“Yes!” I cry, holding back the sob of the century.
A glassy sheen coats Griffin’s eyes as I crash down nearly on top of him, my legs jarring hard when my feet hit the ground. The sob flies from me, and I pitch forward. Griffin meets me halfway. Our bodies collide, the shock of him vibrating through me. Heat. Muscle. Bone. We’re both too injured to slam into each other this way, but neither of us cares. I throw my arms around his neck and hold on.
As if his legs can’t hold him up any longer, he sinks down, dragging me down with him. We both end up on our knees, and Griffin clutches me so tightly that my ribs ache. I find his face with my hands and grip his jaw hard. We kiss, a frantic crushing and melding of lips. I taste sweat and blood, mine and his, and he groans against my mouth. It’s not a sound of desire. It’s the sound of just barely not breaking.
“I thought you were dead. I was sure you… And I couldn’t…” His breath hitches, and he shudders. Seeing his lashes spike with moisture nearly breaks my heart.
My own breathing is far from steady, and my throat is thick with tears, but I need to say something that will take the fear out of his eyes—and the horrible, misplaced guilt from his voice.
I look at him straight on, knowing he’ll never look away. “You think I’m that easy to kill?”
He makes a strangled sound, and I know he recognizes the exact same words I used at the circus fair the night we first met. He swallows and keeps staring at me, but he doesn’t look quite so heartbreakingly terrified anymore.
“I remember when you said that. That’s the moment I fell in love with you.” Taking my face in his hands, Griffin brushes his thumb across my lower lip. “You and your smart mouth.”
My heart swells, and my mouth tingles under his touch. I kiss his thumb.
Griffin curves his hands around my head and pulls me in to him, tucking me against his chest. For a moment, we both stop, needing to feel skin and heartbeats and breath.
“I won’t leave you,” I say almost savagely, clutching the back of his ruined tunic. Griffin is smart, kind, fair, strong, broad, bruised, and mine. I am never letting him go, and he’s never getting rid of me. We have a life to live. Together.
He draws back, looking down at me. “I know, agapi mou. But I thought you’d been taken.” His eyes flick over my feathers, and nervous heat rises in my belly. It fans out, spreading toward my neck and face.
I sprouted wings. Helpful? Yes. Attractive? Debatable…
Still kneeling and wrapped in Griffin’s arms, I glance over my shoulder and try to extend my wings. They folded back down at some point after I landed without my really even thinking about it. One side snaps out, impressive. The other ignores me completely. Great. Nothing is ever easy.
I urge the extended one to relax again, and it folds down against my back, brushing the ground.
“Do they hurt?” Griffin asks.
I shake my head. “No, except for when they first popped out. But I hope you like wings. Now that they’re here, I have no idea how to put them back inside me again. Or if I even can.”
His brow furrowing, Griffin smooths one hand over my feathers. They’re surprisingly sensitive, and a little shiver cascades down my spine.
Gruffly, he says, “You could grow horns for all I care. I love you. All of you. Inside and out.”
I take a deep breath. “Good to know.” In fact, it warms my heart immensely. “Because depending on which Gods added their ichor to my veins, which apparently a bunch of them did, I could end up with pointy ears or a beard someday.”
Griffin grunts, processing that, I guess.
“Speaking of Gods…” I look around, but the God of War is nowhere to be found. “Ares helped me out of the pit. He got the wings out of me. I’m part Nike—or something like that.”
Griffin grunts again—more processing, I think—and then murmurs, “Winged Victory.”
I frown, not feeling very victorious. Alive, though, and that’s what matters.
“Maybe Ares contributed something to my blood, too.” That would explain a lot.
Griffin doesn’t look okay with that. In fact, he looks downright pained.
“My affable nature?” I ask, trying to lighten his scowl. “My peacekeeping skills?”
Not even a smile. It’s too soon to joke.
“Is Little Bean all right?” Griffin’s eyes drop to my middle.
Glancing down, I smooth my hands over my lower belly. “Snug as a bug on a sheepskin rug.” I can sense her powerful life force inside me and feel her steady heartbeat. It’s faster than mine.
“Good Gods!” Mother’s voice slices through me like a knife made of ice. “I’m not even surprised. You land on your feet wherever you go.”
Griffin and I jump apart and scramble to our feet. Griffin throws out his arm, pushing me behind him. Shock roots me to the spot. There’d been no sign of Mother when I flew over the meadow and the house. I’d thought she was gone!
But now she’s within striking distance, one of my knives in her left hand and my sword in her right. She probably wanted Griffin’s, but it’s too heavy for her to wield. Ianthe’s pearls circle her head, holding back her loose hair. She’s dressed in her own clothes now and looking like herself again, although I hesitate to call that human.
“Nice robes,” I say, coming alongside Griffin. She’s wearing all black, and I’m sure it’s for the sheer intimidation factor.
“They’re for your funeral,” she answers.
I curl my mouth into a cool smile, forcing myself to show no fear. But the truth is, she does scare me. She scares the ever-living magic out of me.
“Or yours,” Griffin snarls.
Mother laughs that off, and I barely suppress a shudder.
“Wings.” She looks me up and down with distaste. “How hideous.”
I notch my chin up. She’s not fooling me. I see the envy in her eyes, turning them even greener. And I feel her lie punch through me, hot and pounding. “Jealous?”
She snorts. “Chances are, you don’t know how to use them.”
Truth. Unfortunately. “I figured out up versus down.”
Her tone cutting, she says, “Mediocrity suits you. It’s a good thing, since that’s all you’ve ever striven for.”
“And sheer evilness makes you special,” I answer in kind.
She smiles. Of course that doesn’t insult her.
I may have more raw power than she does, but I have no skill, and Mother knows it. So far, I’ve survived on luck, help, and accident alone, and today was no exception.
“Why did you ever even try to teach me about magic?” I ask, knowing that much of my ineptitude comes from refusing to listen to a word she said. I was so focused on not using my magic like she did that I ended up not using it at all. “So that I could be your spy in Galen Tarva’s court?”
“It was in my best interest for you to survive there. With proximity, you could have controlled him.”
“I’ll never alter minds, not even someone like Galen’s. A person’s free will isn’t a toy to play around with.”
She scoffs. “You have no ambition. You don’t deserve any crown, let alone mine.”