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The Griffin's Hearts
Forest Edge #5

Alexis Woods

Woods End Publishing

 Copyright © 2023 Alexis Woods

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not
intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: Covers by Jo

 Contents

Title Page
Copyright
The Griffin’s Hearts
The Characters of Forest Edge
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Interested in reading more of my stories?
Thank You!
Additional Titles
About The Author
Where to Find Alexis
 The Griffin’s Hearts

Held in captivity for six months gives Rox Gryf more than enough time to speculate on how he
ended up in the hands of the Smoking Raptors. When he’s unexpectedly saved by Aspen and Apollo,
his world again flips on its end. The bear and hawk shifters are his mates, and while he’d love
nothing more than to hide and heal within his mates’ loving embraces, moving on from the horror is
hard. When the king of his pride pushes him to return home, one thing becomes certain: he’ll have to
come face to face with the man who put him in harm’s way.

The Griffin’s Hearts is the fifth novel in the Forest Edge Series.
 The Characters of Forest Edge

Hand in Hand

Ryan Crane - half crane shifter, middle, mated to Daddy Eli and Daddy Jon
Eli Renard - Alpha of Forest Edge, fox shifter, Daddy, mated to Jon and Ryan
Jon - coyote shifter, mated to Eli and Ryan
Mr. Charles - mythical shifter, owner/teacher of Scion House
Luis Redtail - fox shifter, Daddy, mated to Marco, Beta to Eli
Marco - human, middle, mated to Daddy Luis
Amy - fox shifter, gatekeeper of Forest Edge
Miss Jen - fox shifter, housekeeper/cook for Alpha Eli and Luis
Rachel - fox shifter, employed at Sly Fox, the town coffee cafe
Payton - fox shifter, Alpha in charge of the three local skulk communities

Side by Side

Dylan Crane - crane shifter, middle, mated to Daddy Christian and Brian
Christian - fox shifter, Daddy, mated to Dylan and Brian
Brian - fox shifter, service submissive, mated to Daddy Christian and Dylan

Face to Face

Jack Tillkit - fox shifter, little, mated to Daddy Kev and Sir, “Jackey”
Kev Bjorn - brown bear shifter, Daddy, mated to Jack and Storm, head of Forest Edge’s security
Storm Lasika - wolverine shifter, Sir, mated to Kev and Jack
Hayden Baerin - wolverine shifter, mated to Payton
Aspen Ursabern - grizzly bear shifter, mated to Apollo, Forest Edge security
Apollo Leeland - hawk shifter, mated to Aspen, Forest Edge security
Kelsey Renard - hawk shifter, Eli’s nephew who was adopted by his sister
Sage Rosomak and his sons: Saxe, Smokey, Dusty, Rocket - wolverine shifters

The Phoenix’s Hearts

 Charles - phoenix shifter, Daddy Nix, owns and runs Scion House
Steel - stallion shifter, little, Flint’s younger brother, Forest Edge security
Flint - stallion shifter, brat, Steel’s older brother, Forest Edge security
Rory Gryf and his mate, Gregor - griffin shifters who help in the rescue of Steel and Flint’s niece
and nephew and in the process also rescue Rory’s brother, Rox.
 Chapter 1
Rox
He couldn’t stop crying.
Fuck. Fuck. Damn it all to Hell. He pounded the floor. Banged his fists against the walls.
Gripped the sweatpants they’d given him, nearly ripping the fabric. Hated it. Hated being a fucking
mess. To Hell with this fucking hotel room that didn’t care one iota. Walls and rugs didn’t fight back.
They didn’t hurt. Gods damn it.
Rox put his shoulder against the wall in the far corner of the room, barely glancing at the two men
who huddled nearby. The grizzly shifter had his arms around the hawk shifter. Aww… Boo hoo. Woe
is me. Ugh. Disgusting. He could smell their sadness like a damp, musty sock. Stupid. What’d they
have to be sad about? They should be angry. Like him. Hell yeah, he was mad. A freaking angry
motherfucker who’d rip the shit out of anyone who touched him.
Fat lot of good his anger did him in that tiny shoebox of a room. Kept those asshole Smoking
Raptors out, at least. Rox glared at the pristine white ceiling above him. Better than that stained
popcorn one at the clubhouse. Dark paneled walls, a tiny barred window, and the ugly rippled ceiling
that had been his life for the last… Rox swiped at his wet cheeks. “How…” He cleared his throat, but
the words still came out raspy. “How long?”
Bear lifted his head, his brown-eyed gaze sharp as he tucked the much smaller hawk shifter
beneath his bearded chin. “What?”
Rox sat up and slammed the wall with the flat of his hand. “How long was I in that gods-damn
miserable place?”
Bear swallowed and hugged the teary-eyed hawk tighter when he whined. “Rory said you’ve been
gone for nearly six months. He’s been searching for you.”
“Rory…” Rox blinked. “My brother’s… here?”
“Yes. He’s here with his mate, Gregor.”
Mated. His brother had met his mate, and Rox hadn’t been there to celebrate with him. A fresh
wave of anger suffused him, and he screeched his hatred, his outrage, his longing.
Hawk pressed his hands over his ears, glaring at him with those dark orbs and pinched features.
“Stop it,” he cried. “Stop it.”
Pounding on the door and hearing his name shouted cut Rox’s rebuttal short.
“Rox! It’s okay. It’s me. Rory. Aspen, open the door. Please.”
Rory. Oh, gods. Rory. Since neither the bear nor the hawk moved toward the door, Rox scrambled
upright, kneeling and trying to stand, and nearly falling on his face in his haste. His legs didn’t want to
work. He’d been in his griffin form for too long. Fuck it. He crawled.
Before he made it halfway, the stoic bear finally put aside the sniffling hawk and crossed the
room. “I’ll get it.” He waved Rox back.
Rox crawled to the closest chair and knelt tall on his knees. Rory barrelled into the room, wide-
eyed and panting. Relief flooded Rox upon seeing a familiar face. His brother fell to the floor beside
him and hugged him.
“Rox, thank the gods. I’m so glad we found you. I missed you so much. Everyone misses you.”
The embrace went on long enough and hard enough that Rox thought he might have to push him
away so he could breathe, but Rory’s rambling soothed his inner turmoil. He held Rory as tight as he
could, letting his brother weep on his shoulder. Fuck this shit. He tucked his nose into Rory’s neck
and inhaled his brother’s changed yet familiar scent as another wave of tears trickled down his
cheeks. “You don’t smell like you anymore.”
“I know,” Rory cried. “It’s his fault.” He glared at the griffin standing over them.
The griffin stroked Rory’s messy blond hair and wiped away a stray tear from his cheek. “Hey,”
he said quietly, “I’m Gregor, Rory’s mate. Your brother and I met a few months ago when he was
looking for you, and I’ve been helping.”
Rox nodded, sniffling away the emotional mess he’d become. “Thanks.” There was more he
should say, but Rory grabbed him again, even tighter, and Rox lost what little semblance of
composure he’d gathered.
“Why don’t you sit on the bed?” the bear shifter suggested, fingertips lightly grazing Rox’s
shoulder, surprising him.
Rox jerked away from the stranger’s touch and roared, “Don’t fucking touch me!” He made like a
ball and curled into Rory’s lap, muttering, “Don’t touch me. Don’t let him touch me.”
“Hey, hey.” Rory rubbed Rox’s back. His fingers scooted beneath the too-big T-shirt Rox wore,
providing him with much-needed skin-to-skin contact. “I got you. You’re safe with me and Gregor,
and you’re safe with Aspen and Apollo.”
“Who?” Rox whimpered, speaking to Rory’s legs while his heart chugged along like a freaking
freight train going one hundred miles per hour.
“The big guy, grizzly bear, that’s Aspen. The hawk shifter is Apollo. They helped rescue you.”
Okay, okay. That made sense…
The Raptors were riding some weird high, talking about paintball and guns and some stallions
who challenged them to a match. They’d tossed a few plain rolls onto the floor of his room and
plunked down a bucket of water before relocking the door to his perpetual prison.
“When are we getting rid of that thing? It stinks,” one of the gang members complained as he
walked away.
Of course, Rox did. Wasn’t like they took him to the bathroom with any regularity. Nope. They’d
just cut a hole in the wall by the floor and occasionally brought in a hose to clean both him and
the room. Then he’d be uncomfortably damp until he dried out. Lack of proper nutrition kept him
weak, and he wilted, thinking how far past good he was. His poor fur and feathers.
When the competition started, he lifted onto his back legs and tried to see out the window. The
bright overhead lamps illuminated the field below, but all he could see of it was the top of the
wooden and tire structures, the forest in the distance, and the inky sky in between.
Rox settled on the floor, laying his head on his paws to conserve his strength. At least with the
Raptors occupied, they’d leave him alone for a while. He rested as best he could, dozing lightly
until the little boy shouted for his uncle and the little girl cried.
Uncle? He rose up on his hind legs again and peered out the window. Rox strained his ears and
eyes out past the booby-trapped field to the forest beyond. The birds guarding the woods cawed
raucously and squawked, swooping to both fight and defend against… What’s that?
A reddish-gold something glowed on the horizon. It flew circles around the shifted Raptors—a
variety of birds of prey from what he could tell—disrupting their flight, and Holy cow! A ball of
flame erupted from the flying thing. It flew closer and closer, sweeping across the paintball field.
Sweet gods, it was a phoenix. A fucking, gods-blessed phoenix was screwing with his captors.
Rox inhaled, filtered out the putrid odors of piss and shit and the unwashed stench of the
motorcycle gang—not much difference there—pushed aside the ponyish scents of the children, and
deciphered the potent scents of adult horse shifters. There were others too: several foxes, an
unknown griffin, a bear. The door burst open, showcasing a crouching, naked hawk shifter whose
steely gaze swept the room.
He spun on the hawk, shrieking his defiance. The hawk ignored him, and finding no one to
fight, he relaxed and straightened.
“Grab him and let’s go, Apollo,” another called from down the hall.
The hawk shook his head. “Can’t.”
A bear of a man—scratch that, an actual bear shifter—filled the doorway behind the hawk. The
much larger bear rested a hand on the tinier hawk’s shoulder as he peered in at Rox. “Damn. Okay.
Griffin, we’re here to rescue you and the kiddos. You’re too big to fit through the doorway, so
you’re going to have to shift.”
Rox snapped his beak at Bear. They smelled… safe, felt safe—well, a heck of a lot safer than
the Raptors—but he didn’t know who they were. Could be a case of out of the pan and into the fire.
“Look, I know you don’t know who we are, but we’re here with Rory, and I’d really like to get
you out of this stinking hellhole so we can raze it to the ground.”
Rory’s here? How? Rox stared at Bear, gauging his sincerity. He couldn’t smell any deceit from
Bear, but it was hard to smell anything in the odoriferous room.
“There are police officers outside if you want me to get them.”
Fuck no. What the hell were human men gonna do? Better he go with shifters, even better that
they knew Rory. Rox laid down and tucked his head to his tail, thinking of his arms and legs,
fingers and toes, hair on his head, a nose on his face. He shuddered as he shrunk from his nearly
three yards of menacing beast to a sandy-haired, twenty-two-year-old. Gone were the feathers, the
fur, the tail. He shivered at the loss of their protection from the elements.
“Can you walk?”
Rox planted his palms on the floor and pushed, tucking his feet under him. He made it halfway
before collapsing with a cry of pain and annoyance. Hawk gasped and raced to catch him, but Rox
thrust out his arm. “Don’t touch me.”
Hawk stumbled backward, colliding with the wall, tucking his hands behind him as he slid
down into a crouch. Rox noticed the single tear drop from Hawk’s squeezed-shut eyes before the
shifter wiped it away with his shoulder-sleeve. What the hell does he have to be sad about? I’m the
one who can’t fucking move at the moment.
Bear approached slowly, hands out and open, giving Rox the opportunity to see the shifter in
his birthday suit, complete with a furred chest, thick thighs, and an impressive package that was
sure to be a delightful gift to his significant other. “We won’t hurt you.” He knelt next to Rox but
gazed at Hawk. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“Yeah… yeah. Just give me a sec?” Hawk pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and
gradually rose, scrubbing at his face. “He surprised me.”
“Surprise, my ass. You scared him; he scared you.”
Hawk wobbled his head. “Maybe. You want me to bring the truck around?”
“Good idea. I’ll get our griffin moving.”
Hawk hurried off, pale ass flashing them, leaving him alone with Bear, but that strange feeling
of safety returned. He wished he could smell something more but his nostrils were filled with gunk
and the stink of the room. Bear slowly and carefully touched him, offered quiet platitudes,
explained about the hotel where they’d be taking him. Where he’d see Rory again.
Yeah, they’d rescued him. He shifted and willingly went with them because they offered freedom.
Bear had to carry him to the car—not that it was a hardship for the muscle-bound hunk—then sat with
him in the backseat while Hawk drove. He sent the hawk shifter to start the water in the tub and after
a few minutes, Bear had again carried him into the hotel room and then laid Rox in the tub, filled with
warm water, but when he shut the bathroom door, Rox went ballistic.
“Keep it open! Keep it open!” He’d screamed himself hoarse, not that he had much of a voice
after spending all that time in his griffin form. Shaken by his outburst, Bear had quickly opened
the door and waited until Rox had calmed down before leaving. He tried to hear what Bear and
Hawk were talking about, but the water was warm, and his muscles felt like they were finally
unclenching. He stretched out his legs and tipped his head back against the wall, falling asleep for
who knows how long until Hawk was shaking his shoulder to wake him.
Rox screeched at Hawk, who backpedaled right out of the bathroom. Hawk stared at Rox from
the doorway, his dark eyes glassy, tears streaming down his face as he muttered apologies. Again,
it was Bear who calmed Rox down, getting him out of the tub and into clean clothes, tucking him
into one bed before curling up with Hawk on the other.
Bear soothed Hawk with pleasant crooning and told him ‘it would be okay.’ ‘It would just take
time.’ ‘He’ll come around.’
Who? Rox wondered. Who’d come around? Me?
He watched as the light brown-skinned Hawk nuzzled beneath Bear’s bearded chin. There was
a touch of grey at Hawk’s temples compared to the rich, dark brown hair of the bear shifter. Bear’s
large arms and broad chest looked inviting, and he kinda wanted to be in Hawk’s place, accepting
comfort and the strokes of those caring paws down his back. But who’d ever want him now? He
was fucking broken. Tears of defeat and anger blurred his vision. His fury escaped in beating his
fists against the too gods-damn soft mattress. Hawk approached, slower this time, and again tried
to comfort him, but Rox twisted away. He fell off the bed and crawled into the corner, as far away
from the shifters as he could get.
Why was he in this room again? With them? Rory was here. And Rory’s mate. Gregor. Another
griffin, especially an older griffin… Shouldn’t he be staying in their room rather than with a caring,
yet stoic bear and a weepy hawk?
Rox hugged Rory’s legs. “Can you get me out of here? I don’t want to be in this room. I don’t
know these shifters.”
“Rox, they’re your mates. Don’t you want to stay with them?”
 Chapter 2
Rox
Rox snapped upright and stared at Rory, searching his face as he sniffed the air for lies. “They’re
my what?”
“Your…” Rory glared at Bear. “You didn’t tell him?”
Bear shook his head and looked away. “It’s been… Haven’t had…” He kept cutting himself off.
Why? Bear’s glance at Hawk gave Rox his answer.
“It’s my fault,” Rox said sort of monotone. Gods, his emotions were all over the place, flitting
between elation at finally having his freedom and that his brother was here, to anger that he’d been
gone so long and held captive by the Smoking Raptors. And then there was bewilderment because…
by the gods… mates?
“The hell it is,” Rory stormed. “Had they told you, you wouldn’t have felt like you weren’t safe.
Apollo wouldn’t be over there feeling miserable, and Aspen could be doing the whole Daddy Bear
thing I can tell he’s dying to do.”
The hawk shifter, Apollo, sniffled and swiped under his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Rejection sucks donkey balls.”
“What are you saying? My brother’s rejected you?”
“Well, he won’t let me touch him, so yeah.”
That just made Rox mad. He glared at Apollo. The hawk could just go fly to the Moon for all he
cared at the moment. “Well, fuck you. After being locked up for six months, I don’t know who the hell
I can trust, and you keep touching me without asking.”
Bear—Aspen—sighed as he side-eyed Apollo. “You didn’t listen to me.”
Apollo shook his head, a few lines of silver in his hair glinting in the overhead light, his cheek
flushing brightly.
“Might I suggest​ ​you get your butts over here and introduce yourselves properly?” Rory
demandingly requested. Rox chuckled at Rory’s fierceness. He’d never seen this side of his brother,
and he liked it. Being mated suited Rory well.
Aspen pulled Apollo off the bed. They stood for a moment, side by side, allowing Rox to notice
how the tiny bird shifter only came up to the bear’s shoulder. Aspen knelt near Rox, dragging the
shorter man down beside him. Slowly, he extended his hand to Rox. “Hi. I’m Aspen, grizzly bear
shifter, and your mate. This is Apollo, a hawk shifter, also your mate.”
Rox ignored Aspen’s outstretched hand as he stared at first Aspen and then Apollo. This made no
sense. He shook his head, trying to figure out how it—they—would work. Griffins didn’t mate outside
their species, and they certainly didn’t… “Griffins don’t mate in triads.”
Aspen sighed as he dropped his hand to his lap. “Bears do, hawks don’t, and foxes don’t either,
yet several of our fox friends are all in fated triads. It seems to be a thing.”
“A thing?”
Aspen shrugged. “Lately, everyone we know has been finding their mates in groups of three. It’s
always been normal for us bears, though we usually don’t discover our mates are other shifter
species. Our friend, Kev, a brown bear shifter, is mated to a fox and a wolverine, and here I am, with
a hawk and a griffin.”
Rox studied Aspen while he spoke, checking his body language and scenting for any hints of
dishonesty. “You’re telling me the truth.”
Apollo reared back. “Of course he is. Why would we lie?”
“I don’t know.” Rox peered at the two men. “I don’t know, but other than a feeling of incredible
safety with Aspen, I don’t feel like you’re…” He meant to finish with “my mates,” but he could
already see the crushing defeat on Apollo’s face.
The hawk shifter paled and sank to his ass, gripping Aspen’s arm for support. “Say it,” Apollo
spat. “Just fucking say you don’t feel it. Gods. I need to get out of here.” He leapt to his feet and was
out the door before anyone could stop him.
A slew of profanity spilled from Aspen as he slowly stood, staring at his mate as Apollo threw
off his clothes. The only illumination on his ripcord body was the light spilling from their room.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Rory lightly punched Rox’s arm. “They’re your mates.”
Rox plopped to his ass and eyed Aspen standing in the open doorway, clutching Apollo’s
discarded clothing. The bear shifter’s gaze was riveted skyward, likely watching his hawk mate fly
about. Jealousy slammed into his chest like a ton of bricks. He missed flying. Stuck in that cramped,
smelly room where he had barely enough room to lift his wings off his back. He peered at his thin
wrists and doubted he could even leave the ground with the malnourished state of his body. Damn, he
was so hungry, he figured he could eat a whole cow and still want more. Like clockwork, thinking
about food made his stomach growl.
Aspen spun around. “Sweet Ursa, I’m sorry.” He crossed to the mini-fridge and pulled out a
couple of sandwiches. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so there’s a variety here.” He laid them on the
small table, plucked Rox from the ground, and placed him in the chair. “Apple or orange juice?”
Rox stared at Aspen and almost laughed. Rory hadn’t been kidding when he mentioned Aspen
being a Daddy Bear. “Apple,” he said with a tiny smile. Aspen grinned back, touched Rox’s cheek,
then hurried to the fridge. When he returned to the table, Aspen shot Gregor a glare and gave him a
head jerk.
Gregor chuckled as he peeled Rory off the floor. “Come on, mate. Let’s get some rest. We’ll see
Rox once we’ve all gotten some sleep.” To Aspen, he said, “I’ll tell reception that we’ll be staying
another night, though the others are leaving in the morning.”
Rory gave Rox another hug while Aspen thanked Gregor. “We’ll be right down the hall. Room
206. Okay?”
Rox shrugged. “I guess so.”
Rory palmed Rox’s upper back. “Give them a chance. Please. They’re good men. You can trust
them.”
“If you say so,” Rox replied, not entirely trusting his brother’s opinion at the moment. Not trusting
anyone’s opinion, including his own…
“Yeah, I say so.” Rory squeezed Rox’s shoulder. “Love you, big brother. I’m really glad to have
you back.”
Rox covered Rory’s hand. “Same.”
After giving him one more pat, Rory let Gregor take him from the room. They left the door open
and, when a meep drew Rory’s gaze, he saw Hawk perched on the railing.
“If you’re done pouting, come inside,” Aspen called to Hawk.
Hawk bobbed, hopped to the floor, and waddled inside. He used his beak and body to close the
door. Rox shuddered as the lock engaged with a loud snick.
“It only locks on the outside.”
Rox deflated. Right. Right. It’s a hotel room. Stop being stupid, Rox.
 “Stop beating yourself up,” Aspen admonished, somehow hearing Rox’s inner dialogue and
anxiety-ridden body language. “Your apprehension over locked doors is understandable. Now, how
about you pick out a sandwich, then Apollo and I can decide on what’s left?”
Rox read the descriptions, snatching up the roast beef as soon as he saw it.
Apollo, back in his human shape and dressed in sweats and a tight tee that showed off his toned
arms and trim waist, dropped an open bag of chips on the table before backing away. “Subs are
always better with chips.”
Rox nodded, his mouth already full of rare roast beef and swiss cheese. He snagged a handful and
put them on the paper wrapper the deli had wrapped the sandwich in. He took careful glances at
Aspen and Apollo as he ate, noting how the hawk shifter had pushed his chair as close to the bear as
he could. When their elbows rubbed, Aspen winked at Apollo, an easy smile on his lips. After one
not-so-subtle brush, Aspen dropped his sub and hauled Apollo into a lingering kiss.
Of course, Rox stared. Damn. They’re hot together. An unfamiliar clench in his chest tightened
his belly. What the hell do they need me for? I’m nothing. A third wheel.
With one last peck on Apollo’s lips, Aspen let his mate go. Apollo’s gaze remained on Aspen
until Rox cleared his throat. Dual piercing stares landed on him. “You know, if you two wanna… I
can go stay with Rory.”
“You’ll stay here,” Apollo said, stalling whatever Aspen had been about to say. “I’ll go if you
need me to, but I don’t…” He glanced toward the door and then the bed before saying. “I want to stay,
too, and get to know you, and… I should apologize. You did nothing wrong, so why would you go? It
was me. I did all the wrong things.”
Aspen picked up and kissed Apollo’s fingertips before laying their joined hands on his thigh.
“Nobody did anything wrong. It’s a complicated situation. As a dominant bear—and with my innate
caring nature—it’s intuitive for me to slow down and ensure everyone is safe, calm, and happy.
Hawks are more impulsive.”
“True.” Apollo sighed dramatically, then winked at Rox. “We ​jump first and think later.”
Aspen chuckled. “Like the first time we met.”
 Chapter 3
Aspen
Aspen caught Rox’s interested gaze, his mate’s amber eyes inviting him to spill all his secrets. He
paused, concerned that what he was going to say might upset the young griffin, but then he felt it was
better to just rip off that bandage in one go. “It was two years ago. I’d been traveling from town to
town, picking up odd jobs here and there. Mostly security work. Alpha Payton, he’s the Skulk Alpha,
saw me in town and asked me to interview with Alpha Eli, the alpha of Forest Edge. I should note
that both of them helped rescue you and the ponies, but the interview happened after the Smoking
Raptors rode into town—yes, the same ones who kidnapped you. They attacked Woodcrest, the town
center of the skulk. Afterward, I guess, they wanted to beef up security.” He flexed his biceps and
wiggled his eyebrows.
Apollo sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes at Aspen’s ridiculous posture. Rox stared at him,
bemused but silent as he continued to eat. Aspen smiled at Rox… That his mate was eating what he
provided filled a crucial hole in Aspen’s psyche.
“Anyway…” he drawled when his theatrics didn’t pan out, “I was on my motorcycle—I thought I
was badass back then—following along behind Alpha Payton when we stopped at the main gate.
Suddenly, this cute, tiny security guard freezes, runs straight at me and throws himself into my arms.
Gods, I thought he was scared or something until he nuzzled under my chin, and I got a good whiff of
his scent. It was all over from there. Apollo and I mated that night and moved in together the next
day.”
Rox’s gaze flitted between Aspen and Apollo. Finally, he put down his food and leaned back in
his chair. “So you’re fated mates?”
Aspen nodded, eager to hear that Rox would be thrilled to join them.
“And you think I’m also yours?”
Bewildered, Aspen nodded, his brow furrowing. That had not been what he’d been expecting Rox
to say. His pulse kicked up a notch. “I’m confused. Rory said he and Gregor were fated mates, and
that he knew right away. Your scent calls to both of us. Doesn’t ours call to you?”
“If you were a griffin, sure, but you’re not. It’ll be more instinctual, or, at least, that’s what I was
told. We didn’t have many non-griffin shifters in our pride.” Rox scoffed. “Make that none.”
Wait… What? He doesn’t think he’s our mate? Aspen gaped at Rox.
“What do you mean by instinctual?” Apollo asked as Aspen sat silently, dumbfounded. His little
hawk squeezed his arm, bringing Aspen back from the daze he’d fallen into.
Rox shrugged, dropping his gaze to the remains of his sub. “I guess we just know.”
Aspen pushed aside his meal and laid his hand on the table, palm up and open. He had to prove to
Rox that they were mates. He wasn’t sure this would work, but he had to try. When Rox didn’t accept,
Aspen wiggled his fingers. “Please, take my hand.”
Slowly, Rox reached across the table and placed his fingertips on Aspen’s palm. Aspen’s heart
filled to overflowing at the simple test of trust, though he wished he could tell what Rox was thinking
other than what he broadcast with his body language and scent. When Apollo also added a few
fingers, Aspen grinned. “Rox, will you allow Apollo and me to court you?”
Rox laughed. Sweet Ursa, what a nice sound. Aspen wanted to hear it every day, several times a
day. Rox’s hand slid more fully across Aspen’s palm, touching Apollo until the two twisted their
fingers together.
Carefully, Aspen closed his hand around the intertwined digits of his mates, loving the emotional
satisfaction wafting from Apollo. Rox’s refusal to allow Apollo close had devastated his poor boy.
He wallowed for a long moment in the simple joy of their touch.
Rox’s laugh took a cynical turn. “Are you kidding me?” His scent soured as he jerked his hand
away. “No, I can’t let you. I’m a fucking mess. Why the hell would you wanna court me? Dude, while
you might believe I’m your mate, and, hey, I’m not denying what you’re saying, but I’ve been rotting in
that fucking room for months. Imma gonna need some space.” He dashed at his eyes as he stood and
hurried into the bathroom. The door shut, but not quite all the way, allowing Aspen and Apollo to hear
their mate’s gruff curse before he started crying again.
Apollo nudged him. “You should go. He feels more comfortable with you.”
“Maybe that’s the one reason I shouldn’t.” Aspen shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes as he​
propped his elbows on the table. He dragged his fingers down his face, contorting his features into the
grotesque shape he currently felt like.
His mate rubbed across his shoulder blades, giving Aspen some measure of comfort. “I think he
feels safe or, well, safe enough. He didn’t leave the room when he could have.”
“True.” Aspen gazed bleary-eyed at his mate. Seeing Apollo’s mussed hair, Aspen ran his fingers
over the disheveled locks. Apollo usually kept his light brown hair cut short, almost a military high
and tight, with just the tiniest bit of peach fuzz on the side. Plus, the touch of grey at his temples made
him extra sexy. Lately, though, he’d skipped a couple of appointments, so the tousled style more than
revealed his emotional upheaval, not even mentioning the red-rimmed eyes and the blotchy patches of
pale skin, which was normally a beautiful shade of honey. He always loved looking at their bodies
side by side. His darker almond shade to the rich smooth honey-goodness. Rox’s ivory skin would be
a glorious addition.
Apollo’s dark orbs peered sadly, yet so full of hope, at him that Aspen relented to his mate’s
suggestion. “I’ll try.” He crossed the room and sat on the floor outside the bathroom. Lightly, he
knocked. “Rox?”
Only the sound of sniffles and gasping breaths came from inside.
“Rox? Can I come in?”
A loud bang followed by a curse had Apollo up and hovering behind him as he teased the door
open a few more inches, expecting to find Rox inside. Unable to locate the griffin shifter through the
small opening, he pushed the door wider, discovering an empty bathroom until he noticed the drawn
shower curtain and the dark shadow hiding in the tub.
Apollo crouched and pointed, then crawled past Aspen to sit on the tile floor. Aspen’s mouth
twitched into a small smile, seeing his little hawk attempt contact.
 Apollo
Apollo cringed as Rox’s distress washed over him. He gazed back at Aspen and took comfort and
encouragement in the tiny grin and slight nod Daddy gave. Sometimes, he could hardly believe it had
already been two years since they met. At forty-one, he’d damn near given up on ever finding his true
mate.
What a day that had been. Hearing the short and sweet version from Aspen had brought all those
amazing memories to the surface. So, of course, when they found their third, he expected the same
visceral wants, the same night of debauchery. He wanted Daddy to have the same inexplicable joy of
bonding, of taking them from two to three.
When Daddy’s eyes blazed golden after getting a strong whiff of Rox’s scent once the griffin had
washed off the filth from that disreputable clubhouse, it took Apollo mere seconds to realize why.
Then the doubts slipped in. A new mate. A younger mate, who looked good now and would probably
be gorgeous once he retained his full health, and here Apollo was almost a decade older than Daddy
—nearly double that with their new mate. And with Rox in distress after being held captive by those
damn Raptors for months, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d end up pushed to the sidelines of the
relationship until their mate recovered?
When they’d first brought Rox back to the hotel room, the griffin’s fear stung like the kiss of a
bullwhip, like the vicious thrash of leather straps from a cat-o’-nine-tails. He’d tasted both in his
youth—and hated them both—so he knew their truth. Apollo’s worries and anxiety had boiled over,
tears flowing in reaction to Rox’s crying jag, and he hated feeling that way. Hawk took control,
pushed him to shift, and they flew away from the hate, the sorrow, the uncertainty. Eventually, Hawk
talked him down from the ledge, away from running for the proverbial hills of forevermore. He’d
returned to the room calmer, with a willingness to listen and maybe even try, but that had been fleeting
as again Rox ran and hid from them upon hearing the truth.
Why had he pushed Daddy to try again? If they were ever going to be more than a fractured three-
way he needed to step up and be the one to reach out this time. Apollo poked Daddy to move, entered
the bathroom, and sat beside the tub, drawing strength from one mate in the hopes of calming the other.
He tucked a few fingers past the curtains and wiggled them. He sent out soothing pheromones like
his mother used to for him and his numerous siblings and nest-mates. “Hey.”
Apollo settled in as best he could on the hard vinyl floor. He braced his elbow on the tub edge,
allowing him to extend his forearm further behind the curtain. He expected he’d touch nothing, so he
was surprised when he came in contact with a lightly furred leg. When Rox didn’t pull away, Apollo
slowly stroked his fingertips along his mate’s skin, sending out happy pheromones at being able to
touch.
As the scent of Rox’s sadness eased, Apollo grinned at Daddy, who gave him a thumb’s up, rolled
over, and quietly approached on hands and knees. He almost laughed at Daddy crawling in a complete
juxtaposition of their relationship. Not that Apollo regressed that far for his daddy, but Daddy loved it
when he came begging for attention. The unbidden thought of Rox possibly rejecting them for the way
they played interjected itself, and Apollo shoved it away, focusing instead on soothing Rox.
Staring into Daddy’s eyes, Apollo focused on feelings of safety and love, contentment and
calmness, and tried to send those to Rox. He was fairly sure it worked when Rox drew in a deep
breath and released it in a long, tired sigh.
Rox then let out a disgusted whine, which startled Apollo. “Can I get a tissue, please?”
Daddy snatched several from the dispenser and handed them to Apollo, who promptly slipped
them behind the curtain.
 “Thanks” preceded a round of nose-blowing. “Gods, that’s disgusting. Is there a garbage can I can
drop these into?” A fistful of used tissues appeared at the other side of the tub.
“Sure. Hold on a sec.” Apollo took the small can from Daddy and held it under Rox’s hand. “Go
ahead and drop them, then I’ll give you a washcloth.”
Daddy already had the hot water running, a couple of washcloths close by, and a fresh stack of
clothes for their mate by the sink. That Rox was sitting in a cold and possibly still wet tub made him
shiver in sympathy. He handed the damp washcloths to Apollo, one by one, and rinsed and repeated
as they came back. The last item he handed over, though, was a glass of cool water. “Good thinking,
Daddy. Thanks.”
All movement on the other side of the shower curtain ceased. The scent of curiosity pervaded the
bathroom, overcoming the odors of dejection and anxiety. Daddy peered at Apollo and then bounced
his eyebrows. He pursed his lips and sent an air kiss, which Apollo snatched up and smacked to his
mouth.
“So…” Apollo drawled, handing over the glass before settling again on the floor, “the cat’s out of
the bag.”
“Yeah,” Rox mumbled. “Rory said Aspen was a real daddy bear, but you actually called him
Daddy.”
“I did, though it wasn’t something I started from the onset of our mating.” Apollo paused, wanting
to get the words just right. “Aspen is a Daddy, through and through. I resisted at first, but our dynamic
grew from teasing jests to me loving how much he takes care of me and then some. With him, I can let
go of my worries and know that he’ll be right there when I need him.”
The curtain slid open about a foot, allowing Apollo to see Rox fully. Their mate had his legs
curled to his chest, arms around his shins, and his chin propped on his knees. The sweatpants he was
wearing were rucked up to mid-calf, his shaggy hair a halo around his sweet face. A couple of unused
tissues lie beside him, one tucked into a bouncing fist… just in case.
“Will you tell me more about it?”
“Sure,” Apollo answered, squirming to get comfortable on the hard floor. A pillow plopped
beside him, and Apollo gazed up at Daddy with a grateful smile. He pushed one under his bony butt—
not that Daddy minded one bit—and put another behind his back as he leaned against the wall.
“Could I have a pillow, too, please?”
“On it,” Daddy said, almost skipping out of the bathroom, looking so thrilled to do something—
anything—Rox wanted, that Apollo chuckled, watching his big bear of a mate go. When Aspen
returned with two more pillows, he hesitated before asking, “Would it be all right if I gave them to
you? My bear and I kinda need to see you with our own eyes. We need to make sure you’re good.”
Rox twisted his lower lip between his fingers. “Okay, but could you leave the curtain in place?”
“Absolutely.” Daddy beamed, his joy at Rox’s acceptance permeating the air and filling it with a
sweetness that chased away the ugly scent of sadness. Daddy put his shoulder to the wall above
Aspen, bracing himself as he handed over the pillows one at a time, assessing Rox’s well-being. “If
you’re hungry, I can bring our food in here, too.” Rox nodded and, again, Daddy rushed to comply.
Apollo laughed as he watched Daddy go, go, go. “He loves to do,” he said, seeing Rox’s curious
expression. “When Daddy gets into caregiving mode, he’s always running. When I get the littlest
sniffle, he tucks me into our bed and then rushes around making tea and soup. I practically have to pin
him to the mattress to get him to slow down.”
Daddy snorted and chortled as he reentered the bathroom, his muscular arms loaded with all their
food. He handed off their meals, then stroked Apollo’s hair. “That’s because Daddy loves you and
wants to take care of you.”
Apollo peered up at his amazing, broad-shouldered daddy. “I know.” He hugged Daddy’s thick
leg, rubbing his cheek against the soft fur of hair. “You’re the most awesome Daddy in Forest Edge.”
Daddy booped his nose. “And don’t you forget it. Now everyone eat, then we can talk.” He
walked out and came back with another set of pillows, putting them on the floor beside Apollo. They
sat in comfortable silence, finishing their meal, Daddy’s arm a pleasing warmth against Apollo.
“All done, little hawk?” Daddy held out a hand for the trash. Apollo balled his wrapper up and
gave it over. “How about you, Rox?”
“Yes, sir.”
Daddy chuckled, releasing pheromones of joy and mirth. “No need for that. Who knows where
you’ll end up in our dynamic? You could be like our friends: Kev, Jack, and Storm. Kev’s a daddy
bear like me. Jack is a fox who loves being little, but Storm, who’s the youngest, is the dominant in
their relationship. Jack and Kev call him Sir.”
“That’s… interesting,” Rox mumbled, carefully folding up the sandwich’s wax paper, and Apollo
nearly laughed at the myriad of emotions flitting across Rox’s face as Daddy described their friends’
triad mating. “Griffins aren’t usually kinky.”
Apollo braced his elbow on the tub and scissored the curtain between his fingers. “I thought your
brother was submissive. He seemed to defer to his mate.”
Rox leaned forward to hand off his garbage. “I’m not surprised. Rory’s always been a follower.
It’s completely shocking that he struck out on his own to find me. I’m… glad he found someone. He’s
the best griffin I know.”
“Don’t all brothers say that?” Apollo grinned, passing along the folded paper and getting a swift
kiss from Daddy.
“Hell, no. My eldest brother’s an ass. My uncle on my mother’s side is our Pride King, and he
decreed—before I came out, mind you—that only heterosexual griffins could be members of the
pride. My mom made him recant the rule, but Tak, my older brother, was one of my uncle’s enforcers.
When he found out that Rory and I didn’t want female mates, he outed us to my uncle and tried to have
us thrown out of the pride. When that didn’t work, he made my life hell. Teasing, bullying, sending his
friends to subtly attack me. One day, Tak went too far and my uncle didn’t have a choice but to expel
Tak from the pride. Tak left, and last I knew, there’d been zero contact with him since.”
“There’s one in every den,” Daddy muttered, reminding me of the reason why he had left his
sleuth. Daddy’s older brothers were mean, naughty bears who teased him all the time when he was
little. His father had finally thrown all of them out of the house after a fistfight turned wrestling match
destroyed their mothers’ prized dining table, a table their father had handmade for them as a mating
gift. Overwhelmed with guilt, Daddy had packed his bags and joined the army. After one term of
service, he got out and joined a security company. When that proved too boring for Daddy, he began
traveling, picking up odd jobs here and there when he needed funds, and eventually met Alpha Payton
and Alpha Eli, and… then he met me.
Apollo preened as he was again reminded of their first few days together. Daddy had taken
Apollo under his wing—make that a big, muscular arm—and taught him all about the Daddy
Dom/little boy dynamic. Apollo had been skeptical at first. Hell, Daddy was ten years younger than
him, so how the heck would that even work? But it did. Daddy saw a need in Apollo, how he wanted
to let others lead, be a follower, listen to orders, take pleasure when given, and be told how to please
his mate. How he hadn’t figured that all out in his previous forty-plus years of life still baffled him.
Apollo shrugged. “Guess I lucked out. My nest-mates and I get along fine.”
 “You have a good relationship with your parents?” Rox asked, wrapping his arms around his legs
and propping his chin on his knees. His expression was open and curious, which Apollo took as a
good sign.
“We’ve had our ups and down, but mostly it’s good. They weren’t thrilled when I joined the Air
Force, but what better place for a hawk than where he can fly, right?” Rox nodded, and Apollo
continued, “Took them a while to warm up to Daddy being my mate, but fate is fate, and just because
they’d prefer I’d have a female and children of my own, they’ll have to make do with the fifteen or so
grand-eyass from my brothers and sisters.”
Rox laughed. “Fifteen nieces and nephews? How does Uncle Apollo keep them all straight?”
“Thankfully,” Apollo said with a wink, his heart racing at having been the one to get the first
smile from their mate, “I’ve got an awesome Daddy who created a spreadsheet, so we never forget a
birthday.” He pushed up and kissed Daddy’s cheek, sending a pulse of gratitude and love through their
bond. He pulled Daddy over so he could peek at Rox, and when Daddy straightened, he gripped
Apollo’s nape and squeezed gently before leaning in and whispering, “Good boy.”
 Chapter 4
Rox
As Rox listened to Apollo and Aspen discuss their myriad of family members and recount
hilarious tales of the children’s antics and their various babysitting woes, his mind drifted. The last
time he’d felt this relaxed in the presence of others had been the night before the Smoking Raptors had
snatched him off the street. He’d spent that evening with Rory, game controller in hand, fighting the
good fight, kicking zombie butt, and razzing his little bro.
Why him? He must have asked himself that a hundred times… a thousand times. He’d even asked
his captors before they tried to rape him and he’d shifted to fight them off. A couple of the motorcycle
gang members wanted to let him go because “he wasn’t worth keeping,” but the Smoking Raptor
president said no. He’d made a deal, and he’d honor it. “Wear him down,” he’d said. “He’ll shift
back and then we’ll have some fun.” Rox never did, and instead, he made do with the scraps of food
they sometimes remembered to give him, the cramped room, and living with the foul stench of his
unwashed fur and feathers, his bodily fluids, and the acrid stench of his feces.
His living conditions improved after the ponies arrived, and the VP tasked them with his care.
They snuck him extra food when they could and insisted on the room being cleaned twice a week. He
wished he could do more for them, help them escape, but he was just as much a prisoner as they were.
He’d figured as long as the Smoking Raptors didn’t hurt them, they were safe enough.
“Hey Rox,” Aspen said, twitching aside the curtain enough for him to peek in at Rox. “You’re
looking sleepy. How about you come out and get into bed? Apollo and I will take one, and you can
have the other to yourself.”
Rox thought that over. He felt safe in Aspen’s presence, and Apollo had gained enough of his trust
over the last however long for his heart not to get all hyper and beat right out of his chest. “Okay,” he
whispered, stretching his legs out with a wince. His supposed-mates were on their feet in an instant,
surprising Rox into jerking away from their offered hands.
“You’ve got to be stiff from sitting in this cold tub for an hour. I’m ignoring my back, but it isn’t
happy with me right now.” Aspen’s low rumble of laughter eased the growing spot of tension in Rox’s
gut that had sprouted when the bear stood over him.
Rox nodded at Aspen but didn’t accept their help. Instead, he groaned through pushing upright and
braced using the wall and towel rack over the toilet.
Apollo waved Aspen back with a whispered, “I got him. You go get the bed ready.”
Aspen hugged Apollo, tucking the much shorter hawk shifter to his chest before giving his mate a
quick smooch and nape-squeeze, grabbing the pillows they’d used as cushions and leaving.
Rox stared down at Apollo, realizing for the first time that “little hawk” had another meaning.
Standing in the tub probably gave him an additional inch or two, but once out, Rox figured Apollo
would fit right under his chin. Among griffins, six-feet-plus was the average height for an adult shifter,
so at six-one, he was actually on the shorter end, but it wasn’t uncommon for their kind to grow
another inch or two in their twenties. Meanwhile, Apollo couldn’t have been more than five-five or
five-six, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in tight muscles that spoke of a fast metabolism
and a terrific workout regime. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man.
In comparison, he was skin and bones. Rox didn’t have any fat on him either, but neither did he
have much muscle tone left. He’d tried in that hellhole to keep fit, but when the rations came fewer
and farther between, the slow starvation caused his body to burn itself to survive. The ponies couldn’t
have come at a better time. It sucked that the Raptors had forced them to work, but without them, he
surely would have wasted away. He needed to make sure he thanked them personally at some point.
“Enough with the maudlin thoughts,” Apollo said dryly. “Let’s get you out of there, and then I’ll
leave you to use the toilet before Daddy tucks you in. There’s even a fresh toothbrush because
Daddy’s weird like that and always brings extras.” He rolled his eyes, then winked at Rox.
He let Apollo touch him, helping him step over the tub’s edge and ensuring he was steady on his
feet before giving him privacy. He urinated and washed his hands and face and then called out that he
was done. Apollo again offered his aid, and Rox was going to refuse, but the earnest desire in the
hawk’s gaze stilled his tongue.
“Can I… just hold on to your shoulder?”
Apollo grinned. “Of course.” He sidled up beside Rox and together they made their way to the
bed with the covers turned down. Aspen sat on the other bed, watching their slow approach, a sealed
bottle of water in his hands.
“I thought you might be thirsty.” He offered the bottle once Rox leaned against the pile of perfectly
fluffed pillows.
“Yeah. Thanks.” Rox didn’t take it, sensing how much Aspen wanted to do for him, the same as
Apollo, and instead asked, “Could you open it for me?”
The grin and bright flash in Aspen’s eyes were all the confirmation Rox needed to know he had
done the right thing. These men—his mates—wanted so badly to care for him. It was going to be hard
to get used to. He’d always been independent, and after being locked up, he wanted nothing more than
to have that independence back. He wanted to fly far and away from this town. Well, after he’d
recuperated and his wings were up to the task…
He accepted the opened bottle, took a few sips, and then gave it back. Aspen twisted the lid back
on and placed it on the small nightstand between the beds. A glance at the digital alarm clock showed
it was after one in the morning. Had it truly only been a couple of hours since they’d rescued him and
the ponies?
Rox yawned and chuckled. Just seeing how late it was, his internal clock said, “Time for bed.”
He shifted down, tugging at the blankets to cover himself, ready to put the past six months behind him
and wake up to sun-shiny freedom.
“Let me, please.” Aspen rose, keeping his movements slow and visible.
“Sure.” Rox stuck a pillow under his head and grabbed another for his arms. Gods, he’d missed
having a pillow to sleep with. He also missed having a bed and blankets and seeing Rory every day.
He missed his mom and the pride, food, and beer, and…
Aspen pulled the sheet and blanket over him, but Rox stopped him from doing any actual tucking.
Too much like ropes. He needed the covers loose so he could escape.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, pulling the blanket right up to his nose.
Aspen sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his hair, and the delicate touch reminded him so
much of his mother’s that Rox hummed. “Feels good.” As his bear mate continued the light caresses to
his head and nape, Rox closed his eyes and breathed in the scents of satisfaction and pride and
maybe… love, but that would be Apollo and Aspen. It was obvious how much they cared for each
other.
Maybe one day he’d feel the same.
Not tonight, not right now, but maybe soon.
 Aspen
Aspen had no clue how long he sat there touching their mate. He listened with half an ear as
Apollo took a fast shower and brushed his teeth. He debated about joining him but couldn’t bear to
move from the spot he seemed rooted to. Rox fell asleep under his gentle ministrations and still, he
kept petting the boy.
Man.
Boy.
He nodded. A gut feeling, but he was certain Rox wouldn’t beat against his dominance. Maybe
later, he might fight it, but for the moment, Rox would let them take care of him. In the meantime,
Aspen was determined to win their mate over.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Aspen glanced at Apollo standing outside the bathroom, a towel around his waist while he rubbed
his hair dry with another. With all that honey skin on full display, Aspen licked at his lower lip. The
sight of his boy never failed to rev his engine. He moved to the second bed, sat, and patted his thighs.
“Come here.”
Apollo smirked as he wrapped the towel around his neck and stepped closer. “I’m pretty sure sex
wasn’t on your mind.”
“It wasn’t until you stepped out looking like that. My beautiful boy.” Aspen grabbed the ends of
the towel and drew Apollo in between his spread thighs. He held him in place as he kissed and
sucked at his mate’s mouth. Apollo let him, his sweet scent pulling hard at Aspen to take, take, take.
He plucked at the towel around his boy’s waist, letting it fall to the floor in a heap around their feet,
then dropped the towel around Apollo’s neck.
Bared to him in all his naked glory. A smooth chest. Tight muscles. Delicate, yet hard. His little
hawk nearly squawked when he stood and lifted him clear off his feet. Apollo wrapped his legs
around Aspen’s waist and twisted his fingers into Aspen’s hair, whisper-moaning “Daddy” over and
over again.
Fuck, with two handfuls of Apollo’s ass, he wanted to spread his little boy out on the bed and
worship every inch of him. A plaintive groan from Rox, however, froze him in place. Ursa! Though
this certainly could have been the place, now was not the time.
Apollo thunked his forehead to Aspen’s shoulder, mewling as he rubbed his stiff cock against
Aspen’s chest. “Need you, Daddy.”
“I know, boy, but we can’t.”
“Shouldn’t, not can’t,” Apollo whined. “Bathroom?”
Aspen pressed his lips together as he caressed his mate’s beautiful skin, admiring the lithe form
and how his boy’s cock had begun to rise from its nest of curls under his touch. The idea had merit.
He could at least get his boy off. Apollo deserved some love after their night of adventure and
discovery. Some love to offset the earlier tears. “Good idea, boy.”
He carried Apollo into the bathroom and sat him on the counter before closing the door with nary
a snick. Pushing lightly on his boy’s chest, he directed Apollo to lean against the mirror. Sometimes
he liked to have Apollo watch their reflections, liked to see his little hawk’s gaze go hazy, see the
mirror fog with their heated breath, and eye the fingerprint smudges they always seem to leave after
playing. Not this time, though. He wanted Apollo face-up.
Apollo’s head bumped the glass, still damp with condensation. Aspen queried for any ouchies and
made sure Apollo was comfortable before dragging his ass to the edge of the counter. He dropped to
his knees in a slow, controlled motion, watching Apollo’s eyes blaze with eager lust. Holding the
back of his boy’s thighs, Aspen lifted and spread Apollo’s legs, giving him access to the hidden furled
entrance.
He licked and sucked and kissed, turning Apollo into a whimpering, begging mess. Only then did
he stand, pushing his shorts to his thighs as Apollo offered the small bottle of lube they always packed
in with their toiletries. He smeared a layer on his cock, gave his boy a perfunctory swipe, lined up,
and slowly slid inside his personal heaven. Aspen held still until Apollo’s muscles relaxed,
welcoming him home.
“Daddy,” Apollo whispered. “Love you.”
“I love you, too, boy. You’re so good to me, taking care of me as much as I take care of you, hm?”
Apollo nodded, reaching for Aspen’s shoulders. His nails dug into Aspen’s skin, not quite
scratching, but it was close.
Aspen lifted him off the counter and held him easily, one ass cheek per hand, raising and lowering
his little hawk to ride his shaft. “Fuck. You’re amazing.” He nuzzled Apollo’s jaw, sliding one hand
higher on his boy’s back and tipping them slightly. Bending his knees gave him leverage to thrust
harder and faster. Each impalement forced the breath from Apollo’s lungs. Panting through moans,
whining about wanting to come, his grip tightening on Aspen’s shoulders, claws poking his skin as he
clung tightly.
“Please, Daddy.”
They’d been through enough over the last twenty-four hours. They deserved this moment. There
wasn’t a damn reason to deny his boy or force himself to hold off. “Take your pleasure, little hawk.
Let me watch you fall apart.”
Apollo’s heels pressed into the back of Aspen’s thighs as he chased his orgasm, coming with a
loud groan and without a hand on his beautiful, honey-blond cock. Semen spilled across Apollo’s
chest, pale lines and puddles pooling as Aspen drove inside his lover quicker, finding his release
deep within his boy’s channel.
With weakened knees, Aspen placed his boy back on the counter. Their foreheads lowered to each
other’s shoulder, heavy breaths panting against the heated skin of their necks until they recovered.
Apollo pet his hair, nails scritching at the sweaty skin on his scalp and nape. “I think I need
another shower,” he bemoaned.
Aspen chuckled. “Like you care.”
“I only care if you’re with me or not, and right now, that’s with me in the shower.” Apollo
winked. “Getting wet and soapy. I’ll even wash your back.”
Aspen lifted his boy, set him on his feet, then lightly slapped his ass as he pushed him toward the
shower. “Damn straight you’ll wash my back and then I’m going to wash your front.”
“My front?” Apollo rubbed his cum into his skin. “Yeah, I’m kinda dirty, Daddy.”
Aspen growled. “Stop teasing and start the shower.” As his boy obeyed, reaching in to turn the
faucet, Aspen saw a mirage of Rox sitting in the tub. The need to be with their new mate sobered his
good humor. He poked his head out of the bathroom, listening for any telltale sign of Rox awakening
because the possibility of Apollo being quiet during sex was pretty much non-existent. Not hearing
anything, he crossed the small bathroom in two steps and pressed into Apollo’s back. “No more
playing. We should keep an eye on our mate.”
 Chapter 5
Apollo
“You’re right,” Apollo said with a frown as he turned to undress Daddy, pleased that he’d made
his daddy so crazy with lust that he hadn’t even bothered to undress. “I’m sorry.”
Daddy’s glare softened as he cupped Apollo’s cheek. “No need to apologize. We got this out of
our system, but now it’s time to focus on taking care of Rox. We should sleep so we’ll have energy for
tomorrow, come what may.”
And wasn’t that the twenty-million dollar question? Where would they be tomorrow? A week
from now…? A year? “Are we taking him home? I mean, our home. In Forest Edge.”
Daddy nudged him into the shower and followed right behind. He rubbed their bar of soap, a
homemade one that smelled like honey and sugar, between his hands, getting a good lather before
washing Apollo’s chest and belly.
Apollo hung onto Daddy’s shoulders as his mate pushed him around, soaping him from neck to
thigh, gentle but strong. Two fingers slid through his crease, and he widened his stance to make it
easier for Daddy to clean him everywhere. These were the moments that Apollo cherished. He loved
having Daddy’s undivided attention. Would this be the last time?
“You’re worried. Me, too,” Daddy rumbled. “I would love to take Rox home with us where he
could heal in safety, but he might want to return to his pride. His parents and friends must miss him.”
“So Rory said.” But Apollo wasn’t so sure. Rory had said everyone missed Rox, that was certain,
yet he’d been the only one searching for his brother.
Daddy paused and stared down at him for a long moment before handing him the soap. As Apollo
washed Daddy’s bear of a body—a broad and furry chest, muscular thighs and arms, and thick neck—
Daddy said nothing. He was thinking, and Apollo let him. He didn’t want to voice his own thoughts
and insecurities. At forty-three, maybe he shouldn’t be letting a man a decade younger make all the
decisions. No, that was wrong. When it was important, Daddy always included him in the discussion
and then they made the final decision together.
“I’m trying to figure out what you aren’t saying, my sharp-eyed hawk,” Daddy eventually said as
he twisted under the shower’s spray, rinsing his amazing body while Apollo avidly watched the
show. “You’re concerned about whether we’re going to go home or head toward the pride, but also
you don’t think Rox will be welcome if he returns to his family. Why? Because he’s gay? Because
he’ll have two mates or because we’re not griffin shifters?”
Again, Apollo said nothing. Daddy maneuvered him under the water for a final rinse. He turned
off the water and grabbed towels for both of them, drying himself perfunctorily before assisting
Apollo. Daddy always made sure he was thoroughly dried before putting on his sleep shirt and briefs.
They were the kind with the extra padding, and Apollo had grown to accept them as part of Daddy’s
care, even though he didn’t care for them. Besides, the shirts were always the super-soft kind, and he
liked those.
Apollo held Daddy’s hand as they reentered the main sleeping area, both of them peeking at Rox,
making sure he still slept soundly. Their mate had the blankets pulled up over his nose, his face
mostly covered. With his eyes shut, Apollo assumed they hadn’t disturbed him with their impromptu
sexcapades.
Apollo ducked under Daddy’s arm as he lifted the blanket and laid down. Daddy circled the bed
and got in, pulling Apollo backward into the little spoon position they both loved. Situated that way,
Apollo had a clear view across to the other bed, and he nearly squawked when he saw Rox peering at
him.
Rox gave him a tiny head shake, and Apollo settled. Gods, how much had their mate heard? Them
having sex? Their discussion about where they’d go physically from the hotel? Did he want to go
home to his pride or home with them? Did he trust them to make the right decision for him?
“Relax, little one,” Daddy whispered and rained kisses on Apollo’s neck. Daddy’s arm around
him tightened and relaxed. “I’ve got you.”
Apollo covered Daddy’s arm with his own, twining their fingers together. He peered across at
Rox, but the griffin had his eyes closed. Faking sleep or avoiding eye contact? Apollo kept staring.
He couldn’t believe that after two years, they’d finally found their third mate. It was strange that he
hadn’t had the same initial visceral reaction to Rox like he had to Daddy. Although, once Rox
showered and his natural scent overcame all the filth he’d been forced to live in, Apollo nearly wept
with joy as he took the strong spicy yet earthen smell of his mate. He had wept in sadness because
Rox kept him at arm’s length.
Daddy was so smart making him approach Rox when their mate had huddled in the tub. He’d been
scared—silly Apollo—but Daddy showed him how to be brave. Daddy was the best Daddy ever, and
nobody could tell him anything different. What role would Rox take? That had Apollo nervous. Would
he be another caring Daddy or maybe a strict Daddy? Would he be Sir like Storm, or would he have a
brother to play with? Older or younger… either was fine with him. He liked kids, liked being a kid, a
Little for his daddy.
He didn’t like these undies, though. Apollo squirmed and pulled at the seam. The new brand
Daddy bought was too snug.
“Boy,” Daddy growled, “stop your squirming.”
“Sorry, Daddy.” Apollo turned over and shoved his face into Daddy’s beefy chest, rubbing his
nose into the curly hair and breathing in his favorite scent in the world. Daddy’s hand cupped his butt
and pulled him flush against his favorite place in the world. He tilted his head back and got a
lingering kiss from Daddy. Another of his most favorite-ist things in the world. Yeah, Daddy was the
bomb. Did kids still say that today? Ugh. He was old… and there was Rox. All young and pretty.
“You’re thinking hard, little one, and therefore not sleeping. Are you that worried about our next
step?”
Apollo thunked his head against Daddy’s pec. “That’s one of many.”
“Guess I didn’t do enough to wear you out.” Daddy’s big hand rubbed circles on Apollo’s back.
Usually, Daddy’s gentle touch would put him right to sleep. “You need to fly to clear your head?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I…”
Cool air hit Apollo’s back as the covers lifted. The scent of his mate hit him just before he felt
Rox slip into bed behind him. Rox put his arm over Apollo and pressed into his back.
“I hope this is okay. I thought I wouldn’t be able to handle physical contact, but I think I’m
actually craving it. The ponies would give me a few scratches when they could sneak them, but it
wasn’t often. I missed my brother’s hugs the most.”
Shocked, Apollo stared at Daddy, unsure what he should say or do. He wanted to give Rox all the
hugs and snuggles and kisses, but he was scared Rox didn’t want them from him. Thankfully, Daddy
knew just what to say.
“You’re in luck, then. Apollo gives the best hugs, and he’s an amazing cuddler.” Daddy turned
Apollo over to face their mate.
 “Really?” Rox peered down at Apollo, an eyebrow arched. Gods, already Rox looked so much
better and he’d only had a shower and a single meal.
“So pretty…” Their mate was going to give Dylan and Storm a run for their money in the stunning
column of handsomeness. Apollo preened. He was such a lucky hawk.
“I agree,” Rox said.
“What?”
“I think you’re pretty, too.”
Apollo melted under the beautiful smile of his mate. “Thank you, but that was really weird.” He
poked Rox lightly. “Did you read my mind?”
“No.” Rox shook his head and grinned.
“Apollo’s mouth sometimes has a mind of its own.” Daddy’s rumbling laughter shook Apollo,
making him bounce right into Rox’s arms.
Apollo face-palmed. “Ugh. I did it again. I’m so stu—”
“No!” Rox and Daddy shouted at the same time.
“Boy, you know better than to say that,” Daddy growled and bit Apollo’s neck. “Don’t make me
have to discipline you.”
Apollo froze. “No, Daddy. Sorry, Daddy. I promise it won’t happen again.”
Rox chuckled. “You probably shouldn’t promise something you can’t keep. Next time say you’ll
promise to try harder.”
“Smart. Well done, Rox.” Daddy lifted his upper body, reached over Apollo, and brushed Rox’s
arm.
“Oh. Well. Um… Thanks.”
Apollo imagined how bright Rox’s cheeks might be based on how he stuttered his gratitude.
Probably freaking adorable. Young. Fresh. Pink. Gorgeous.
“Uh oh,” Rox murmured. “He’s doing it again.”
“That’s very astute of you.” Daddy hummed, and when Daddy hummed, Apollo got nervous. What
new diabolical plan was he inventing now? Though it wasn’t always evil-ish, sometimes Daddy came
up with fun and pleasurable activities when he made that sound.
And now there were two… maybe. Rox sounded kinda dominant. Daddy-ish or stern Uncle… Big
brother.
“He needs out of his head,” Daddy explained. “There’s one sure-fire way I know, but…”
Uh-oh. Now Rox was making that hummy-thinking sound. He was doomed! Doomed.
“Well, maybe you better. I think he’s getting worse.”
“But we just…”
“I heard, and maybe I was just a little bit jealous. I miss sex and you’re both beautiful men. No
hardship to watch pretty men having sex. My own personal porn channel.”
Oh, fuzz-balls. Rox wanted to watch Daddy fuck him. That could be fun. They’d never had a third.
Ooo… now they’d always have one. Apollo frowned. Would he always be the bottom? He always
thought that when they finally found their triad mate, he’d get to use his cock for more than a hand job.
Rox’s choking laughter pulled Apollo out of his meandering headspace. “What?”
Rox stroked Apollo’s cheek. “Whatever we decide, I promise your cock will see some action.”
Apollo’s mouth dropped open as he stared at Rox. “I said that out loud?”
Rox nodded, his fingertips sweeping across Apollo’s cheek, ear, hairline, and throat. The soothing
touch weirdly doing more to relax Apollo than ramp him up for sex. Daddy joined in, caressing his
hip, thigh, and lower back. He was warm between his two mates, cuddled and protected. Safe.
Wanted. Loved.
Sleepy.
 Rox
“That was unexpected.”
Aspen scoffed at Rox as they continued to double-team putting Apollo to sleep. “You getting in
this bed was just the tip of the unexpected iceberg,” he whispered. “Frankly, I’m shocked. I thought
we’d have to do some serious coaxing to get you to join us, and I wouldn’t have been the least bit
surprised if it had taken a couple of months for you to truly feel comfortable after what you went
through.”
“I hear you.” Rox sighed. “Maybe if they’d done more than lock me in a room and almost starve
me…”
“It’s not just food you’ll crave… You’re touch-starved, but you can count on Apollo and me to
give you plenty of cuddles and snuggles, if that’s what you want. Kinda getting the vibe you aren’t
very submissive.”
“I don’t know,” Rox said honestly. “Like I said, I’ve never explored my sexuality in the context of
kink. For now, let’s just say I’m not willing to give up control, especially after having it taken away
for so long.”
“Completely understandable, and thank you for speaking to me honestly, heart to heart. I don’t
want to overstep or make you feel forced into anything we do. We want you to be comfortable and to
come to us in your own time, not a time frame of our making.”
Moved by Aspen’s speech, Rox left off stroking Apollo and lightly caressed Aspen’s forearm. It
scared Rox a little how fast they had gone from strangers to… whatever they were. Friends? Almost
lovers, if Apollo hadn’t fallen asleep. He gazed at the hawk shifter. The lines of worry etched across
his forehead had finally eased, making Apollo look younger. Apollo was older than Aspen, turning the
Daddy/little boy kink on its head. Rox had always assumed so, at least. Seemed more natural for the
Daddy to be older, but he was already learning he needed to keep an open mind and not make snap
judgments on anyone. They’d mentioned their friends were in all sorts of triad relationships.
There’d never been a griffin with two mates for as long as he could remember. Their pride only
contained the cis-male and cis-female pairings as decreed by their king, his uncle, Leonard. Rox
hadn’t officially told anyone he was gay, fearing they’d throw him out of the pride—even if Uncle
Leonard’s ruling hadn’t been overturned—before he was ready to leave on his own. It had sucked
when Tak found out and started making his life miserable on the regular.
His thoughts veered to his younger brother, Rory. Where would he go? Would he move to
wherever his mate lived? Gregor, Rory’s mate, seemed nice enough.
Damn… Gregor had to be a stand-up dude to stop everything and help Rory look for him for
months. Rox was pissed he’d missed out on pulling the big brother card and vetting the older griffin.
He would have extracted Gregor’s promise to cherish Rory forever and not a day less.
Gods, but he missed his baby bro. He wanted to spend more time with Rory, wanted to catch up
with his little brother, and learn all about how he met Gregor and the adventures they had while
searching for him. Rory loved to gossip about the other griffins in their pride, and Rox wanted to sit
for hours listening to him tell all. He hadn’t realized until now how much he missed the sound of
Rory’s voice.
“Do you think you can sleep?” Aspen asked, lacing their fingers together briefly, just enough to
turn Rox’s hand over and press it to Apollo’s hip. “I’m getting sleepy, but I’ll stay up if you need me
to.” He stroked Rox’s forearm and wrist, kissed Apollo’s cheek, then laid his head down.
Rox assessed himself. “Yeah, I think so.” As if his body were following Aspen’s orders, Rox
yawned.
 He laid there for a few minutes, eyes closed and barely breathing. Waiting for someone—some
Raptor—to drunkenly knock or kick the door to his prison. It was too quiet. Bad things happened
when it got quiet. Maybe not that second, but later, when they returned from whatever illegal job or
rowdy party they’d ventured to. Fuck, how they managed not to kill themselves riding back on their
motorcycles, stupidly drunk off their asses, he never figured out.
A hand touched him. Rox screamed and flailed, hitting a body, rolling and falling, and landing on
his hands and knees on the floor. He struck out with a roar but hit nothing. “Who’s there?” he shouted,
his voice a deep rumble as he poised to shift. He hoped he didn’t have to. When had he shifted back
to his human shape? Fuck, he was tired. Maybe too tired to shift and fight off the damn Raptors this
time…
“Rox.”
The plaintive whisper of his name startled him, and he frantically searched for the source,
spinning in a circle, something soft beneath him. They didn’t know his name. It was always “beast” or
“thing” or “maggot.”
“Tell me five things you hear.”
Hear? “Who’s there?” he demanded, turning three-sixty, trying to locate the person who spoke and
finding himself boxed in on three sides.
“Tell me what you hear.”
Rox huffed. Who was being so nice to him? It wasn’t a Raptor, that was for sure. “Fine.” He
settled, stretching his senses to find the answer, surprised by the feel of a blanket beneath him, and…
a pillow? Where were the hard wooden floors of the Smoking Raptors’ clubhouse? “I hear you. I
hear…” Rox strained to hear anything over the sound of his rapid breathing. Closing his eyes allowed
him to focus on slowing his breathing rate, and a wealth of sounds rose over the pounding beat of his
heart. “A faucet dripping. A car driving by. Someone’s crying.” Not someone. He knew who it was,
and the realization snapped him from the nightmare he’d lapsed into. “Apollo?”
“Rox.”
The bed beside him creaked, and Rox found his arms full of his tiny hawk mate. Rox cradled
Apollo to his chest, tucking his nose into his mate’s neck and inhaling the scent of cinnamon and
cloves. Exotic, spicy, sharp. Probably sassy in his normal environment. His scent reinforced his
personality, which had begun to shine through.
He cupped Apollo’s head, holding him in place as he stroked along his mate’s body, searching for
injuries he couldn’t see in the dark. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. Startled me.” Apollo whispered, hugging him and rubbing his cheek on Rox’s chest while
making soft cooing noises.
“Me, too,” Aspen added with a soft growl, joining them on the floor. He touched them. A soothing
stroke, heavy enough to not be ticklish, light enough to show his care.
Rox sighed, absorbing the feel of their bodies, liking the comforting sounds they made, but he was
scared. He’d been living that nightmare, dreaming that horror. It was why he’d shifted and stayed in
his griffin form. The days had stretched into weeks and then months, barely sleeping, only closing his
eyes once he was sure everyone slept. Party nights at the clubhouse were both the worst and the best.
The Smoking Raptors liked to drink themselves stupid, but then they would try their luck to subdue
him, mostly earning scratches and bites for their efforts. When they fell asleep, he finally could, too,
knowing they’d sleep till noon.
Yet, ever vigilant, worried the Raptors would wake and return at any given moment, he barely
attained REM sleep most nights. When he did, it was nightmare after nightmare. Would he ever get a
full night’s sleep again? Surely Aspen and Apollo would grow tired of him disrupting their rest. They
were bodyguards and would need to be fully rested and ready to move. He could live with them, but
could they live with him?
Fingers threaded into his hair and massaged his scalp for a few seconds before lightly gripping
and forcing his head to shake. Rox gazed at Aspen.
“It’s going to be a long road of recovery, but we’ll be here,” his bear mate said with a knowing
and kind smile. “We’ll help in any way we can, right, boy?”
Apollo squeezed Rox’s torso. “Right, Daddy. Besides, you have plenty of experience dealing with
me and my occasional crazy.”
“True,” Aspen said, nuzzling Apollo’s ear and making their little hawk titter. “Barely happens
now.”
Rox stroked Apollo’s back and his mate made the cutest moan of appreciation and snuggled
closer. “PTSD from your time in the military?”
Apollo hummed confirmation. “Saw some things I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I had some orders
that afterward had me questioning my service.”
“Orders?”
“I was a sniper.”
Rox choked on his next breath. “Gods… That’s…”
“Yeah.” Apollo pushed even tighter against Rox. “I like my new job better.”
“Understandably.” Rox tilted Apollo’s head back and kissed his forehead.
Aspen nudged Apollo. “Back to bed, baby. Bring our mate with you.”
Apollo giggled, following orders, popping up and then flopping onto the pillows. Rox laughed as
Apollo dragged him along. Their little mate wriggled, getting comfortable, without letting go of Rox,
and that was fine with him. He’d really missed touching and being touched, and he’d soaked up all the
sneaked petting from the ponies whenever they were allowed in his room—cell—prison.
“Is it bad to think that if it wasn’t for those kids also getting kidnapped that I might never have
been found?”
“Normally,” Aspen said, tucking himself in behind Rox, throwing an arm across his body, but
resting his hand on Apollo’s hip, “but in your case, it might be the truth. Although Rory and Gregor
were pretty sure you were there when we met up with them, so it wouldn’t have been much longer
before they got the authorities involved. Us showing up when we did just advanced the rescue
process along.”
“I couldn’t see much, but what I did see was pretty spectacular. I’ve never met a phoenix shifter
before.”
“Mr. Charles is unique.” Aspen caressed Apollo for a moment then switched to Rox, who settled
under the gentle strokes. The bear’s voice dropped to a whisper as his nose touched Rox’s shoulder.
“Would you like to hear the story of how tonight happened?”
“Sure,” Rox sighed, his body losing all its tension as Aspen continued to lightly touch him, “but I
feel like I might fall back asleep on you.”
“I’m kind of hoping you will. You need rest, sweetheart. Food, sleep, and lots of loving will heal
you right up.” Aspen kissed Rox’s nape and nuzzled into his hair.
Wishful thinking and Rox added one more. He wished for all the wishes to come true, and as
Aspen began speaking softly of Charles, the phoenix shifter, and his two stallion shifter mates, he did,
indeed, drift off to sleep.
 Chapter 6
Aspen
Aspen continued stroking Rox as he whispered Flint and Steel’s story until he long thought that his
new mate had fallen deeply asleep. He poked his head up and gazed at Rox and Apollo, their
foreheads nearly touching. He noticed how Rox’s hand covered Apollo’s and how all the tension in
his boy seemed gone.
He relaxed down onto the pillow, his thoughts sliding to how he might navigate the next few days.
Days, not weeks or months. One hour at a time because there was trauma and Rox would have
triggers. Locked doors. Hard floors. Wanting to be touched, but not held tightly. A host of mines in a
field a mile wide to navigate through.
Aspen had to think about Apollo, too. Sure, his boy could be stoic and in charge when needed, but
home, on safe ground in their Forest Edge community, Apollo liked to settle into his little headspace.
Apollo had been unsure about having a Daddy take care of him at the beginning of their
relationship. Aspen long knew that his boy had just “gone through the motions” for his sake, but over
the last two years, he’d loved watching Apollo relax into his loving embrace. His little hawk’s
fluidity of going from focused adult to petulant teen to energetic boy and anywhere in between kept
Aspen on his toes.
Rox showed signs of dominance earlier that night, but that didn’t mean anything yet. Not coming
out of a situation he’d had no control over for the past half-year. Aspen would keep an eye on him. He
chuckled under his breath. Two eyes, two hands, and maybe a hard cock whenever and wherever he
could. He breathed deeply, slowing his breaths and heart rate, turning his centering thoughts to that
coalescing happy imagery of three mates stupidly in love and lust.
“Daddy.”
Apollo’s whining whisper dragged Aspen from the sleep he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into. He
rubbed his face and swallowed to get some moisture in his parched throat. “Right here, baby.”
“I gotta pee, Daddy.”
“So go.”
“Can’t. I’m trapped.”
So dramatic, his boy. Aspen sighed and sat up to see what the problem was, quickly stifling his
mirth at the tangle his mates were in. For not wanting to be held too tightly, Rox had a firm grip
around Apollo’s waist and a leg over his thighs.
“Does he think I’m a teddy bear?” Apollo grumbled, wiggling to free himself.
Aspen choked on the bubble of threatening laughter, glad Apollo was facing away from him and
couldn’t see the broad smile he wore at his boy’s predicament. “Hold on a sec.”
Carefully, Aspen lifted Rox’s leg first, having to make a tent with his own leg to keep Rox from
resuming his position. Disentangling Rox’s arm would be harder. Softly, he started caressing Rox’s
shoulder, working his fingers down his mate’s arm until he could catch Rox’s wrist and lift it up,
allowing Apollo to slide out of bed.
While Apollo used the bathroom, Aspen tucked Rox’s hand in while sliding his other arm under
the pillow. He cradled his mate to his chest, warming chilled skin and silently clucking over how thin
Rox was. He hadn’t been kidding when he mentioned fattening Rox up. Their mate needed lots and
lots of calories to regain all the weight he’d lost during his captivity. In a month or two, Rox’s body
would fill out, muscles and sinew strengthening into sleek lines. The dark shadows under his eyes
would lighten; his shaggy and unkempt dirty blond hair would become shiny and full. With just the
right cut, Aspen could picture Rox with a lion’s lovely golden mane.
If he had any regrets, it was that both his mates could take to the sky while he remained land-
bound. Well… he’d just have to lay on his back in an open sunny field and watch their spiraling antics
high above him. Rox had a protective streak as evidenced by his interactions with Rory, so Aspen
wouldn’t even have to worry about other shifters or larger natural hawks and eagles, who were
unaware of who they were dealing with. Not that he had reason to worry where his agile hawk mate
was concerned. Damn, he’d seen Apollo rise into the sky when attacked, only to shift to his human
form, fall in a controlled dive, and then shift back to his avian form. Seriously scared the bejesus out
of him the first time he saw it, but he quickly learned to trust that Apollo knew what he was doing.
Apollo only shifted when he was clear-headed, never shifting if he was “little.” Aspen assumed it had
to do with the fact that hawk shifters were late shifters; they didn’t shift for the first time until well
into their teens.
Rox’s quickly warming body returned Aspen to a drowsy state. Once Apollo was back in bed, he
fell asleep, awakening to a steady knocking on the door. Sunlight streamed in around the edges of the
curtain, lighting the room considerably. He blinked until his eyes didn’t feel so dry, then detached
himself from Rox’s embrace. His griffin had gotten cuddly at some point during the night. Aspen
grinned at how Apollo was plastered to Rox’s back.
The knocking started again and he mumbled, “I’m up. Give me a sec,” knowing whoever was
outside would hear him.
He hurried to the bathroom, emptied his bladder, and washed his hands, thinking it was probably
Rory outside, but it could just as well be either of the skulk Alphas or Charles and his boys wanting
to say goodbye. He grabbed the keycard, ensured Rox and Apollo slept on, then quietly inched the
door open and slipped outside. Alpha Payton, the head alpha of the three communities making up the
skulk—and the fox shifter he and Apollo were tasked with protecting—leaned against the railing as
he stared down into the parking lot. Alpha Eli stood next to him, concern written across his features
as he took in Aspen’s disheveled appearance.
Before Eli could speak, Aspen pointed for them to move away from the door. “They’re still
sleeping.” Nodding, both fox shifters headed towards the stairs, stopping at the landing.
“It’s nearing check-out, so I thought I should let you know we were leaving,” Payton said. “I
didn’t want you to worry about me.”
“We’re staying as long as you are,” Rory said, coming up behind Aspen, holding Gregor’s hand.
“I want to talk to my brother today and then Gregor and I will decide what we’re doing.”
“You’re welcome in Woodcrest anytime.”
“Thank you.”
Eli stretched out a hand. “You let us know, and we’ll have rooms ready for you, or maybe you’ll
want to stay with your brother and his mates?”
Rory and Gregor shook hands with Eli and Payton. With another round of thank yous murmured
and goodbyes given, the skulk alphas took their leave. The three remaining watched as they spoke
with Charles, Steel, and Flint, who waved before piling into Charles’ vehicle. With one last sloppy
salute, Eli and Payton also departed.
“Rox and Apollo are still sleeping,” Aspen informed Rory.
“Let them. Gregor and I aren’t going anywhere until we talk to Rox, and then we’ll decide where
we go from here.”
 Aspen raised a curious brow, his heart kicking up a notch. Did Rory really think he and Gregor
would make that decision alone? “That’s a lot of ‘we’s.’”
“Yeah, the five of us.”
“Ah.” Aspen smiled, the snap of irritation brought on by the vagueness of Rory’s statement fading
fast.
“Oh! Did you think…? I would never.” Rory clung to Gregor, his cheeks flushing pink.
Gregor patted Rory’s back as he gazed at Aspen. “He’s your mate. We wouldn’t ever presume, but
Rory and I hoped you’d let us be part of the discussion.”
“I’ll discuss it with them when they wake up, but Rox mentioned wanting to talk to Rory, too. Do
you have your phone? I’ll give you my number.”
Gregor entered Aspen’s number and texted him his. “We’re going to grab a late breakfast. Do you
want us to bring you back anything?”
“Please. There’s a micro in the room, so maybe some pancakes and pastries. I’d love a big cup of
coffee and juice for the boys.”
Rory snickered. “Rox loves coffee.”
Aspen stared down at the shorter griffin shifter. “Well, Rox hasn’t eaten proper meals in nearly
six months. He needs nutritional calories, not caffeine.”
Rory blanched. “Right. Sorry.”
Scrubbing his face, Aspen sighed. “No. I’m sorry.” He rubbed the back of his head and neck. “I’m
exhausted and—”
“Aspen,” Gregor interjected, “it’s fine. We understand. Don’t worry about it. Go get some more
sleep. We’ll bring the food over in an hour or so.”
“Great. Thank you. Enjoy your breakfast.” Aspen returned to his room, easing the door open as
quietly as he could. Apollo gave him a one-finger crooked wave and a tiny smile.
Aspen’s nose wrinkled as he smiled at his boy. He crouched by the bed and ruffled Apollo’s hair
before kissing his forehead. “Hey, sweetheart. Are you done sleeping?”
Apollo nodded. “Stuck, Daddy.” He lifted his arms so Aspen could see how Rox had once again
trapped him. “I wanna play.”
Sweet Ursa, now? Aspen hadn’t expected for them to still be here, so he hadn’t thought to pack
any toys. Actually, he should have expected that Apollo might drift into a littler mindset after the
stressful day and night they’d had, but he had thought they’d be home, not staying at a hotel for another
night and who knows how many more days before deciding where’d they’d go from here.
Apollo stood in the doorway to the bathroom. “Can I take a splashy bath, Daddy?”
“Good idea, little bird.” Aspen joined him, happy to have something to occupy his boy while he
tried to figure out what to do. He stoppered the tub and started the water, amused as Apollo freed the
hotel cups from their plastic confines and tossed them in, laughing as they bobbed on the surface. His
boy hopped and raced from the room. Curious, Aspen followed, watching as Apollo rummaged
through his backpack, pulling out a clear flexible canister full of tiny black and brown pirates and
small ships. They’d bought them as a present for Steel, but when the time came to wrap it, Aspen
hadn’t been able to find it, and they’d ended up giving their friend something else. His sneaky boy
must have absconded with it, wanting it for himself. He should be mad, but at that moment, he was
grateful Apollo had thought to pack the toys.
Apollo peeked at Aspen, a guilty flush stealing across his cheeks.
“Go on. We’ll discuss it when we get home.”
Apollo grinned, handing it to Aspen to open. “Thank you, Daddy.” He lifted his face, lips pursed,
and Aspen was helpless to do anything but what his boy wanted.
Kissing those sweet lips chased away his disappointment. “Into the tub with you.”
Giggling, Apollo dropped his briefs and splashed into the rising water before making grabby
hands for the swashbuckling pirates, Jolly Roger-flying ships, black cannons, and overflowing
treasure chests. Aspen dumped them in, causing mini-splooshes before shutting off the flow and
sinking to the floor to watch.
Immersed in playtime, Apollo took no notice of Rox sneaking a peek around the doorframe. Aspen
patted the empty space beside him, and Rox ducked low. He grinned, spying Rox creep slowly inside
to avoid disturbing Apollo as his mate joined him on the cool, hard vinyl.
When Rox leaned into him, Aspen put an arm around Rox’s shoulders and let his mate rest against
his chest for a few minutes before speaking. “Rory and Gregor went out for breakfast and promised to
bring us back some food. It’ll be about an hour—less than an hour now.”
“Pancakes and bacon, I hope,” Rox murmured.
“Yeah, pancakes!” Apollo shouted and slammed his hands into the water, sending a cascade into
his face and onto the floor, just missing Aspen’s legs. Rox chuckled at Apollo’s antics.
“Don’t encourage him too much,” Aspen said to Rox. “We’ll be soaked through if he thinks he can
get away with it.” He snagged a hand towel, dried Apollo’s eyes, and then settled back to snuggling.
“Rox,” Apollo whined, lining up the pirates on the tub’s edge, “play with me.”
Rox glanced at Aspen, who shrugged. “Up to you.”
Kneeling on a quickly folded towel, Rox inspected the array of little men wielding cutlasses and
pistols. “These are cool. I bet you love playing with them.”
Apollo nodded, his head bobbing fast. “Yes!” His huge grin soured. “But Daddy’s mad because I
wasn’t supposed to have them.” He leaned closer and in a stage whisper added, “They were for Steel
and I stole them.”
“Steel? The big stallion shifter?”
“Uh-huh. He’s a Little like me. Littler. He likes teddy bears and sippy cups. I’m a big kid.”
“Yeah? How old are you?”
Aspen covered his mouth to hold back his laughter as Rox navigated his first scene with Apollo.
“I’m eight.” Apollo held up all ten fingers.
“Eight, huh?” He carefully folded down two of Apollo’s fingers. “That’s eight.”
Apollo inspected his hands, counting each finger under his breath, his brow furrowed in
concentration. “Yup. Eight.” He peered at Rox, who’d gone back to checking out the pirate array.
“Are you going to be my daddy, too? You’d be good at it, I think.”
Rox froze. “I… I don’t know.” He glanced at Aspen, but Aspen refused to help. This was a
decision Rox had to make on his own. “Maybe your big brother.”
“Okay.” Apollo said, nodding in reply but no longer paying attention. His focus had already
turned to the ships bobbing on the water.
Apollo picked up a cannon and a cup, and Aspen shouted, “No!” but it was too late. Water
streamed down Rox’s stricken face, the tee he wore completely soaked. Rox blinked, Apollo giggled.
Aspen glared at Apollo until his boy’s mirth tapered off into a mournful moan.
“Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh is right, kiddo. Bath time is over.”
“Daddy… No… Please…”
No amount of begging would change Aspen’s mind. He had two boys to take care of, and he best
get doing before breakfast arrived. Reaching into the tub, he released the plug, and as the water
drained away, Aspen eased Rox’s shirt off. He swished the first towel around Rox’s head and
shoulders, then quickly wrapped up his shivering little boy. Aspen lifted Apollo from the tub, stood
him on the terrycloth bath mat, and patted him dry.
“Sorry, Daddy,” Apollo said quietly, leaning into Aspen.
“It’s not me you need to apologize to.”
Apollo peeked at Rox, who peered back at him from beneath his towel-ish hood. “Sorry, Rox.”
Rox nodded. “Accepted.” He stroked his fingertips along Apollo’s jaw, and Aspen’s heart
swelled as their mate leaned into Rox’s caress. In just a few hours, they’d gone from two to three.
From strangers to mates, and Aspen couldn’t be happier. He just prayed they’d stay that way.
 Rox
How many times had he wished of finding his one true mate as a young cub running with his
friends in the pride? He’d look to the right and left and wonder if, as they aged, one of them would be
his. How many nights after puberty started had he dreamed of that single, elusive person? Never once
had he imagined there might be two or that they wouldn’t even be griffins.
When his mates had left the bed, their honey-sweet and cinnamon scents fading as they moved
away, he had to follow. He’d peered into the bathroom, spying on Apollo being all cute and little-ish
in the bathtub. Aspen sat on the floor, watching their mate, and if he thought the bear shifter hadn’t
taken any notice of him, he was quickly dissuaded of that notion when Aspen tapped fingertips to the
space beside him.
Rox crouched, attempting to avoid Apollo’s notice, and sank to the ground next to Aspen, who
immediately sidearm-snuggled him. He rested sleepily against the warm, broad chest, and together
they watched Apollo play for a couple of minutes in silence.
They chortled as Apollo splashed during their discussion of breakfast, and seriously, how could
he refuse to play when the little boy begged? Getting soaked by a water cannon, however, hadn’t
figured into his morning plans. He was impressed by how Aspen kept his disgruntlement to a low-
burning simmer, feeling like an outsider peeking in on a cherished moment. They’d laugh about it
later, for sure.
He also wanted to plaster his body to Aspen’s. Wanted to feel Aspen’s full regard, and he was a
tad jealous of how easily Aspen lifted Apollo, wishing it was him being skillfully dried by those
large, capable hands.
“Sorry, Rox,” Apollo murmured, peering at him as he leaned against Aspen.
Gah, the cuteness! Rox had to touch. He slid his fingers along Apollo’s lightly scruffed jaw, his
breath catching in his throat as the little hawk tilted his head into the caress. His heart pounded, blood
thrumming in his ears as a wave of possessiveness hit him like a tsunami.
How? How had they gotten under his skin so fast? Usually, Rox kept everyone at arm’s length,
taking his time getting to know new people before he let them get this close. His previous
relationships had been few and far between because of it. Rory had often commented on his lack of
interpersonal skills, loudly wondering how he could be so open and free with him and a few select
friends but severely standoffish with others. Oh, how Rory had tried to change him. So hard. Too
hard. Pushing him to go out and meet other griffins, humans, wolves—before Uncle Leonard put the
kibosh on anyone under the age of majority from leaving the pride lands—hoping he’d make a
connection with someone. He had a couple of times, but they always ended up aggravated by his lack
of communication. Tell literal strangers his deepest, darkest secrets on the first date? Hell, no.
Yet, here he stood, biting his tongue to hold back silly word vomit about how adorable and sweet
Apollo was. How it was fine that he’d gotten splashed. Clothes would dry. It hadn’t gotten in his
eyes. There was no harm done. No foul to fight over.
Instead, he just nodded. Nodded, feeling like a damn fool, and said, “Accepted,” because Apollo
looked so absolutely delicious that Rox just wanted to lay him out and lick every square inch of him.
“Mating urges,” Aspen growled, side-eyeing Rox before tipping Apollo’s head back and stealing
his breath with an all-consuming kiss.
Fuck, they were hot. Rox pushed the towel from his head, leaving his view free and clear.
Whether Aspen saw and mimicked his actions, Rox didn’t know, but he divested Apollo of both
towels until his arms held only a naked, lean, muscular hawk shifter. Apollo then performed the
proverbial “climbing his mate like a tree” routine. In the scuffle, Aspen’s sleep shorts fell to the floor,
where they immediately began soaking up the water from the pirate ship’s assault, led by the dashing
Captain Apollo.
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Aspen peered at Rox.
Apollo laughed, pointed at Rox, and then out the bathroom door. “To the bed, First Mate. We must
keep this grizzly from ruining our fun.”
Rox’s eyes widened. Holy crap. He’d said that out loud. He had no choice now but to play along.
Quickly, he scampered out of the bathroom and threw himself on the bed, pushing all the covers off
and arranging the pillows neatly along the hotel wall serving as a headboard.
“Onward, brave steed,” Apollo bellowed, riding Aspen’s back as they exited the bathroom. Rox
had no clue how he’d moved from Aspen’s front to his back, but it was a mystery to solve later. Much
later.
Aspen flopped on the bed, dislodging Apollo, who nimbly leapt to safety. Sort of. Rox caught him
before he tumbled from the mattress to the floor. Apollo danced in Rox’s arms, letting loose a series
of quick high-pitched screeches, his entire body bobbing.
Aspen rolled over and sprawled in the center of the bed, legs and arms akimbo. “Do your worst,
Captain. My lips are sealed. I’ll never tell you where the treasure is.”
Apollo gripped Rox’s shoulder. “Did you hear that, Roxy? There’s treasure!”
Rox bit his lower lip. Excitement thrummed through his veins. His heart beat wildly, a burst of
adrenaline giving him life. He leapt to his feet. “What should we do, Captain? Tickle it out of him?”
That’s how he always got Rory to spill his secrets.
Tapping his lips, Apollo struck a dramatic, thoughtful pose. “Good idea, First Mate. Let’s try it.”
They attacked Aspen’s armpits, the sides of his torso, and even his feet, all to no avail. Aspen
smiled gamely. “Sorry, boys, but I’m not ticklish when I know it’s coming.”
Rox filed that tidbit away as he tugged Apollo to follow him across the room. “What should we
try now, Captain?” He spied Aspen watching them, and so turned Apollo so their backs were to him.
As he did, he realized that he was the only one left with clothes on, but he wasn’t in a rush to be
naked just yet. Plus, food was coming, and it would be better to answer the door in, at the very least,
his skivvies.
“It’s time for the big guns,” Apollo said with a decisive nod. “Torture.”
Rox’s eyes widened. What?
Apollo winked. “Of the sexual kind.”
“Gods.” Rox pressed his palm to his chest, lust crashing low in his gut.
“Here’s what we’ll do.” Apollo grabbed him around the neck, hauled him down, and whispered
in his ear. It was a good plan.
Rox’s cock thickened as Apollo described what they should do to the sexy bear shifter. He peered
at Aspen, taking in the long, furred torso, thick, powerful thighs, the handsome face, and stunning
brown eyes. Yeah, yeah. It wouldn’t be a hardship at all. In fact, it might be torture for him because he
wasn’t yet willing to take their relationship to the next level. Losing his virginity should happen in a
bed, at home, wherever home may be, but certainly not in a nondescript hotel room a few miles from
where the motorcycle gang had held him captive for the last six months. An intense desire to flee
overwhelmed him, and he became nauseated.
Aspen was by his side in seconds. “Game’s over, sweetheart.”
Apollo appeared torn between disappointment and concern. Regardless, the pout was precious.
“Sorry, Captain,” Rox said, drawing Apollo into his arms. “I think I might need a few more days
before I’m up to your level of playtime.”
Apollo grumbled nonsensically. He hugged Rox’s waist, his sweet cock flagging and bumping
Rox’s leg.
Stupid griffin head. Rox berated himself with one of Rory’s childish insults. Although, in this
case, it was his head—his mind—that was causing problems.
“Hey. Stop with the frowning.” Aspen nuzzled Rox’s jaw. “Our boy will get over having playtime
interrupted. Besides, I hear Rory coming now with our breakfast.”
Sure enough, there was a knock on the door, and Rory sing-songing, “Wakey, wakey.”
Aspen pulled his shorts back on and headed for the door as Apollo hurried to dress, slinging on
camouflage cargo pants commando and a chest-hugging black compression tee. The quick change
from a playful young boy to “military machine” shocked Rox more than a little bit. What would it be
like to love a man who’d had to kill?
“Rox. Rox. Hey, big bro. You in there?” Rory poked his arm.
Rox shivered, driving away the sobering image of Apollo lying on the ground, peering through the
scope of a sniper rifle. He forced a smile to his lips. “I’m right here.”
Rory stared at him, and Rox could just about see the wheels turning in his brother’s head. What
would he say if Rory asked? Luckily, Gregor calling them to the desk area now covered with food
cartons distracted Rory, who launched into an extended exposition on all the delicious goodies they’d
brought.
 Chapter 7
Apollo
Apollo unapologetically swiped the container of pancakes, refusing to share when Daddy asked.
He snapped, “Mine,” and clacked his teeth together in a show of fierce protectiveness of the fluffy
cakes, then he sat criss-cross applesauce, huddled over the container, and used his fingers to roll the
pancakes before dipping them into a shallow container of syrup. Daddy crouched and cupped his
nape, massaging his neck.
“I don’t mind you staying as you are for the moment, boy. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.
You don’t usually like to be little around strangers.”
Apollo peered around the room, lingering on Rox the longest. Sure, he’d put on his adult clothes,
but Apollo hadn’t switched mindsets yet. He shrugged. “It’s fine. Feel safe.”
Daddy palmed Apollo’s head and held him in place to kiss his forehead. “Good. I always want
you to feel safe. After you’re done eating, though, we need to have a big boy discussion, and I’d like
you present for that.”
Apollo pouted. They’d been having so much fun this morning. He didn’t want to be big. “Daddy,
no…” he whined.
“Sorry, kiddo, but yes. We need to decide where we’re going from here. Rox might want to go
home.”
“Yeah.” Apollo beamed. “He’s coming home with us.”
Daddy’s frown had Apollo doubting his last words. He shook his head and handed Daddy his
styrofoam container. “Hold this.”
“That was fast,” Daddy mumbled.
Apollo harrumphed. “Let me wash up.” He always washed his hands and face after coming out of
his Little headspace because one time he’d accidentally rubbed wet finger paint into his eyes. He
never wanted to do that again.
“Good idea,” Daddy said, lifting Apollo to his feet as he stood.
“Don’t eat my pancakes,” Apollo warned before licking his sticky, syrup-laced fingers, unwilling
to let the yumminess go to waste. “And could you grab me a fork and knife, please?”
As he walked away, he overhead Rox asking Daddy where he was going. Having Rory and
Gregor also know about his idiosyncrasies made Apollo feel bashful, but considering they were
practically family, it made sense for them to know now versus later. Better for them not to be
surprised when they visited and saw his playroom filled to overflowing with stuffies and toys.
He hoped Rox liked them. Apollo couldn’t wait to show off his collection of mini military cars
and tin soldiers. He had knights and Vikings and Romans—
“That’s enough, kiddo. Those hands can’t get any cleaner.”
Apollo blinked up at Daddy and grinned, holding up two dripping hands as Daddy turned off the
faucet and grabbed a towel. “Sorry, Daddy. I got thinking about my soldiers, and, well, you know.”
He shrugged and wiggled as Daddy dried him and the sink off.
Daddy bopped him on the nose. “I do, and I’m sure Rox will be impressed, but right now, I need
you adulting.”
Apollo drew in a long breath and wobbled his head. “Okay. Adulting. Still don’t want to but
needs to be done. I’m ready.” One more deep breath. “Let’s do this.”
 Exiting the bathroom, Apollo spotted Rox sitting on the far side of the bed. He high-stepped onto
the mattress and plopped to sit beside him, bouncing both of them. Hearing Rox’s quiet laughter and
seeing his mate’s timid smile was exactly what he’d hoped for. He thanked Daddy when he was
handed the rest of his breakfast and officially greeted Rory and Gregor.
“Now that we’re all present and mostly fed…” —Daddy side-eyed Apollo, then tossed him a
wink— “we should discuss where we go physically from here. Whether that’s a road trip for the three
of us alone to cement our new bond or back to your pride or to our home in Forest Edge, it’s all up for
discussion. This discussion also includes you two, Gregor and Rory. You’re family now. Alpha
Payton welcomed you into any of the Woodcrest skulk communities, but maybe you’re itching to head
home?”
Rory and Rox exchanged a long look before simultaneously shrugging. Rox pointed at Rory, who
pointed back, mouthing something Apollo couldn’t catch. Apollo had assumed they’d head straight for
the pride. Rory had said how much his family had been missing Rox when they’d first met up several
days ago, hadn’t he? He’d definitely mentioned how much their mom wanted him home last night.
Why was Rory backtracking on what he’d said now?
“What’s changed?” Apollo asked, glancing between the two griffin brothers. Daddy sat beside
him and poked him teasingly in the side. “Oh. Right… Me and Daddy.” He rested his head on
Daddy’s shoulder and grinned up at his mate cheesily. But wait! Apollo popped upright and stared at
Rory. “Are we a problem?”
Rory slumped against Gregor, who pulled him closer with an arm around his waist. “Maybe.”
Okay… Damn… Apollo took in another deep breath and, as Daddy liked to say, “screwed his
head on right.” He gazed around the hotel room, cataloging each person’s demeanor. Gregor cuddled
and loved on a frowning Rory, whose cheeks were faintly pink and there was a wet sheen in his eyes.
Daddy had leaned over, elbows braced on his thighs, in full-blown thinking mode, alternating
between rubbing his forehead and lips. And finally, Rox. Their fated mate clutched a pillow in his
lap, staring blankly at the floor, appearing small and lonely. Well, that was one thing he could easily
fix.
He shoved his pancakes at Daddy and then threw his arms around Rox, squeezing until his mate
squeaked. “I hate that we might be the thing that keeps you from going home.”
Rox smiled gamely as he hugged Apollo back. “Our parents lost one son when he became a bully
and got thrown out of the pride. They might lose two more with Uncle Leonard’s desire to only have
straight couples on our lands. Because Rory has a male mate and I have two not-griffin mates, we’ll
be allowed to visit the pride, but we can’t live there. My uncle—”
“Our uncle,” Rory interrupted, “is too old-school, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Roxy,
but not long after you disappeared, Jerk-face came back.”
“What!” Rox pushed Apollo away, his hands curled into tight balls as he glared at Rory. “Are you
kidding me right now?”
Rory pouted. “You know I wouldn’t joke about him. He was an asshole to you and, by extension,
me. Uncle Leonard let him back into the pride, and now Tak is one of the inner members of his
council.”
“What am I missing?” Daddy asked. “Who’s Tak again?”
Rox sighed. “Tak’s our older brother. He practically worships our Uncle Leonard, who’s our
Pride King. He disliked that I was gay, but until I took a mate, Uncle Leonard let me stay in the pride,
though he distanced himself from most of our family, all except for Tak. We all knew that once I mated
a male, I’d have to leave, and I was okay with that; my dad was okay with that. Mom not so much.”
 “Barely at all,” Rory added. “It’s supposed to be you.”
Rox shrugged. “Tak hated that I was allowed to stay. He moved out of our house and into Uncle
Leonard’s. He started bullying me, embarrassing me in front of others, and spreading lies about me.
After Rory stood up for me, Tak started making both of our lives miserable. We tried to ignore him,
but one incident went too far, and our mom finally went to Uncle Leonard to have him rein Tak in. I
really don’t know what happened in the meeting, only that Tak left, so we thought Uncle Leonard had
banished him from the pride.”
Apollo stopped him. “And now you think Tak had only left until you were gone?”
“I mean, it’s a possibility. He’d only been gone a few months when the motorcycle gang
kidnapped me.”
Apollo seethed. The timeline made sense, but until they actually took Rox back to the pride, they
wouldn’t know the whole truth. “Rory, did you tell your parents you found Rox?”
Rory shook his head. “No. I thought it would be better if, when I called, Rox could speak to
them.”
“Good. Let’s keep it to ourselves for the moment.” Apollo rolled off the bed and grabbed his
phone. “Where’s your pride located?”
Rory rattled off the address, and it pleased Apollo to discover that their hometown of Woodcrest
lay nearly in the middle of reaching the griffin pride. He was also a little shocked to realize just how
close they’d been, and he hadn’t even known they were there. Apollo passed the phone to Daddy.
“We’ll go home to Forest Edge first, get our bearings, and make our plans. No sense spending more
money here when we can be comfy at home. Gregor, Rory, we have an entire upstairs you can use.
There’s a clean bed just waiting for someone or someones to use it. We never did get around to
replacing the dresser, but a quick call to Alpha Eli will take care of it, lickety-split.”
The three griffin shifters stared at him, which Apollo took for shock and awe. He preened,
brushing his fingernails against his sternum. “I know, I’m amazing. Feel free to bow before my
greatness.”
When Rory moved, Gregor’s arm shot out to stop him, and Apollo laughed. He did so love being
the center of attention. Well… sometimes, he did. Sometimes he just wanted to hole up in their
bedroom, hide under the covers, and let the world pass him by. Those were the days the memories got
to be too much. Good thing he had a daddy who loved him lots and took special care of him during
those stressful moments.
Apollo peered at Rox, wondering how his mate would react to seeing him aloof, depressed, and
possibly crying for all the loss he’d seen and the terrible deeds he’d done as a sniper. The early
mornings when he woke screaming and thrashing from the vivid nightmares that still occasionally
plagued him. Those days and/or nights when he was simply a miserable shit and tough to be around.
Although… Rox had seen him crying the night before, and he’d seen Rox crying, so maybe they were
even-steven. Maybe.
“Good plan, Apollo. We could leave today if we want, or since we have the rooms one more
night, we can give Eli that call and get the ball rolling on furnishing the upstairs rooms for our
brothers.” Daddy reached for Rox, who took his hand. “What do you think?”
“I’m good with staying another day, but I don’t want to stay in this room the whole time. Can we
go outside for a while? I want to feel the sun on my face and smell the grass and flowers.”
The longing in Rox’s expression nearly broke Apollo’s heart. “That’s a great idea. I’m sure
there’s a park around here some—”
A knock on the door interrupted Apollo. He squinted at the door like it might bite him.
 Daddy chuckled. “Chill, baby boy. I’ll see who it is.” At the window, Daddy flicked aside the
curtain and peered out. He held up a finger to whoever it was and then let the curtain fall back into
place. “It’s one of the officers from last night. I forgot that they want us to go down to the station and
give official statements.”
Rox growled. Apollo shuddered, and it wasn’t because he was scared. Holy fuck! That sound, so
near to Daddy’s, had Apollo’s cock hardening fast. He launched himself at Rox and hugged him.
Comforting his mate…? Maybe. Selfishly rubbing his erection on Rox’s hip? Possibly.
When Daddy plucked him off Rox, Apollo whined, “No.” He made grabby hands for Rox,
wanting to be plastered to his side. Rory and Gregor’s snickering didn’t even faze him or distract him
from his heart’s desire. Dick’s desire? Apollo giggled.
“I’m not even going to ask what’s going through your brain right now,” Daddy said, shaking his
head. “Sit here and be a good boy.” He plunked Apollo down on the second bed, away from the
others. Daddy cupped Apollo’s chin and gazed into his eyes. “I really don’t know what’s gotten into
you today. You’re never like this around other people. You can’t seem to separate your adult and
Little mind-spaces.”
Apollo jerked away from Daddy, crossed his arms, and huffed. He shouldn’t have pulled away,
and Daddy’s tsk confirmed it, but he just wanted to play with his new big brother.
 Aspen
What the hell had gotten into his boy?
Apollo’s demeanor had truly thrown Aspen for a loop, and he wasn’t sure what to do. His boy
had always been fairly fluid in shifting from his Little mindset to “adult” when necessary, but he
couldn’t seem to shake it off as easily this time.
Perhaps it was some combination of the stress of the rescue, finding their mate, being unable to
touch him, and now that he could… Hell, Aspen was off-kilter, so it made sense that Apollo could be,
too. He just wasn’t sure how he should handle his boy, and as a Daddy, he felt he should, but these
were uncharted waters…
They had no choice but to head down to the station after breakfast. If Aspen could get Apollo
through that, then his boy could be his boy afterward, for however long Apollo needed. In those few
minutes of playtime, before Rory and Gregor showed up, Aspen really liked what he saw in his
mates. Rox’s quick acceptance and willingness to join in the shenanigans had thrilled both Apollo and
Aspen. Their griffin mate needed to forget, and there was no one better at distraction than his little
hawk.
Before they left the room, however, he needed Apollo fully present, not lost in his imagination.
Based on his boy’s posture, he doubted they’d leave any time soon. The full-on pout and crossed arms
curling him into a ball of anger usually preceded a meltdown of epic proportions.
Aspen petted Apollo’s hair, soothing his boy in a platonic Daddy way, though he would have
preferred to set his baby hawk in his lap and cuddle. Then he’d give him hugs and kisses and sweet-
talk him into a better mood.
“Daddy,” Apollo whispered, “I want to go home.”
“I know you do.” Aspen relented to his desire to have Apollo in his arms. He lifted his mate, sat,
and snuggled his boy to his chest.
Rox joined them, circling the bed and climbing up to sit beside Aspen. He rubbed Apollo’s back.
“What’s doing?”
“Apollo wants to get home.” Aspen shot Rox a look that he hoped conveyed his indecision.
“And normally, you’d just take him home, but we still have to deal with the police.” Rox pointed
at the door where Gregor stood talking with the officer.
Thank Ursa. Aspen nodded, happy Rox understood. With the way Apollo curled under his chin,
Aspen wasn’t sure he’d get his boy to be enough of an adult to even give a statement. He hated the
thought of bringing Apollo to the station.
“Hey, Gregor,” Rox called to the other griffin, “can you ask if that officer could take our official
statements here? I’m not feeling up to dealing with the chaos that I’m sure the police station will be,
especially after arresting all those Raptors.” With a shudder, he added, under his breath but loud
enough they all heard, “I don’t think I could look at them and not throw up.”
And just like that, Aspen fell hard for Rox. Damn. His mate instinctively knew what they needed
—what Apollo needed. He touched Rox’s chin with a single finger, and when his mate gazed at him,
Aspen leaned in and gave him a chaste kiss. “Thank you.”
Rox smiled shyly and then scooched down on the bed, making himself small as he tucked his
knees up against Aspen’s thighs. He rested his head on Aspen’s shoulder as he continued to caress
Apollo’s lower back. Aspen cuddled his mates in silence while they waited for the outcome.
When the officer had walked off to ask his superiors, Gregor plopped Rory on his lap, and they
put their foreheads together, eyes going hazy as they communicated mind-to-mind. Watching the griffin
mates speak telepathically made Aspen jealous, but only a teensy bit. His bond with Apollo and Rox
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her dowry, increase the greatness and material comforts of both. Not
that Augustus of Wolfenbüttel was mercenary; he was simply
prudent. A little princely state in Germany costs a great deal to
maintain, and when the errant prince went forth in search of a lady
with a dower, his last thought was to offer himself to one who had no
heart or could have no place in his own. If there was some system, a
little method, and an air of business about the passion and principle
of the puissant Prince Augustus, something thereof must be laid to
the charge of the times, and a little to the princely matter-of-fact good
sense: he is a wise and merciful man who, before he comes to
conclusions with a lady on the chapter of matrimony, first weighs
prospects, and establishes, as far as in him lies, a security of
sunshine.
Augustus Wolfenbüttel had long suspected that the sun of his
future home was to be found at Zell, and in the person of his young
cousin Sophia Dorothea. Even yet, tradition exists among Brunswick
maidens as to the love-passages of this accomplished and
handsome young couple. Those passages have been enlarged for
the purposes of romance writers, but divested of all exaggeration
there remains enough to prove, as touching this pair, that they were
well assorted both as to mind and person; that their inclinations were
towards each other; and that they were worthy of a better fate than
that which fell upon the honest and warm affection which reigned in
the hearts of both.
The love of these cousins was not the less ardent for the fact of
its being partially discouraged. The Duke of Zell looked upon the
purpose of Prince Augustus with an unfavourable eye. The simple-
minded duke had an unfeigned superstitious awe of the new lover;
and the idea of consenting to a match under the circumstances as
they presented themselves, seemed to him tantamount to a species
of sacrilege, outraging the manes and memory of the defunct
brother. The duke loved his daughter, and the daughter assuredly
loved Augustus of Wolfenbüttel; and, added thereto, the good
Duchess Eleanora was quite disposed to see the cherished union
accomplished, and to bestow her benediction upon the well-favoured
pair. The father was influenced, however, by his extensive reading in
old legendary ballad-lore, metrical and melancholy German
romances, the commonest incident in which is the interruption of a
marriage ceremony by a spiritual personage professing priority of
right.
The opposition to the marriage was not, however, all surmounted
when the antagonism of the duke had been successfully overcome.
Madame von Platen has the credit of having carried out her
opposition to the match to a very successful issue.
It is asserted of this clever lady, that she was the first who
caused the Bishop of Osnaburgh thoroughly to comprehend that
Sophia Dorothea would form a very desirable match for his son
George Louis. The young lady had lands settled on her which might
as well be added to the territory of that electoral Hanover of which
the prince-bishop was soon to be the head. Every acre added to the
possessions of the chief of the family would be by so much an
increase of dignity, and little sacrifices were worth making to effect
great and profitable results. The worthy pair, bishop and female
prime-minister, immediately proceeded to employ every conceivable
engine whereby they might destroy the fortress of the hopes of
Sophia Dorothea and Augustus of Wolfenbüttel. They cared for
nothing, save that the hand of the former should be conferred upon
the bishop’s eldest son, George Louis, who had as little desire to be
matched with his cousin, or his cousin with him, as kinsfolk can have
who cordially detest each other.
George Louis was not shaped for a lover. He was mean in
person and in character. George was brave indeed; to none of the
princes of the House of Brunswick can be denied the possession of
bravery. In all the bloody and useless wars of the period, he had
distinguished himself by his dauntless courage and his cool self-
possession. He was not heroic, but he really looked heroic at the
head of his squadron, charging across the battle-field, and carrying
his sword and his fringed and feathered hat into the very thickest of
the fray. He did not fail, it may be added, in one of the characteristics
of bravery, humanity on the field. For a wounded foe he had a
thorough respect. Out of the field of battle George Louis was an
extremely ordinary personage, except in his vices. He was coarsely
minded and coarsely spoken, and his profligacy was so extreme of
character—it bore about it so little of what Lord Chesterfield
recommended when he said a man might be gentlemanlike even in
his vices—that the bishop, easy as he was both as parent and
prelate, and rich as he was himself in evil example to a son who
needed no such warrant to plunge headlong into sin—even the
bishop felt uncomfortable for awhile. He thought, however, that
marriage would cure profligacy.
George Louis was now in his twenty-second year. He was born
in 1660, and he had recently acquired increase of importance from
the tact of his sire having succeeded to the estates, grandeur, and
expectations of his predecessor, Duke John Frederick. The latter
was on his way to Rome, in 1679, a city which he much loved,
holding in respect a good portion of what is taught there. He was
proceeding thither with a view of a little more of pleasure and
something therewith of instruction, when a sudden attack of illness
carried him off; and his death excited as much grief in the bishop as
it possibly could in one who had little reverence for the duke, by
whose death he profited largely.
When the bishop (now Duke Ernest Augustus, of Hanover), as a
natural consequence of this death, established a gayer court at
Hanover than had ever yet been seen there, and had raised George
Louis to the rank of a ‘Crown Prince’—a title given to many heirs who
could inherit nothing but coronets—the last-named individual began
to consider speculatively as to what royal lady he might, with
greatest prospect of advantage to himself, make offer of his hand.
At this time Charles II. was King in England. The King’s brother,
James, Duke of York, had a daughter, ‘Lady Anne,’ who is better
known to us all by her after-title of ‘good Queen Anne.’ In the year
1680, George of Hanover came over to England with matrimonial
views respecting that young princess. He had on his way visited
William of Orange, at the Hague; and when that calculating prince
was made the confidential depository of the views of George Louis
respecting the Princess Anne of England, he listened with much
complacency, but is suspected of having forthwith set on foot the
series of intrigues which, helped forward by Madame von Platen,
ended in the recall of George from England, and in his hapless
marriage with the more hapless Sophia Dorothea.
George of Hanover left the Hague with the conviction that he had
a friend in William; but William was no abettor of marriages with the
Princess Anne, and least of all could he wish success to the
hereditary prince of Hanover, whose union with one of the heiresses
of the British throne might, under certain contingencies, miserably
mar his own prospects. The Sidney Diary fixes the arrival of George
Louis at Greenwich on the 6th of December, 1680. On the 29th of
the month, Viscount Stafford was beheaded on Tower Hill, and at
this lively spectacle George of Hanover was probably present, for on
the 30th of the month he sends a long letter to her Serene Highness,
his mother, stating that ‘they cut off the head of Lord Stafford
yesterday, and made no more ado about it than if they had chopped
off the head of a pullet.’ In this letter, the writer enters into details of
the incidents of his reception in England. The tenor of his epistle is,
that he remained one whole day at anchor at ‘Grunnwitsch’ (which is
his reading of Greenwich) while his secretary, Mr. Beck, went ashore
to look for a house for him, and find out his uncle Prince Rupert.
Scant ceremony was displayed, it would appear, to render hospitable
welcome to such a visitor. Hospitality, however, was not altogether
lacking. The zealous Beck found out ‘Uncle Robert,’ as the prince
ungermanises Rupert, and the uncle, having little of his own to offer
to his nephew, straightway announced to Charles II. the
circumstance that the princely lover of his niece was lying in the mud
off Grunnwitsch. ‘His Majesty,’ says George Louis, ‘immediately
ordered them apartments at Writhall’—and he then proceeds to state
that he had not been there above two hours when Lord Hamilton
arrived to conduct him to the King, who received him most obligingly.
He then adds, ‘Prince Robert had preceded me, and was at Court
when I saluted King Charles. In making my obeisance to the King, I
did not omit to give him the letter of your Serene Highness; after
which he spoke of your Highness, and said that he “remembered you
very well.” When he had talked with me some time, he went to the
Queen, and as soon as I arrived, he made me kiss the hem of her
Majesty’s petticoat. The next day I saw the Princess of York (the
Lady Anne), and I saluted her by kissing her, with the consent of the
King. The day after I went to visit Prince Robert, who received me in
bed, for he has a malady in his leg, which makes him very often
keep his bed. It appears that it is so, without any pretext, and he has
to take care of himself. He had not failed of coming to see me one
day. All the lords come to see me, sans prétendre la main chez moi’
(probably, rather meaning without ceremony, without kissing hands,
than, as has been suggested, that ‘they came without venturing to
shake hands with him’).
Cold and deaf did the Princess Anne remain to the suit of the
Hanoverian wooer. The suit, indeed, was not pressed by any
sanction of the lady’s father, who, during the three months’ sojourn of
George Louis in England, remained in rather secluded state at
Holyrood. Neither was the suit opposed by James. James was
troubled but little touching the suitor of his daughter. He had personal
troubles enough of his own wherewith to be concerned, and
therewith sundry annoyances.
Among the ‘celebrations’ of the visit of George Louis to this
country, was the pomp of the ceremony which welcomed him to
Cambridge. Never had the groves or stream of Cam been made
vocal by the echoes of such laudation as was given and taken on
this solemnly hilarious occasion. There was much feasting, which
included very much drinking, and much expenditure of heavy
compliment in very light Latin. George and his trio of followers were
made doctors of law by the scholastic authorities. The honour,
however, was hardly more appropriate than when a similar one was
conferred, in after years, upon Blucher and the celebrated artillery
officer, Gneisenau. ‘Ah!’ exclaimed the veteran leader, ‘they are
going to make me a doctor; but it was Gneisenau that furnished all
the pills.’
That parliament was convened at Oxford whereby there was, as
Evelyn remarks, ‘great expectation of his Royal Highness’s cause,
as to the succession against which the house was set,’ and therewith
there was, according to the same diarist, ‘an extraordinary sharp,
cold spring, not yet a leaf upon the trees, frost and snow lying while
the whole nation was in the greatest ferment.’ Such was the
parliament, and such the spring, when George Louis was suddenly
called home. He was highly interested in the bill, which was read a
first time at that parliament, as also in the ‘expedients’ which were
proposed in lieu of such bill, and rejected. The expedients proposed
instead of the Bill of Exclusion in this parliament, were that the whole
government, upon the death of Charles II., should be vested in a
regent, the Princess of Orange, and if she died without issue, then
the Princess Anne should be regent. But if James, Duke of York,
should have a son educated a Protestant, then the regency should
last no longer than his minority, and that the regent should govern in
the name of the father while he lived; but that the father should be
obliged to reside five hundred miles from the British dominions; and
if the duke should return to these kingdoms, the crown should
immediately devolve on the regent, and the duke and his adherents
be deemed guilty of high treason.
Here was matter in which the Hanoverian suitor was doubly
interested both as man and as lover. Nor was there anything
unnatural or unbecoming in such concern. The possible inheritance
of such a throne as that of England was not to be contemplated
without emotion. An exclusive Protestant succession made such a
heritage possible to the House of Brunswick, and if ever the heads of
that house, before the object of their hopes was realised, ceased to
be active for its realisation, it was when assurance was made doubly
sure, and action was unnecessary.
It is not easy to determine what part William of Orange had in the
recall of George Louis from England, but the suddenness of that
recall was an object of some admiring perplexity to a lover, who left a
lady who was by no means inconsolable, and who, two years
afterwards, was gaily married at St. James’s to the Prince of
Denmark, on the first leisure day between the executions of Russell
and of Sidney.
George Louis, however, obeyed the summons of his sovereign
and father, but it was not until his arrival in Hanover that he found
himself called upon to transfer the prosecution of his matrimonial suit
from one object to another. The riding idea in the mind of Ernest
Augustus was, that however he might have provided to secure his
succession to the dominion of Zell, the marriage of his son with the
duke’s only child would add many broad acres to his possessions in
Hanover.
Sophia Dorothea was still little more than a child; but that very
circumstance was made use of in order to procure the postponement
of her marriage with Augustus of Wolfenbüttel. The Duke of Zell did
not stand in need of much argument from his brother to understand
that the union of the young lovers might more properly be celebrated
when the bride was sixteen than a year earlier. The duke was ready
to accept any reasoning, the object of which was to enable him to
retain his daughter another year at his side.
The sixteenth birthday of Sophia Dorothea had arrived, and
George Louis had made no impression on her heart—the image of
the absent Augustus still lived there; and the whole plot would have
failed, but for the sudden, and active, and efficient energy of one
who seemed as if she had allowed matters to proceed to extremity,
in order to exhibit the better her own powers when she
condescended to interfere personally and remedy the ill-success of
others by a triumph of her own. That person was Sophia, the wife of
Ernest, a lady who rivalled Griselda in one point of her patience—
that which she felt for her husband’s infidelities. In other respects
she was crafty, philosophical, and free-thinking; but she was as
ambitious as any of her family, and as she had resolved on the
marriage of her son, George Louis, with Sophia Dorothea, she at
once proceeded to accomplish that upon which she had resolved.
It had suddenly come to her knowledge that Augustus of
Wolfenbüttel had made his reappearance at the Court of Zell.
Coupling the knowledge of this fact with the remembrance that
Sophia Dorothea was now sixteen years of age, and that at such a
period her marriage had been fixed, the mother of George Louis
addressed herself at once to the task of putting her son in the place
of the favoured lover. She ordered out the heavy coach and heavier
Mecklenburg horses, by which German potentates were wont to
travel stately and leisurely by post some two centuries ago. It was
night when she left Hanover; and although she had not further to
travel than an ordinary train could now accomplish in an hour, it was
broad daylight before this match-making and match-breaking lady
reached the portals of the ducal palace of Zell.
There was something delightfully primitive in the method of her
proceeding. She did not despise state, except on occasions when
serious business was on hand. The present was such an occasion,
and she therefore waited for no usher to marshal her way and
announce her coming to the duke. She descended from her
ponderous coach, pushed aside the sleepy sentinel, who appeared
disposed to question her before he made way, and, entering the hall
of the mansion, loudly demanded of the few servants who came
hurrying to meet her, to be conducted to the duke. It was intimated to
her that he was then dressing, but that his Highness would soon be
in a condition to descend and wait upon her.
Too impatient to tarry, and too eager to care for ceremony, she
mounted the stairs, bade a groom of the chamber point out to her the
door of the duke’s room; and, her order having been obeyed, she
forthwith pushed open the door, entered the apartment, and
discovered the dismayed duke in the most negligé of déshabilles.
She neither made apology nor would receive any; but, intimating that
she came upon business, at once asked, ‘Where is your wife?’ The
flurried Duke of Zell pointed through an open door to a capacious
bed in the adjacent room, wherein lay the wondering duchess, lost in
eider-down and deep amazement.
The ‘old Sophia’ could have wished, it would seem, that she had
been further off. She was not quite rude enough to close the door,
and so cut off all communication and listening; but, remembering that
the Duchess of Zell was but very indifferently acquainted with
German, she ceased to speak in the language then common to the
German courts—French—and immediately addressed the duke in
hard Teutonic phrase, which was unintelligible to the vexed and
suspecting duchess.
Half undressed, the duke occupied a chair close to his toilet-
table, while the astute wife of Ernest Augustus, seated near him,
unfolded a narrative to which he listened with every moment an
increase of complacency and conviction. The Duchess Eleanora,
from her bed in the adjacent room, could see the actors, but could
not comprehend the dialogue. But, if the narrative was unintelligible
to her, she could understand the drift of the argument, as the names
of her daughter and lover were being constantly pronounced with
that of George Louis.
The case was forcibly put by the mother of George. She showed
how union makes strength, how little profit could arise from a match
between Sophia Dorothea and Augustus of Wolfenbüttel, and how
advantageous must be an union between the heir of Hanover and
the heiress of the domains which her provident father had added to
Zell, and had bequeathed to his daughter. She spoke of the certainty
of Ernest Augustus being created arch-standard-bearer of the
empire of Germany, and therewith Elector of Hanover. She hinted at
the possibility even of Sophia Dorothea one day sharing with her son
the throne of Great Britain. The hint was something premature, but
the astute lady may have strengthened her case by reminding her
hearer that the crown of England would most probably be reserved
only for a Protestant succession, and that her son was, if a distant,
yet not a very distant, and certainly a possible heir.
The obsequious Duke of Zell was bewildered by the visions of
greatness presented to his mind by his clever sister-in-law. With
ready lack of honesty he consented to break off the match between
Sophia Dorothea and her lover, and to bestow her hand upon the
careless prince for whom it was now demanded by his mother. The
latter returned to Hanover perfectly satisfied with the work of that
night and morning.
The same satisfaction was not experienced by the Duchess
Eleanora. When she came to learn the facts, she burst forth in
expressions of grief and indignation. The marriage which had now
been definitely broken, had been with her an affair of a mother’s
heart. It had not been less an affair of a young girl’s heart with
Sophia Dorothea. Duke Anton Ulrich of Wolfenbüttel came in person
to Zell, to ask the fulfilment of the promise of her hand to his son. On
learning that the alleged promise had been broken, he left Zell with
the utmost indignation; and romance, at least, says of Königsmark,
that he too, had left it with a feeling of sorrow that Sophia Dorothea
was to be sacrificed to such an unworthy person as George Louis. It
was a pitiable case! There were three persons who were to be
rendered irretrievably wretched, in order, not that any one might be
rendered happy, but that a man without a heart might be made a little
more rich in the possession of dirt. The acres of Zell were to bring
misery on their heiress, and every acre was to purchase its season
of sorrow.
1
No entreaty could move the duke. In his dignity he forgot the
father: and the prayers and tears of his child failed to touch the
parent, who really loved her well, but whose affection was dissolved
beneath the fiery heat of his ambition. He was singularly ambitious;
for the possible effect of a marriage with George Louis was merely to
add his own independent duchy of Luneburg to the dominions of
Hanover. His daughter, moreover, detested her cousin, and his wife
detested her sister-in-law; above all, the newly accepted bridegroom,
if he did not detest, had no shadow, nor affected to have any shadow
of respect, regard, or affection for the poor young victim who was to
be flung to him with indecent and unnatural disregard of all her
feelings as daughter and maiden. Sophia Dorothea’s especial
distaste for George Louis was grounded not only in her knowledge of
his character, but also of his want of respect for her mother, of whom
he always spoke in contemptuous terms. Sophia Dorothea’s
inclinations, her father said, he would never constrain; but when this
seemed to give her some hope of release, her father observed that a
good daughter’s inclinations were always identical with those of her
parents. She had a heart to listen to, she thought. She had a father
whom she was bound to obey, he said—and said it with terrible
iteration. Her aversion is reported to have been so determined that,
when the portrait of her future lord was presented to her, she flung it
against the wall with such violence that the glass was smashed, and
the dismounted diamonds were scattered over the room.
The matter, however, was urged onward by Sophia of Hanover;
and in formal testimony of the freedom of inclination with which
Sophia Dorothea acted, she was brought to address a formal letter
to the mother of her proposed husband, expressive of her obedience
to the will of her father, and promissory of the same obedience to the
requirements of her future mother-in-law. It is a mere formal
document, proving nothing but that it was penned for the assumed
writer by a cold-hearted inventor, and that the heart of the copier,
subdued by sickness, was far away from her words. This document
is in the British Museum. During the time that intervened before
George Louis arrived at Zell to take his bride to Hanover, Sophia
Dorothea seemed to have passed years instead of weeks. It was
only when her mother looked sadly at her that she contrived painfully
to smile. She even professed a sort of joyful obedience; but when
the bridegroom dismounted at her father’s gate, Sophia Dorothea
fainted in her mother’s arms.
After a world of misery and mock wooing, crowded into a few
months, the hateful and ill-omened marriage took place at Zell on the
21st of November, 1682. The bride was sixteen, the bridegroom
twenty-two. Of the splendour which attended the ceremony court
historiographers wrote in loyal ecstasy and large folios, describing
every character and dress, every incident and dish, every tableau
and trait, with a minuteness almost inconceivable, and a weariness
saddening even to think of. They thought of everything but the heart
of the principal personage in the ceremony—that of the bride. They
could describe the superb lace which veiled it, and prate of its value
and workmanship; but of the worth and woe of the heart which beat
beneath it, these courtly historians knew no more than they did of
honesty. Their flattery was of the grossest, but they had no
comprehension of ‘the situation.’ To them all mortals were but as
ballet-dancers and pantomimists; and if they were but bravely
dressed and picturesquely grouped, the describers thereof thought
of nothing beyond. The bride preserved her mournful dignity on that
dark and fierce November day. Tradition says that there was a storm
without as well as sorrow within; and that the moaning of the wind
and strange noises in the old castle seemed as if the elements and
the very home of the bride’s youth sympathised with her present and
her future destiny.
 CHAPTER IV.
THE HOUSEHOLD OF GEORGE AND SOPHIA.

Reception of Sophia at the Court of Ernest Augustus—Similar position of

Marie Antoinette and Sophia—Misfortune of the abigail Use—
Compassionated by the Duchess of Zell—Intrigues and revenge of
Madame von Platen—A new favourite, Mademoiselle Ermengarda von der
Schulenburg—A marriage fête, and intended insult to the Princess Sophia
—Gross vice of George Louis.

It is said that a certain becomingness of compliment was paid to the

bride in an order given to Katharine von Busche to absent herself
from the palace when the bride was brought home. The mistress, it
is alleged, deferred her departure till it was too late, and from a
window of Madame von Platen’s bedchamber the sisters witnessed
the sight of George Louis dismounting from his horse, and hastening
to help his wife to descend from the carriage.
Madame von Platen, as she gazed, may have thought that her
sister’s influence was over. If she did, Madame von Busche felt
convinced of the contrary. The latter took her departure, for a
season. The other prepared herself to join in the splendid court
festivities held in honour of the event by the command of Ernest
Augustus. Sophia Dorothea, subdued by past suffering, was so
gentle that even Madame von Platen would have found it difficult to
have felt offended with her sister’s rival.
For a few months after Sophia Dorothea’s husband had taken
her to Hanover, she experienced, perhaps, a less degree of
unhappiness than was ever her lot subsequently. Her open and
gentle nature won the regard even of Ernest Augustus. That is, he
paid her as much regard as a man so coarsely minded as he was
could feel for one of such true womanly dignity as his daughter-in-
law.
His respect for her, however, may be best appreciated by the
companionship to which he sometimes subjected her. He more
frequently saw her in society with the immoral Madame von Platen
than in the society of his own wife. Ernest looked gratefully upon her
as the pledge of the future union of the two duchies under one duke.
On this account, even if she had possessed less attractive qualities,
he would have held Sophia Dorothea in great esteem. A certain
measure of esteem Ernest experienced for all who had in any way
furthered his scheme. His mistress, Madame von Platen, had always
pretended to think favourably of the scheme, and admiringly of the
wisdom of the schemer; in return for which, Ernest made his
mistress’s husband a baron, and afterwards a count. Let us employ
the higher dignity. In the beginning, George Louis seemed fairly in
love with his wife; there appeared a promise of increased felicity
when the first child of this marriage was born at Hanover, on the 30th
of October 1683; his father conferred on him the names of George
Augustus, he expressed pleasure at having an heir, and he even
added some words of regard for the mother. The second child of this
marriage was a daughter, born in 1687. She was that Sophia
Dorothea who subsequently married the King of Prussia. In tending
these two children the mother found all the happiness she ever
experienced during her married life. Soon after the birth of the
daughter, George Louis openly neglected and openly exhibited his
hatred of his wife. He lost no opportunity of irritating and outraging
her, and she could not even walk through the rooms of the palace
which she called her home without encountering the abandoned
female favourites of her husband, whose presence beneath such a
roof was the most flagrant of outrages. Her very sense of
helplessness was a great grief to her. All that her own mother could
do when her daughter complained to her of the presence near her of
her husband’s mistress, was to advise her to imitate, on this point,
the indifference of her mother-in-law, and make the best of it!
The Countess von Platen kept greater state in Hanover than
Sophia Dorothea herself. In her own palatial mansion two dozen
servants helped her helplessness. Every morning she had ‘a circle,’
as if she were a royal lady holding a court. Her dinners were costly
banquets; her ‘evenings’ were renowned for the brilliancy of her fêtes
and the reckless fury of gambling. Sophia Dorothea, whose talent for
listening and for putting apt and sympathetic questions when the
conversation required it, gave considerable satisfaction to her clever,
but somewhat pedantic mother-in-law, failed to at all satisfy the
Countess von Platen. This lady had tried to bring the princess into
something like sympathy with herself, but she found only antipathy.
She detested Sophia Dorothea accordingly, and she obtained
permission to invite her sister, Madame von Busche, to return to
Hanover.
The prime mover of the hatred of George Louis for his consort
was the Countess von Platen, and this fact was hardly known to
George Louis himself. There was one thing in which that individual
had a fixed belief: his own sagacity and, it may be added, his own
imaginary independence of outward influences. He was profound in
some things; but, as frequently happens with persons who fancy
themselves deep in all, he was very shallow in many. It was often
impossible to guess his purpose, but quite as often his thoughts
were as clearly discernible as the pebbles in the bed of a transparent
brook. The Countess von Platen saw through him thoroughly, and
she employed her discernment for the furtherance of her own
detestable objects.
Sophia Dorothea had, however, contrived to win the good
opinion of her mother-in-law, and also the warm favour of Ernest
Augustus. The latter took her with him on a journey he made to
Switzerland and Italy. It was on this journey that her portrait was
taken, at Venice, by Gascar, who, when in England, had painted,
among others, that of Louise de Querouaille, Duchess of
Portsmouth. This portrait of Sophia Dorothea is still in existence in
Germany. The beauty of the lady represented is so remarkable, it is
said, as to justify the admiration she generally excited. This
admiration sometimes went beyond decent bounds. One French
adorer, the celebrated and eccentric Marquis de Lassay, was
impudent enough, not only to address declarations of love to her, but
subsequently, in his ‘Memoirs,’ to publish his letters. It has not yet
occurred to the ever-busy autograph fabricators on the continent to
forge the supposed replies of the princess.
After the return of Ernest Augustus and his daughter-in-law to
Hanover, the praise of Sophia Dorothea was ever the theme which
hung on the lips of the former, and such eulogy was as poison
poured in the ears of Madame von Platen. She dreaded the loss of
her own influence over the father of George Louis, and she fancied
she might preserve it by destroying the happiness of the wife of his
son. Her hatred of that poor lady had been increased by a
circumstance with which she could not be connected, but which
nearly concerned the Duchess of Zell.
Ernest Augustus used occasionally to visit Madame von Platen
at her own residence, with more than enough of publicity. He was
more inclined to conversation with her than with his prime-minister,
her husband; and she had wit enough, if not worth, to give warrant
for such preference. Now and then, however, the ducal sovereign
would repair to pay his homage to the lady without previous notice
being forwarded of his coming; and it was on one of these occasions
that, on arriving at the mansion, or in the gardens of the mansion of
his minister’s spouse, he found, not the lady of the house, who was
absent, but her bright-eyed, ordinary-featured, and quick-witted
handmaid, who bore a name which might have been given to such
an official in Elizabethan plays by Ford or Fletcher. Her name was
‘Use.’
Ernest Augustus found the wit of Use much to his taste; and the
delighted abigail was perfectly self-possessed, and more brilliant
than common in the converse which she sustained for the pleasure
of the sovereign, and her own expected profit. She had just, it is
supposed, come to the point of some exquisitely epigrammatic tale,
for the prince was laughing with his full heart, and her hand in his,
and the ’tiring maiden was as radiant as successful wit and
endeavour could make her, when Madame von Platen interrupted
the sparkling colloquy by her more fiery presence. She affected to be
overcome with indignation at the boldness of a menial who dared to
make merry with a sovereign duke; and when poor Use had been
rudely dismissed from the two presences—the one august and the
other angry—the Countess von Platen probably remonstrated with
Ernest Augustus, respectfully or otherwise, upon his deplorable want
of dignity and good taste.
Revenge certainly followed, whether remonstrance may or may
not have been offered. Ernest Augustus went to sojourn for a time at
one of his rural palaces, and he had no sooner left his capital than
the countess committed the terrified Use to close imprisonment in
the common gaol. The history of little German courts assures us that
this exercise and abuse of power were not at all uncommon with the
‘favourites’ of German princes. Their word was ‘all potential as the
duke’s,’ and doubtless the Countess von Platen’s authority was as
good warrant for a Hanoverian gaoler to hold Use in custody as if he
had shut up that maid, who offended by her wit, under the sign
manual of Ernest Augustus himself.
Use was kept captive, and very shabbily treated, until the
Countess von Platen had resolved as to the further course which
should be ultimately adopted towards her. She could bring no charge
against her, save a pretended accusation of lightness of conduct and
immorality scandalous to Hanoverian decorum. Under this charge
she had her old handmaid drummed out of the town; and if the elder
Sophia heard the tap of the drums which accompanied the alleged
culprit to the gates, we can only suppose that she would have
expelled the countess to the same music. But, in the first place, the
wives of princes were by no means so powerful as their favourites;
and secondly, the friend of the philosophical Leibnitz was too much
occupied with the sage to trouble herself with the affairs which gave
concern to the Countess von Platen.
Use found herself outside the city walls, friendless, penniless,
with a damaged character, and nothing to cover it but the light
costume which she had worn in the process of her march of
expulsion to the roll of ‘dry drums.’ When she had found a refuge,
her first course was to apply to Ernest Augustus for redress. The
prince, however, was at once oblivious, ungrateful, and powerless;
and, confining himself to sending to the poor petitioner a paltry
eleemosynary half-dozen of gold pieces, he forbade her return to
Hanover, counselled her to settle elsewhere, and congratulated her
that she had not received even rougher treatment.
Use next made full statement of her case to the Duchess of Zell;
and that lady, deeming the case one of peculiar hardship, and the
penalty inflicted on a giddy girl too unmeasured for the pardonable
offence of amusing an old prince who encouraged her to the task,
after much consideration, due weighing of the statement, and
befitting inquiry, took the offender into her own service, and gave to
the exiled Hanoverian a refuge, asylum, and employment in Zell.
These are but small politics, but they illustrate the nature of
things as they then existed at little German courts. They had,
moreover, no small influence on the happiness of Sophia Dorothea.
The Countess von Platen was enraged that the mother of that
princess should have dared to give a home to one whom she had
condemned to be homeless; and she in consequence is suspected
of having been fired with the more satanic zeal to make desolate the
home of the young wife. She adopted the most efficient means to
arrive at such an end. Her wicked zeal was stimulated by the
undisguised contempt with which Sophia Dorothea treated her on all
public occasions. She urged her sister, Madame von Busche, to
recover her power over George Louis. Madame von Busche
embraced with alacrity the mission with which she was charged,
again to throw such meshes of fascination as she was possessed of
around the heart of the not over-susceptible prince. But George
Louis stolidly refused to be charmed, and Madame von Busche gave
up the attempt in a sort of offended despair. Her sister, like a true
genius, fertile in expedients, and prepared for every emergency,
bethought herself of a simple circumstance, whereby she hoped to
attain her ends. She remembered that George Louis, though short
himself of stature, had a predilection for tall women. At the next fête
at which he was present at the mansion of Madame von Platen, he
was enchanted by a majestic young lady, with a name almost as
long as her person—it was Ermengarda Melusina von der
Schulenburg.
She was more shrewd than witty, this ‘tall mawkin,’ as the
Electress Sophia once called the lofty Ermengarda; and, as George
Louis was neither witty himself, nor much cared for wit in others, she
was the better enabled to establish herself in the most worthless of
hearts. This was the work of the countess, who saw in the tender
blue eyes, the really fine features, the imposing figure, and the
nineteen years of Ermengarda, means to an end. When the
countess hinted at the distinction that was within reach of her, the tall
beauty is said to have blushed and hesitated, and then to have
yielded herself with alacrity to the glittering circumstance. She and
the prince first met on his return from a campaign in Hungary. He
was at once subjected to her magic influences. She was an
inimitable flatterer, and in this way she fooled her victim to ‘the very
top of his bent.’ She exquisitely cajoled him, and with exquisite
carelessness did he surrender himself to be cajoled. Gradually, by
watching his inclinations, anticipating his wishes, admiring even his
coarseness, and lauding it as candour, she so won upon the lazily
excited feelings of George Louis that he began to think her presence
indispensable to his well-being. If he hunted, she was in the field, the
nearest to his saddle-bow. If he went out to walk alone, he invariably
fell in with Ermengarda. At the court theatre, when he was present,
the next conspicuous object was the towering von der Schulenburg,
‘in all her diamonds,’ beneath the glare of which, and the blazing
impudence of their wearer, the modest Sophia Dorothea was almost
extinguished. Ermengarda was speedily established at Hanover, as
hof-dame, or lady-in-waiting.
Madame von Platen had announced a festival, to be celebrated
at her mansion, which was to surpass in splendour anything that had
ever been witnessed by the existing generation. The occasion was
the second marriage of her sister, Madame von Busche, who had
worried the poor ex-tutor of George Louis into the grave, with
General Weyhe, a gallant soldier, equal, it would seem, to any feat of
daring. Whenever the Countess von Platen designed to appear with
more than ordinary brilliancy in her own person, she was
accustomed to indulge in the extravagant luxury of a milk bath; and it
was added by the satirical or the scandalous, that the milk which had
just lent softness to her skin was charitably distributed among the
poor of the district wherein she occasionally affected to play the
character of Dorcas.
 The fête and the giver of it were not only to be of a splendour
that had never been equalled, but George Louis had promised to
grace it with his presence, and had even pledged himself to ‘walk a
measure’ with the irresistible Ermengarda Melusina von der
Schulenburg. Madame von Platen thought that her cup of joy and
pride and revenge would be complete and full to the brim if she could
succeed in bringing Sophia Dorothea to the misery of witnessing a
spectacle, the only true significance of which was, that the faithless
George Louis publicly acknowledged the gigantic Ermengarda for his
‘favourite.’
More activity was employed to encompass the desired end than
if the aim in view had been one of good purpose. It so far succeeded
that Sophia Dorothea intimated her intention of being present at the
festival given by the Countess von Platen; and when the latter lady
received the desired and welcome intelligence she was conscious of
an enjoyment that seemed to her an antepast of Paradise.
The eventful night at length arrived. The bride had exchanged
rings with the bridegroom, congratulations had been duly paid, the
floor was ready for the dancers, and nothing lacked but the presence
of Sophia Dorothea. There walked the proudly eminent von der
Schulenburg, looking blandly down upon George Louis, who held her
by the hand; and there stood the impatient von Platen, eager that the
wife of that light-o’-love cavalier should arrive and be crushed by the
spectacle. Still she came not; and finally her lady of honour, Fräulein
von Knesebeck, arrived, not as her attendant but her representative,
with excuses for the non-appearance of her mistress, whom
unfeigned indisposition detained at her own hearth.
The course of the festival was no longer delayed; in it the bride
and bridegroom were forgotten, and George and Ermengarda were
the hero and heroine of the hour. After that hour no one doubted as
to the bad eminence achieved by that lady—unworthy daughter of an
ancient and honourable race. So narrowly and sharply observant
was the lynx-eyed von Knesebeck of all that passed between her
mistress’s husband and that husband’s mistress, that when she
returned to her duties of dame d’atours, she unfolded a narrative that
inflicted a stab in every phrase and tore the heart of the despairing
listener.