Christmas Griffin - Zoe Chant Page 0,43

its wings in surprise. Delphine squeaked and tightened her grip on his feathers.

“What is it?” she asked as he hovered in place.

He didn’t know. Even if he could talk to her, he wouldn’t have anything to say.

Hardwick reached for the glowing mate bond, trying again to send something, anything through it. Reassurance? Calm? Again, the light slipped through his fingers.

*!!!*

It wasn’t a noise. It felt like telepathy, except it wasn’t words. Hardwick banked his wings, coasting over the snow-covered tips of the trees as his griffin raked the landscape for any sign of what could have made the not-sound.

They were still out of sight of the town and the lodge. The mountain landscape here looked untouched: smooth snow lay like a comforter over dark tumbles of rock and sky-piercing pine trees. Hardwick knew better than to believe that. Hell, the town was called Pine Valley. It had probably been a forestry outpost before the local industry had switched over to tourism. Mining, too, maybe. That picture-perfect snow probably hid abandoned mineshafts, rusted tools—any number of dangers.

A ridge pushed up towards the sky ahead of them. The lodge should be visible from the other side; he could see the cut in the trees where the road wove its way to the lowest part of it, a gentle dip that didn’t deserve the name ‘saddle.’ Careful to keep far enough from the road that no one driving on it could see him, Hardwick swooped around, preparing to climb over the—

*Fire! Come on, flames! Go!*

He would have liked to say he was prepared that time. Instead, his griffin almost jumped out of the air.

“Hardwick!” Delphine yelped. She boosted herself closer to his head, arms wrapped around his neck. “Is everything all right?”

Hardwick swung his head from side to side, searching. He still couldn’t see anything, but he could definitely hear it.

Someone was out there. Some... kid?

The voice didn’t sound like an adult. Hardwick frowned. He looked for a clear patch of rock and landed.

Delphine slipped from his back. “What’s the matter? The Heartwells should be just over that ridge.”

He waved one wing at her and concentrated on shifting. She turned away as he transformed—then turned back, hesitantly. Her cheeks were already red from the cold, but he imagined they would have gotten red then, anyway.

“About that whole shifting-with-your-clothes thing—” she began.

He cocked one eyebrow at her. “You’re not enjoying the view?”

She didn’t need to answer; the sparkle in her eye and the tilt of her chin as she made a show of looking away were answer enough. Then she went serious. “I told you my family take that sort of thing seriously. I still think we should do whatever we can to not force a meeting, but…” She sighed and shook her head.

She’s ashamed of me. The thought had legs.

Delphine wrapped her arms around herself. “Don’t get me wrong. No one would say anything to your face. But they’d say it in a way that hurt.” She stretched out one hand to brush against his forehead.

She wasn’t ashamed of him. She was concerned.

“Emotionally or because of my power?”

“A true Belgrave would never limit themselves to just one,” she replied acerbically.

“Sounds like a lot of chest-thumping bullshit.” He pulled on his pants and jacket.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Belgraves would never be so crass as to thump their chests.”

Hardwick finished fastening his jacket and turned to her. “Delphine, you know I don’t care what other people think of me, right?”

She bit her lip and looked away.

Right. She cared.

Hardwick pushed away a sudden prickle of unease. Was she ashamed of him? Was she—no. He shook his head.

“I landed because I thought I heard something.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Telepathically.”

Delphine almost managed to hide her wince. “Oh.”

He wrapped one arm around her. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “I just... need to get my head back in the game. I can’t slip up like that once I’m back around my family.”

Hardwick kissed her gently on the top of her head, frowning. He’d hoped, after last night, that she would start to rethink the need to lie to her people. Apparently not.

“Anyway. What did you hear?”

“At first, it sounded like...” He gestured, trying to put words to it. “Not words. More like when you hear something loud, and it echoes in your ears. But just the echo, not the noise.”

“Like someone screaming?”

“I don’t know. And then—”

*Screw you, snow! Screw you, stupid mountain! Stupid Christmas! Stupid flames!*

“—Sounds like a kid,” he said, and told