Wildfire Griffin (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew #1)(58)
The faintest frown crossed her face. “Would I…become a shifter?”
“No. But we’d feel each other, in our hearts and minds, always.”
Her expression cleared, shining like the dawn. “Yes. Oh, yes. I want that.”
His griffin surged forward, but he held himself back. Just for one second more.
“It’s forever,” he warned.
She kissed him in answer, claiming his mouth with a passion that left him breathless. “I want you forever.”
His griffin roared in triumph. Gently, he unwound Edith’s limbs from around him, letting her slide to the ground. The feel of her lean, taut body against his nearly undid him, but he made himself break off the kiss. Her eyes widened in sudden worry as he stepped back.
He squeezed her hands. “Don’t be afraid.”
He let go.
Chapter 28
Edith had one heartstopping moment where she was convinced that she’d done something wrong, or misinterpreted his intentions…but Rory smiled at her, washing away her fears. His face was alight with joy and anticipation.
And then he was literally alight, moonbeams warping around him. In a flare of gold, the man was gone.
In his place stood the griffin.
The sight of him stole her breath away. Before, she’d been half out of her mind with terror, unable to fully appreciate his splendor. Now he stood posed in front of her, wings spread and one foot upraised, as though he’d stepped off a medieval knight’s shield.
He was magnificent.
She trembled, not from fear, but from awe. Even motionless, he had the swift grace of an eagle in flight, the liquid strength of a stalking lion. He gleamed in a thousand subtle shades of bronze and gold, rich and vibrant even in the pale, washed-out light of the moon.
And he was huge. The top of his feathered head towered four inches above her own. His hawk-like front talons could have easily circled her waist. No wonder the storm-creature—whatever it was—had fled rather than face him.
He was holding very still, just the slightest movement of his furred flanks and the tiniest twitch of his tail betraying that he was a living creature rather than some elaborate work of art. Her fingers longed to explore that powerful shape.
“Can I touch you?” she breathed.
He dipped his beak in a nod. A little tentatively, she stroked the fine, dense feathers on his throat. Soft, so soft. The exquisite delicacy of the sensation thrilled through every inch of her skin.
His huge head lowered, his hooked beak caressing her hair. She flung her arms around his neck as far as she could reach, burying her face in those cloud-soft feathers, breathing in his rich, warm scent. Nutmeg and clove; burnt wood and smoke. She’d always thought that faint, ever-present trace of wildfire came from his well-worn uniform, but now she realized it was just him.
Pressed against him, she could feel his great heart beating powerfully in his broad chest. The rhythm echoed through her own bones, her blood singing in answer. He was immense, magical, and hers.
She wanted to be his, too. Forever.
“I want us to be mates. Fully, like you said.” She pulled back so she could look up into those luminous golden eyes. “What do we have to do?”
He knelt, folding his front legs with easy grace, until his back was level with her waist. One wing unfurled in clear invitation.
Giddy delight filled her. Without hesitation, she scrambled up onto his back, perching just in front of his wings. The feel of his hot, powerful form between her thighs made her tingle in delicious anticipation.
She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck again. “I’m ready.”
His muscles bunched under her. In one incredible bound, he leaped into the air.
The wind snatched her gasp from her lips. Heart hammering with excitement, she huddled against his warm strength as the world fell away. In a matter of seconds, the base looked like a child’s model; toy houses and matchstick trees. Antler glittered on the horizon, just a handful of lights in the vast darkness of the National Park.
She gazed down in wonder as Rory swept steadily higher in a wide spiral. Despite the chasm of air underneath her, she didn’t feel the least bit afraid. Rory wouldn’t let her fall.
Cold, clammy fog wrapped around them, making her shiver and bury herself even deeper into his feathers. Then they were through the cloudbank, out into breathtakingly clear night air.
She found herself staring down at the forbidden peak of Thunder Mountain, usually hidden behind its ever-present veil of cloud. Bare, stark rocks gleamed in the moonlight. The very top seemed oddly flat, as though it had been sheared off with a knife—and then Rory banked again, his broad wing hiding her view. By the time he’d curved round again, the mountain was too far below to make out any more details.
She looked up instead, into the sea of stars. They glittered in impossible profusion, far denser and brighter than she’d ever seen. It was getting hard to breathe now, the air thin and sharp in her throat. Even Rory’s mighty wingbeats seemed to be becoming more labored. She couldn’t guess where he was taking her, except possibly the moon.
Just as she was starting to seriously wonder if he was taking her to the moon, he leveled out. She could feel how his own breath rasped in his chest as he went into a smooth, circling glide.
His head turned, one eye fixing on her. He made a little inquiring, encouraging noise, somewhere between a chirp and a meow. It was such an incongruous sound from that axe-blade of a beak that she couldn’t help giggling.