Chapter 17
I trudged back to my office, my mind reeling. My heart pounded, as if I’d run a race, and the last dregs of anger left bitter acid in my veins. I’d loathed Bradley from the moment we’d met, but I’d never imagined doing him actual harm.
Then again, I’d never before been in a position of power over him before. Over anyone. Given the chance, would I become the very thing I hated?
No, of course not. I couldn’t actually carry out the acts I’d fantasized.
Could I?
Maybe Griffin had been right. Maybe the Arcanorum wasn’t good for me.
I’d been walking quickly without paying attention to where my steps took me; when I came around the corner and found Griffin himself standing in front of Miss Parkhurst’s desk, I was even more surprised than I would have been otherwise.
The sight of him stole my breath. The waves of his hair tumbled over his collar, and the cut of his coat showed off his physique to good effect. He hadn’t said anything about coming by, when I’d left him earlier. Actually, he hadn’t said anything more than a mumbled: “Come back to bed.”
The memory made my ears grow hot—along with other parts. The balm of his presence spread over the sandpaper scratches Bradley had left behind, and the knot in my stomach relaxed.
And perhaps Bradley, in his crudeness, had given me an idea. He would in no way approve of my twist on it, which made it all the sweeter.
I tried to keep my expression professional yet friendly, and tamp down on the overly-joyful smile which wanted to burst onto my mouth. “Griffin?”
He turned, and I caught a glimpse of a more intimate grin before his expression settled into something suitable. “Ah, there you are, Whyborne! I was just looking for you.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but you weren’t in your office,” Miss Parkhurst said.
Bradley had said such foul things about her; my blood threatened to boil. I forced a stiff smile onto my face. “No need to apologize. I certainly don’t expect you to keep track should I decide to wander off. Thank you for taking the time to assist Mr. Flaherty.”
She blushed slightly and glanced down. Had she fallen for Griffin’s charms as well? I could hardly blame her. “It’s no trouble, sir.”
Griffin watched me approach, his head cocked slightly to the side, as if he sensed something had unsettled me. “I had hoped you and Dr. Putnam might be free for lunch.”
“Yes. Er, I am. But there’s something I need to show you first.”
I felt certain my face betrayed me, but Griffin only looked curious. “Oh? By all means, then.”
Instead of leading the way down to my office, I chose a more well-lit route, taking stairs to the third floor, then following a labyrinthine series of hallways, until we came upon a seldom-used storeroom. I’d been inside only a time or two myself; it contained mainly fragments of cuneiform tablets too small to piece into a coherent whole.
I ushered Griffin inside. He looked around in polite puzzlement. “What was it you—”
I threw the bolt with a loud click.
Griffin turned to me swiftly. His back was to a desk used to examine the tablets; at the moment, it was free of any clutter. Arching a brow, he settled his hip casually against the desk and crossed his arms. “I see. Want to show me something, do you?”
His lazy grin was out-shone by the hungry gleam in his eye. I crossed the room in two strides and clasped his arms tightly.
“Perhaps,” I murmured, my lips a breath away from his. “Or perhaps you might show me something.”
He kissed me with utter abandon: sucking hard on my lower lip, before plunging his tongue deep. My member swelled in response, pressing against the jut of his hip as I ground against him.
I pulled away long enough to draw my handkerchief from my pocket. Griffin shot me a curious look; I ignored it in favor of spreading the white cloth on the ground, to protect the knees of my trousers.
Suitably arranged, I unfastened his trousers. His breath came short and fast, and his length pressed against his drawers, as if desperate for release.
“What are you going to do to me?” he gasped, his voice ragged with lust.
Surely he had to know. I was on my knees in front of—oh. He knew exactly what I intended. He just wanted to hear me say it.
I could say it, in a dozen different tongues, if he wanted. But yet, simple English seemed the hardest.
“Are you going to suck my cock?” he cajoled. His hips twitched as I pulled him free of his clothing.
I swallowed hard, not sure why the words brought a heat to my face, far beyond the act itself. “I…yes.”
“Say it.”
“I-I want to suck your cock.”
His eyes went heavy-lidded, and he made a soft sound of desperation, thrusting his hips forward. His…cock…jutted out proudly: thick and veined and utterly, utterly delicious.
I wrapped my lips around it with a moan. He tasted divine: salt and musk and a trace of sandalwood soap. I wrapped one hand around the base of his erection and set myself to sucking the rest with gusto, even as I pumped him. My other hand I used to unfasten my trousers and draw out my own aching member.
I pulled back to nibble lightly at the head, before sucking on the slit itself, lapping up the slick fluid with my tongue. His soft moan let me know he liked what I was doing. I tongued harder, was rewarded with a gasp of raw pleasure.
I stroked him with my hand, then fastened it around the base of his cock, pointing it up at his belly to give me access to the underside. The wrinkled skin of his sack was drawn up tight, and I licked lightly at it before taking one side into my mouth. His skin was salty and heavy with his scent.
“Whyborne,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Damn. Feels good.”
I trailed my tongue back up along his shaft, before taking it into my mouth again. He thrust against my face, and I let him. Every moan, every whimper, every movement from him fired my blood and stiffened my own erection. I’d never imagined being this utterly aroused before I met him; now, I couldn’t imagine living without it.
“Yes,” he whispered. His fingers twined through my hair, anchoring my head loosely while he pushed his cock into my mouth. “Yes, please, feels good, don’t stop.”
Hearing him beg, tasting his arousal on my tongue, feeling his thick cock fill my mouth: was there anything better in the world? I whimpered encouragement, tugging frantically on my own member. What would it feel like if he had his mouth on me at the same time…?
It was almost enough to send me over the edge. I clung on, determinedly, sucking harder. Griffin’s rhythm shifted suddenly, and his fingers clenched in my hair.
“Oh God, yes, Ival, please, don’t stop, please…!”
His cock seemed to stiffen and swell further, before he released into my mouth. He tasted bitter and musky and wonderful, and I swallowed, aflame from the idea of taking his spend into me, desperate to have it all. He moaned and twitched as I milked the last drops from his softening organ.
He pulled away, his slit leaving a slick trail across my lips. I arched, tugging hard at myself, and his eyes fastened on my erection, his lips parting hungrily. “Yes,” he whispered huskily. “Yes, do it, now, I want to see…”
I closed my eyes, then forced them open when he whimpered, even as white-hot pleasure gathered at the base of my cock. My sack tightened, and everything clenched, my spine bowing inward as I found release with a final few strokes. White gobs of semen spattered against the floor, and I groaned aloud.
Spent, I slumped momentarily against his legs. His hand slid through my hair, and a soft chuckle escaped him. “You will be the death of me, my dear.”
I wanted to lose myself in drowsy happiness, but his words worried me. “I…I’m sorry.”
He laughed and crouched down, pressing a kiss to my semen-slick lips. “For what? It was not meant as a complaint. I wanted your passion. I still want it. Watching you just now, with your lips swollen and your mouth…God. I have no words. You confound me; you drive me mad, and I cannot get enough.”
What did he mean I confounded him? Perhaps it didn’t matter; enough to know he viewed it as a good thing. “I can’t get enough of you, either,” I confessed.
“Mmm.” He kissed me again, then drew away. “Say you will spend the night again. Or, if it seems unwise, perhaps I can visit you?”
Warmth spread out from my chest, penetrating even to the tips of my fingers and toes. “No one will notice my absence,” I assured him. “I’m yours, as you want me.”
Had my declaration sounded too premature? Too needy?
If so, Griffin didn’t seem to notice. “Excellent,” he said as he began to put himself back into order. “In the meantime, however, there is still the matter of lunch. Are you…up…for it?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve seen to that,” I said, as I climbed to my feet. The handkerchief which had protected my trousers served to clean off any remaining traces of my passion, and I reordered myself smartly.
Griffin’s eyes were dark with desire, the rusty threads turning the green into something warm and welcoming. “I’d say you’ve seen to me,” he murmured, his fingertips ghosting across the front of my trousers. “But never fear, my dear: I fully intend to return the favor.”
~ * ~
Marsh’s was almost deserted when the waiter led us to a secluded booth. I’d caught a glimpse of the cook when we came inside; his hairless head and staring eyes made me uneasy. We were a bit early for the lunch rush, but a group of clerks laughed and talked at a table near the front window, and a man and woman sat in deep discussion at a booth. The woman looked as if she might burst into tears; perhaps her companion had chosen this public location in the hopes she would restrain herself.
Griffin slid into the booth across from Christine and me, just as he had before. To think, when last we’d been here, we hadn’t yet become…whatever we were. Lovers? Partners-in-crime?
We’d waited a few minutes before leaving the storeroom, giving our breathing a chance to even out and our lips to look a bit less freshly-kissed. Or other things, in my case. I blushed at the memory and hid behind the menu, hoping Christine didn’t notice.
She didn’t. “Your expedition,” she said briskly, after we’d given our orders to the waiter. “I assume it turned out satisfactorily?”
I gave her a suspicious glance, but the question seemed innocent.
“Not quite as expected,” Griffin said. “You read about the gas explosion in the papers yesterday?”
“Good gad, you don’t mean to say you were involved?”
“I’m afraid we were.” Our meals came. I had gotten the fish sandwich again, and proceeded to cut it up into neat squares, a practice of which Christine heartily disapproved.
For once, she didn’t accuse me of misunderstanding the entire purpose of a sandwich, being too engrossed in Griffin’s recounting of our evening. Or a heavily-censored version of the evening, anyway, which did not involve anything more improper than blowing up a house full of Guardians.
Once Griffin was finished, I told them what I’d gleaned from Bradley this morning, leaving out the unpleasant details. Christine could probably imagine them easily enough, and I didn’t want Griffin to realize Bradley had inadvertently inspired our time locked in the storeroom together.
Griffin’s expression grew more and more somber as I spoke. When I was done, he let out a long breath, as if he’d been bracing himself against more bad news. “It seems Blackbyrne planned for this.”
“But why didn’t they bring him back to life right away?” Christine asked. “Why wait two hundred years? Surely he would have wished to return sooner.”
“Maybe,” Griffin allowed. “But possibly the person most interested in Blackbyrne’s return was Blackbyrne himself. If you were his second-in-command, say, would you be eager to hand power back over to him? Or would you keep it for yourself?”
“Which doesn’t answer the question: why now?”
“Perhaps he has something the modern-day Brotherhood needs or wants? Sorcerous expertise, maybe?”
“No reason we come up with will be more than speculation,” I pointed out. “We don’t have enough facts to guess what their motive might be.”
“Well, one thing isn’t speculation,” Christine said. “The gala is tomorrow night. We must all be there and on the lookout.”
Griffin nodded. “Indeed. The snow yesterday disrupted my plans, but this afternoon I’ll track down the caterer and pretend to be looking for work. Barring that, most of the guards recently hired probably don’t know one another. If I can put together a convincing uniform—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Christine settled back in her chair, smirking in a way I didn’t like. “As a mere woman, I am expected to have an escort with me. Normally Whyborne accompanies me, but you need an invitation and he doesn’t.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I didn’t have any objections to the idea…well, none I could speak aloud. After all, it would be pure foolishness to be jealous because Griffin could appear on Christine’s arm, but not my own. Still, my jaw ached from clenching my teeth together.
For his part, Griffin seemed pleased. “An excellent suggestion. This way, I won’t have to hide my identity. Most people don’t look beyond a uniform, but posing as a caterer would still have meant some risk.”
The waiter came to clear away our plates. We paid, then departed to stand awkwardly on the sidewalk. “I will see you both later,” Griffin said, with a little bow, as if he and I had made no plans involving his bed.
Perhaps I was getting better at deception, because I managed not to flush too badly as I said my good-byes, and kept from watching his trim form stride away for more than a moment. When I turned back, Christine wore a smirk on her face.
“Well, Whyborne,” she said slyly, “planning on what to wear tomorrow?”
“Don’t be absurd.” I only owned one formal suit, after all.
“I don’t know. I rather think you and I shall have to duel over my escort.”
“Christine!”
She only laughed at me. “Oh, come along, Whyborne, there’s work to do. Like as not we’ll both be stuck at the Ladysmith until dawn, finishing up for the gala.”
~ * ~
Griffin’s scream woke me from a deep sleep.
The sheets tangled around my flailing arms, and my heart raced in my chest. We were under attack, but from where?
The moonlight streaming through the window silhouetted Griffin’s form beside me. He sat upright, arms wrapped around his torso, his head bowed and his shoulders hunched forward. Nothing else stirred in the room, and my heart began to settle again.
“A nightmare?” I asked. It must have been a terrible one, to cause him to cry out.
Griffin didn’t acknowledge me. A low, soft moan stole from his lips: the sound of a wounded animal.
Was he still asleep? “Griffin?” I said, loudly enough to wake him. When he didn’t respond, I lit the night candle with a word.
The soft light bloomed, throwing a golden glow across the rumpled covers and gently highlighting the muscles of Griffin’s torso and back. He shivered in the frigid air, every muscle stiff and tense.
“Griffin?” I hesitantly touched his shoulder. “Can you hear me?”
He whimpered at the brush of my fingertips. “What is it?” His voice was harsh and cracked with horror. “God in heaven, what is it?”
My hands trembled and my stomach clenched. I leaned over, trying to get a glimpse of his expression.
He stared straight ahead, his eyes like glassy orbs, seeing nothing. “His face is gone,” Griffin whispered. “God. Oh God. It’s gone, it’s gone, he doesn’t have a face, I can’t; I can’t; I can’t…”
“Griffin!” I knelt on the bed in front of him, clasping both his arms in an attempt to force him to look at me. “It’s not real! It’s just a dream.”
He blinked slowly, but still didn’t seem to actually see me. “It isn’t real?”
“No. You’re here, old fellow, in your own bed, safe and sound.”
Griffin swallowed convulsively. “Please don’t make me go back to the madhouse.”