure that ever existed.” He moved, the vulnerability disappearing as if by magic. “The king will not respect your true mating. It is so rare as to be almost unbelievable, and he will not care. He wants her bred by a series of males to improve bloodlines and strengthen captive grifs. The only thing he will know is that true bonds increase the likelihood of pregnancy.”
“Ceris will never accept another male. Not now that she has Gretnel.”
“She will if they drug her, and they will. There is nothing they are not capable of.” The man’s tone held cold certainty that utterly chilled Andon.
Vatner tilted his head. “I am telling you this so you will know. If this happens, name me your keeper and I will protect you as best I can.”
Andon let out a harsh, disbelieving bark of laughter. “Choose you? So you would come running to the capital to save me?”
The stare Vatner gave him was direct and without humor. “I would.”
“After what you have done to me? You must be mad.”
Vatner shrugged, his eyes half-lidded. “Perhaps. I can think of no other person I would risk myself for.”
Andon pushed himself away from the wall, anger coursing through him. “You are a fool. Commander Lasrem would never allow such a travesty.” He stalked off, senses tuned to any sound of a pursuit.
“You assume that they would let him know.”
The words followed him out into the sunshine, and he shivered.
* * *
The only upside to the grif’s injuries, as far as Daren was concerned, was that Ceris’s heat had not occurred. Even with that bonus, the weeks it took for the grifs to fully heal seemed interminable. Daren was a man who found it hard to sit still, and so he flung himself wholeheartedly into the renovations.
At first, Andon made himself scarce, but as the days passed, Daren would see him inching closer, watching, until one day Daren simply handed him a hammer and set him on demolition duty.
After an initial hesitation and a bit of instruction, he took to it completely. Watching him, Daren felt as though the work was cathartic. Andon might practice fighting skills, but he truly had little to vent his aggression and anger upon. Tearing down walls seemed to release or placate something bound up inside him.
Daren worked with Yanra to design how things would look upon completion. Several times, he pulled Andon in, asking his opinion, slyly bringing him into the decision making. Stiff at first, the weapons master finally managed to voice his own ideas, the vision that he and Vren had once discussed.
Daren was happy to step back a little, subtly and slowly, and let his mate take over. Soon it was Andon who knew what was happening, who told them each day what tasks would be required. He was more talkative as he slowly opened to them, a measure of trust through working closely together each day.
Daren loved the changes, treasured how close they were all growing.
And the nights…
He had asked, tentatively and with a full expectation of refusal, if he could share Andon’s bed, share the warmth that chased away the extreme cold of a desert night.
Andon had agreed to it. It was made clear it would be sleep and no more than that.
Daren had to admit that the lack of sex was creating something more intimate. They talked more, haltingly at first, but with time and connection they were more at ease, discussing the day and occasionally the past.
Daren kept it light, relating amusing anecdotes about his childhood or about the scrapes and misadventures he and Gretnel had gotten into upon first bonding.
After a while, Andon had added stories of Ceris and their bonding. It was also light, but sometimes Daren could pick up hints of his unhappiness in the past, of his time within the academy. It was very evident that Ceris had been his only support, his only friendship during that time. Andon did not bring up Vren at all, and Daren respected that. It was too early in their relationship for Andon to trust him with something so precious and private.
As his mate grew used to them, Xaxter and the others would tease him, as though he were one of them. It was sad to see the shy, confused smile that Andon would give, as though he only understood the edge of their humor.
What a lonely boy he must have been before Ceris, trusting no one, and no one giving a damn about his whereabouts or whether he lived or died. The strength and determination it must have taken to survive… Daren could only admire such tenacity. Yet, instead of becoming brutal, as those around him had been, he had grown into a deep, compassionate man who had no true desire to harm others.
Daren had to stop every now and then, and give thanks to the gods that out of all the possible mates, they had gifted him with Andon.
With all of them being able to work steadily, the renovations were going at a rapid pace. They had torn down the middle walls to make two extra-large chambers so that Gretnel and Ceris could be together, and Paulsa and Cansi could have suitable living quarters for their relationship.
Daren had been very clear when he spoke to Andon about whether he wanted to move in with him. They could build a room within the shared chamber for his privacy if he could not endure having continual company.
He had fully expected that Andon would refuse to let his room become part of the structure that would house Gretnel and Ceris together, but Andon surprised them all with his immediate agreement.
As to the room within the chamber, Andon had not made a final decision yet. Daren hoped it was because he was actually enjoying their time together each night. The growing closeness and the lowering of barriers made for peace and a sense of rightness that made Daren treasure the end of the day, when the others left and there was only the four of them, the grifs wound around each other, and the two of them seated before the newly cleaned fireplace.
It also warmed Daren’s heart to see Gretnel so happy. With time and proximity, Ceris was settling, her initial wariness of Daren fading in a mirror of Andon’s. Daren was careful to be respectful. He was not yet comfortable enough to tease her, and he noticed that she did not seem to have the same sense of humor that Gretnel and the other grifs did. Was that perhaps because they had learned such things from humans, and she had not? With Andon’s serious nature… It made him wonder how much domestic grifs took on the character and mannerisms of what their riders expected or demonstrated. He remembered the sadly submissive grif of Byrant’s and gritted his teeth.
That the man was griffon master was beyond horrific. The way he treated cadets and other riders alike made it entirely likely that he abused the grifs
equally. Daren had heard rumors, but he had not seen any such behavior himself, nothing he could report back to his own commander or bring up with Lasrem.
Byrant, it seemed, was good at covering his tracks.
Soon enough, the old wing house’s north wall was finished, closing off the weather, and they celebrated the fact after a long, hot day.
They lit the fire in Daren and Andon’s room and sat around, drinking ale brought from the hall. Xaxter and Cansi were telling ever more improbable tales that had the others hooting and catcalling. It was a usual thing for Daren’s wing. He sat back, grinning, watching them with a feeling of satisfaction. These were his riders. The best, every one of them. More than he could ever have hoped for when he first started trying to form his group.
He glanced at Andon and gave a fond smile at the expression on his mate’s face. He was watching the others with a bemused look, giving a faint smile every now and then at Xaxter and Cansi’s more outrageous comments.
Impulsively, he reached over and laid his hand over one of Andon’s that lay lax upon the arm of the chair.
Andon glanced over, startled, then his eyes softened and he settled back, not attempting to hold Daren’s hand, but not rejecting it either. The faint hint of a content smile quirked the edge of his lips.
Daren thought it was a very good look indeed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Gretnel gave a pleased rumble as he soared through the air, and Daren laughed, clapping him on the neck. The wind was hot today, and as they rose higher, it cooled, a pleasant relief. It was sheer joy to both of them to be back in the sky. Ahead of them, Commander Lasrem, on his grif, Leandan, had the same look of bliss.
For both of them, it had been too long since they’d last flown, Daren because of Gretnel’s injuries, and Lasrem because of duty.
