Page 3 of My Guardian Gryphon

I spread the skirt of my dress over my legs to cover them.

He took the book from my hands and met my gaze with his beautiful brown eyes. I loved the way flecks of gold danced in them when he was irritated. It was probably part of the reason I continually tried to rile him for one reason or another. Just to see the glint of the Gryphon within. The whole shifting animal sharing a soul thing was pretty damned interesting. I’d never seen him shift before, but asking him at some point had crossed my mind.

I kept my voice light and fun, and I returned his invasive stare with a bright smile. “You’re my personal heater. The last thing I need when I’m with you is a cloak.” I couldn’t help the laugh that rose inside me. I loved that he called a sweater or cover-up a cloak, so old-fashioned. I’d never seen anyone in Sanctuary wear an actual cloak, but I didn’t get out much. Alek said people rarely wore them anymore.

Cloaks were from the old books we read, old stories of times so different from what existed now. At least that’s what he told me. I had to take his word for it, having never set foot outside the castle walls.

Alek shook his head ever so slightly, amused again, but still no show of emotion.

I didn’t get him to smile or laugh often, but it was worth it to try. His laugh made my insides melt and my stomach do a somersault. And his smile...Damn. There wasn’t another man in town with a smile as perfect as Alek’s. A smile that filled the void in my soul.

He opened the book and began reading the opening to Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra. His accent morphed after the first few lines. Listening to him read Shakespeare was heaven. The lilt of his voice as he read the words from the page was enchanting. Like a vision, it carried me away into the story, blocking out all reality. Blocking out the situation I had facing me again tonight.

Suitors.

Men came to the castle every weekend. Men approved and vetted and offering themselves to the Sisters of Lamidae in exchange for a night of mutual pleasure—called joinings. A night they would not remember after they left. It was all part of the contract.

They knew their memories would be wiped, and yet they still agreed. We were an experience they couldn’t get anywhere else. A lot of the men came back multiple times, and the same Sister would take him to her bed week after week, month after month—a twisted way of pretending they had a relationship with their sperm donor.

Even though the men didn’t remember.

We did.

It may have been a one-sided relationship, but it worked for many. Some Sisters didn’t care and chose a new bed partner each time they were ready to conceive again. We were asked to have at least two children during our lifespan, but many Sisters found refuge in having many children—at least the ones who could manage it. It filled their days with happiness and laughter to have baby after baby.

While others viewed it as I did—cursing a new generation into exile and a lonely existence. And then there were those who were never able to conceive. Through the years, more and more of the Sisters were plagued by infertility—or the men they chose were the culprits. No one really knew for sure.

Choosing a man to lie with over and over again until we had our minimum of two children was required. One might say it was ingrained in us by something so powerful that it consumed our every thought. We didn’t just need to have children. We would lose our minds if we didn’t. Several Sisters, who were never able to conceive, fell into a deep depression, ultimately taking their lives. A fine display of magick gone terribly wrong.

There always had to be a new generation of Sisters. Our power would deplete if our numbers got too low. They were too low right now.

It was our destiny. My destiny. One that I refused to accept, regardless of the burning agony deep in my gut that demanded I conceive.

But the child I wanted…the relationship I wanted…was a dream I’d never be allowed to make reality. Playing in the dungeon of the castle was permitted with the supernatural citizens of Sanctuary as long as no penetration was involved. Many of my Sisters enjoyed a little kink—or a lot, especially the ones who were hopelessly childless. Their fascination for play was just a way to distract them from the pain and depression that haunted them every month when their cycle started yet again—reminding them of their barrenness.

But playing was a pastime, not a path to children. We weren’t allowed to have children with a supernatural. It was genetically impossible.

Or so Rose said.

It made logical sense in a way. Most supernatural species could only have children with their species. Though there were a few that could cross the genetic barrier—Lamassu being one—it was not common. At least from what I’d overheard through the years.

I leaned my cheek against Alek’s strong arm. The rise and fall in his voice carried my imagination into the lyrical lines of Shakespeare. Everything fell away. All the worry and concern about tonight. None of it mattered. I wouldn’t be forced to choose a suitor. Not today, perhaps not for many more months. I was only twenty-six, still plenty of childbearing years ahead of me, but the time was coming. I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid making a choice much longer.

A fight I would eventually lose. Depression gripped my soul, and I turned my focus back to the beautiful drama Alek was performing for me. I should be enjoying the moment, not dreading the coming night.

He reached the end of the first act and closed the book.

“I know this is just a story, but have you known anyone who loved the way Shakespeare describes?” I gazed up at him, and he rewarded me with a quick nod. No smile, though. Gods, I wanted a smile. Please. It’d been over a week since I’d coaxed one out of him.

“Miles, Eli, and Diana love with the same fierceness Shakespeare attributes to Antony and Cleopatra. Erick and Bailey. Killían and Eira. Charlie and her two mates, Travis and Garrett. There are many who I’ve met through the millennia who love and have loved in the way the great storyteller describes.”

“Have you?” I asked bravely, wanting desperately to know. A part of me needed to know if he pined for a lost love or if the man was truly oblivious to every signal I’d attempted to hurl in his direction.

“No.”

That’s it? That’s all he was giving me, a flat single-syllabled no? Not that I wasn’t selfishly glad. I wanted his love for myself. I didn’t want to compete with some ethereal memory of a woman who’d left him or died. “So you still have that to look forward to,” I whispered without thinking.

The second the words had tumbled from my lips, terror tightened my lungs and I waited for a response that said I’d gone too far or crossed a line I shouldn’t have.

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