Page 72 of Griffin Undone
“The females Maddox turns over to Anigma headquarters are shipped to a central location. He keeps as many as he ships. Though the Anigma soldier has never seen the females Maddox holds, he knows Maddox is training the psychs as weapons. Somehow the Anigma have identified females who carry Archai genes, are triggering them and using them to build an army. That army could only serve one purpose.” War.
And that war would bring the Anigma full force into our territory if Arik’s suggestion of a coup attempt was correct. My people barely stood a chance against Maddox; what chance did we have if we were forced to fight on two fronts?
“No!” Solomon leaned forward, a cobra draining the will of his prey with mesmerizing eyes. “Look at you! Look at what you have already become, what you’ve done, all for a war. You think I do not know what war is? That I have not lived it? I have—a thousand years ago, and every night since in my dreams.” He brought a white-knuckled fist up to pound his chest, the curved talons of his nails ripping the delicate silk of his royal robe. “I know! The Great War decimated us, not just our people but our souls. Our homes were destroyed. Our people were split in two. We cannot bear the cost of another devastating blow.”
“And what of the cost to others?” I let my voice rise with my blooming rage. “What of the women, the dead? We have been told our entire lives that the Anigma were scattered to the four winds, no longer a concern. What of our people who travel in this world without warning that evil is not only present but organized, a formidable force? Will we do nothing? Will we not uphold the honor for which we were born, to stand against the Anigma at all costs,allcosts, that our people would live in peace?”
“We have peace.”
“For how long?” I shouted. “We cannot simply bury our heads and hope this blows over. That is cowardice, and the only thing it will gain us is more death.”
Solomon roared, rage setting his phoenix eyes ablaze, but it was the fear lurking in their depths that told the true story. The king had lived through the first war between the Archai and Anigma, had seen things I was certain I never wanted to see, had probably done things far worse than I had tonight in the name of keeping our people safe. War brought death and destruction. I knew that. But the cost was no excuse for running away.
Thomas’s face rose in my thoughts, his final meeting of my eyes. The young warrior would have paid the price of his life all over again to protect our people. I would also pay the price. So would my council. My race was worth it.
And so I stood strong, unwavering in the face of my father’s fury. The time for argument, for sneaking around was at an end. It was time to bring this fight to our people, with or without my king’s permission.
Solomon went silent, staring into my eyes. His fear increased, the stink of it coating my sinuses. The knowledge of his own weakness fed the king’s anger. He drew on his animal, his deep red wings flashing out in a blatant display of power. Still I remained unmoved. Unbending.
“I command you to silence,” the king roared. “Defy me, and you will suffer banishment from all Archai clans.”
Banishment. Every shifter’s greatest fear. Living forever alone was a far worse fate than beheading—our animals demanded community, thrived on the protection of the weak and the strength in numbers. I had served our people for nearly a thousand years, and my father would throw it all away to preserve a dying vision of a dying world. Pain seared my soul, pain I locked carefully away as I faced Solomon unflinchingly, defiance quivering through the heavy dread weighing down my body.
And spoke two simple words: “Try it.”
Lightning flashed in the eyes that were twin to my own. Solomon turned his back on his only son and stalked away, spine rigid, refusing to give even an inch. But as he passed into the entry that would take him to his throne room, I watched his shoulders fall, his body bow, and knew in that moment that I had lost my father forever.
ChapterThirty-One
Kat
Packing took no more than half an hour. A duffel in the bathroom closet, probably the one Arik had used to bring supplies here for me, held a couple changes of clothes and a few toiletries, nowhere near enough to fill it. The hollow weight jostled as I slung it over my shoulder. So little evidence of my current existence. Like my joy, it had been short-lived, leaving both my heart and the bag doubly empty now, and yet its slight burden dragged at my shoulder, mocking me, filling my head with questions it was better not to ask.
But at least I wouldn’t be empty-handed. Where I was going, I had no idea, and in the hours that passed while I waited for noon to come, no clear plan appeared in my brain, only questions. Worries. The occasional painful snippet of memory, though those were easier to handle than the good memories, the ones that urged me to give up, give in.
No. I couldn’t give in. Because if I laid down my resolve now, even for a few minutes, I’d never have the strength to pick it back up.
In the group home where I grew up, money was used for food and occasionally clothes, not new toys. Most of what we’d had to play with was from the 1970s, including a banged-up set of Weebles.“Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.”The housemother had repeated that jingle more than once. Right now I felt as battered as those old Weebles, but I knew myself, knew what I had to do. And so I took up the mantra, chanting it with every slow pass of the second hand on the clock:Get up. Keep going. Don’t stop.
Those Weebles had nothing on me.
I prayed Arik would be sleeping as I sneaked into the living room. Fear beat against my rib cage like a drum, and I struggled to draw a deep breath, but determination forced one foot in front of the other until I reached the door. That massive steel door that I’d never used on my own. Why did that scare me now? Or was my reluctance more to do with the male who lived behind this door than what waited on the other side?
It didn’t matter. Only one thing did: it was time to go.
I gripped the knob, the lifeline to my escape.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind me.
Oh God, I was going to faint. The roaring in my ears and the black spots dancing in front of my eyes confirmed it. Forget walking out—I didn’t have the strength to open the door, much less escape. Terror had stolen it all.
Keep going. Don’t stop.
Fear would never rule my life again. I gripped the knob harder, twisted.
“Kat.”
My name was more bark than language. Dog, not kitty cat. For a second the insane urge to laugh rose to choke me.
