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GRIFFIN—
The dark, blurry mindlessness had nearly overwhelmed me when I had seen River's body in Cain's arms. Being held to the cat's chest like he belonged there. Like he wasn't mine; like I had failed him completely.
Because I had.
I had sworn to myself that I would keep him safe and get him home whole, and he nearly died alone on a cold stone floor in a prison cell.
I was the worst thing possible for him. I had known this. I had tried to fight everything that we were, and this was what happened when I gave in. My mate, my beautiful, sweet mate, was covered in filth and nearly dead because of his mere association with me.
The healer moved and danced around me. He rubbed foul looking poultices and potions into River's skin, working with a grace and confidence that showed his true expertise in his field. Only when he looked up at me, watching him with barely contained violence, and smiled, tightly but with a drawn out nod, did I take a breath that wasn't clipped and forced.
"He's going to be alright," the healer whispered, for the sake of the other men surrounding the cell. I saw Cain take a deep, relieved breath and clutch his mate to his chest tightly.
"I forced him," I bit out, pushing myself up and away from River with what felt like every bit of my strength. My bear, weak and exhausted, fought me every step away from River, but I pushed him down until I feared I may never be able to drag him back out again, even if I ever had the proti collar removed from around my neck.
"What are you talking about?" Cain asked, the tilting of his head so reminiscent of the cat I knew was his second form.
"I forced him to come with me," I announced, annoyed that I had to voice the words in so much detail. Why couldn't he have just understood, when I was giving him back his man, his friend, his employee, and leaving myself alone and in darkness yet again? "I told him that if he didn't come with me, I would kill you, the Emperor, whoever I could get my claws into. He had no choice."
"You're lying," the Emperor stated without hesitation or inflection, his words biting into my skin and making me want to draw my claws on him. What the fuck did he know? Why did he sound as if we were discussing the weather or a horse race over tea, rather than the man who had stolen my heart and soul with nothing but a smile and a kiss?
"I'm not. I—"
"— We know you're lying," Cain cut in, and I growled low in my throat at being cut off mid-sentence, and at his denial of the words I'd torn from my heart to try to protect my mate. "He's your mate," he finished with a shrug. "And I'm pretty certain he feels something for you. I saw it in his eyes when he chose you that day."
"He didn't choose me. He had no... I gave him no choice—"
"— You would deny your mate his rightful choice, his fate? You would take that from him?" Cain hissed, finally tearing his eyes from River and the healer and glaring over at me. He and I were near the same height, though he was at least fifty pounds heavier than I and it was all a bulk of muscle. But I knew, too, just as he did, that without the anti-magic holding me back, my bear could tear his cat to shreds.
I froze at his words, shaking my head to try to clear it. Gods, when was the last time I slept? When had I eaten last? Why was the cell around me spinning, and my legs feeling like the veins were suddenly filled with air and lead all at once?
".... He's not happy with me anyways," I finally bit out, the words more air than sound as I stared down at my blood-soaked, bare feet. As a mage, I never truly paid any mind to my nudity, but I'd never not even noticed that I was naked until that moment. Staring down at the bare skin of my thighs, frowning as I tried to remember when I'd last had clothes and where I may have left them, I managed to finish my words, though I had to force them past lips that wanted to do nothing more than mumble.
"Always, he wanted to return to you. Please, don't blame him for my crimes. They're not his. I forced him to come with me, kidnapped him. That's all that needs to be said. Just... just let him come home."
To my horror, my voice broke on the last two words, but luckily neither Cain nor the Emperor seemed to notice. Both only continued to look between me, River's prone body, and the healer who bustled around the man I loved.
".... He told me you didn't fight with the mercenaries," Cain said, his tone as matter-of-fact as the Emperor's had been. Rather than calming me, their near-tranquility only seemed to aggravate me. "That you were leaving them when they attacked my... when they attacked the Emperor."
I laughed, the sound coming out harsh and bitter and dark. "I told him not to even try that. I knew you wouldn't believe it. Why should you?"
"And we didn't," Cain agreed. "The moment one of the few men I count as a friend met my eyes and chose a criminal over me, I began to suspect something was wrong with our perception of you. Then that was further confirmed when the reports came in of you and my friend almost single-handedly saving Aqer. Then we began to think that maybe he hadn't just been naive to believe your words."
"Besides," Riece added, his eyes moving to mine and a small, frustratingly amused smile gracing his stunning face. "I fear a full-on revolt of the Aqeran townspeople if we actually arrest you."
RIECE—
My words had mostly been jest, trying— in vain, Cain would likely tell me— to calm River's enervated mate. But when we stepped into the light from the dark, dankness of the prison River and Griffin had been held in, my words were proven to be not in the least hyperbolic.
Griffin, clutching River to his bare chest, a pair of Cain's trousers tied as tightly as they could and hanging low on his thin hips, blinked and glared around him as his eyes acclimated to the bright sunlight after the near pitch-dark of the prison. River twitched only a little as the crowd of rough Aqeran men and women, the same men and women who fought off a half a dozen pirate attacks a year and never complained for it, burst into cheers at the sight of the two men they claimed had been their saviors during this last attack. Though they were used to the attacks at this point, due to their location and the riches they brought to the Empire, they were caught nearly unawares this time due to the time of year— it was far past when the pirates usually struck— and they had been sorely outnumbered. The pirates had brought not only an extra ship, but over a hundred extra men than they normally did.
Griffin looked nearly bemused, or, he would have if he wasn't ready to tip over with exhaustion and the weight of his lover in his arms. He had refused to let anyone else carry River, though both his arms and his legs shook visibly when he pulled the smaller man up against his chest.
Cain, Griffin, the healer, and I ignored the shouts of "Free them!" and the cheers that nearly deafened us as we moved towards the front door of the mayor's mansion. The prison the two men had been held in was in something of a cellar off the mansion, so we only had a short walk to get to the entrance. The healer's lover stayed back to talk to the assembled crowd, and I could hear his booming voice calming the fishermen, merchants, mercenaries, and sailors as the door to the mansion slammed shut behind us.
"Fuck," Griffin hissed just as the noise of the crowd died out behind the thick wood of the mansion's walls and reinforced door. "I honestly thought you were joking about not being able to let us free. You weren't kidding. They'd've killed you to get to River."
Cain and I shared a glance, my own amusement at Griffin's inability to see how the people were there for him as much as for River reflected in my husband's eyes.
"Sure, Griff. Let's get the two of you into a bed, yeah?" Cain said, as gently as I knew the man was capable of.
Griffin's eyes darkened as he glared over at Cain with irritated indignation in his eyes.
"Griffin. My name is Griffin."
"Sure thing, Griffy. This way," Cain said without a hint of amusement or snark, and I had to bite my tongue to hold back my laughter as I followed my husband. The healer wasn't as well-prepared for Cain's particular brand of humor, so the man let out a guffaw of laughter before he smothered it with his fist and ran after Cain and me, leaving a fuming bear shifter to follow us slowly.
RIVER—
I woke slowly, like pulling myself from the mud of a deep bog. My first sense to return was smell, and I knew then that Griffin was nearby. Marjoram, heat, and the musk of fur, I could scent him so close I immediately began to bemoan that I couldn't also feel his skin against mine.
My eyes refused to cooperate, the lids heavy like they were pinned down with coins, and my veins felt as if they were filled with something that wasn't a liquid. Like they were swollen and bloated, overfull, leaving me unable to lift more than a finger.
I took deep breaths, unsure where I was, if we were safe, and why I was so warm. I could feel bandages covering my body, mostly centering on my back, and a distinct lack of pain. It had nearly sent me screaming into insanity the last time consciousness had been my companion, but now I was blessedly comfortable— stiff and sore, but lacking the bone-jarring agony that had permeated my being when I had lain alone and dying on a cold stone floor.
Am I dead? I wondered, my eyes twitching as I pushed and tried to force them to open. Is that why I can't truly wake?
If that was the case, at least my heaven included Griffin, even if it was just his scent until he could join me when he left his life behind. Or, at least, gods, I hoped he wasn't there with me yet.
"River..." a familiar, beloved voice whispered, and I was finally able to peel my eyes open enough to stare up at a dark ceiling, lit with the flickering of what looked like a small hearthfire. With a fierce effort on my part, I twisted my neck and stared down at where the sound had come from.
Griffin was asleep, his head and chest on the bed I lay on, the rest of his body slumped on a hard wooden chair. His right arm was outstretched towards me, his fingers only an inch or so from where my own hand lay above the thick, wool blankets, his left against his cheek. His mouth was open, soft, mumbling sounds escaping his lips with each breath.
"River, p-please..." he groaned, and I felt my heart constrict in my chest at the pain, the need in his voice. As he dreamed... Dreamed of me.
I lifted my arm to reach for him, but I froze at his next words.
"Don't leave... Please... I love... don't.... Mate, please..."
"Griffin," I whispered, my voice harsh and rough, sounding as if I had gargled daggers and arrowheads, and feeling that way as well, as I pressed my fingers to his and closed my eyes at the heat that emanated from him and seemed to seep into my very pores. "Griffin, wake, my big bear... Wake up. I'm... I'm right here, big guy."
Griffin startled, his eyes wide and desperate as he pushed himself up and stared at me as if I had screamed some blasphemy. Or as if I had come back from the dead.
Had I?
His hair stuck up on one side of his head where he had been lying on it, his lips wet with a little bit of drool I hadn't noticed while his face was plastered against his hand, and his eyes were bloodshot, with dark purple circles looking as if he had been beaten and only just survived. Barely.
"Mate?" he rasped, and my heart throbbed at the word. At the acknowledgement of what I meant to him. At the permission the single word, the lonely syllable, gave me to continue to love him with every fiber of my being and not to have to hide that he was so much in my heart and my soul that I had begun to think my life would all but end when he walked away from me. At the single word that ended the pain that had plagued me since the moment he denied his feelings for me.
"I'm alright, Griffin," I whispered, my eyes blurring as heat filled them. My cheeks burned with embarrassment at the display of need, but he didn't seem to mind. He barely even seemed to notice as he gripped my hand in what felt like leather wrapped around embers directly from a fire. I nearly flinched at how hot his skin was against mine. But gods, I wanted the burn. Needed it. Craved it like an addict. Craved him like an addict, and fuck what anyone thought, fuck right or wrong, fuck the world if they thought that he and I were wrong. That we weren't meant to be or that we shouldn't be together. I wanted him, needed him, and he was mine. I was his, yes, I was his mate. But godsdammit, he was mine too. He was my love, and I would fight for him. I would fight the world for him. I would even fight him if it came down to it. If he got it in his head again that I was better off without him. That I would ever choose anything but him. Anything but being his and making him mine.
I would fight him, and by all the gods, holy and unholy, I would win. I would triumph over my stubborn bear, and he would be mine, forever, whether he liked it or not.
"River," he croaked, his voice nearly as hoarse as my own, and I felt the tears that had pooled in my eyes begin to spill down to wet the hair at my temples. "What are you thinking about, that has your eyes so dark, angel?"
"You," I hissed, my hand grabbing his as tightly as I could so he couldn't pull away. Shifter strength or not, I wouldn't let him pull away. Not again.
Never again.
"You. I'm thinking... about you," I pushed past lips so chapped I tasted blood on them when my words touched them.
"And it's making you that... upset?" he queried, his heavy brows meeting as he moved over just enough to pull a cup from a side table where it sat next to a large jug and a handful of other items— a few clean bandages, what looked like a jar of poultice, a cup of tea, and a full plate of stale-looking food.
He moved towards me, trying to pull his hand from mine so he could put the cup to my lips, but I held onto his fingers as tightly as I was able— as weak as I was, it wasn't much. But he got the message, because he paused and met my eyes, hurt flashing in them in his confusion, even as he continued to try to help me with the water I desperately needed.
"You're mine," I vowed, squeezing my fingers around his and glaring up at him. "You are mine," I repeated, enunciating each word and shaking his hand to push my point through to him.
His eyes softened, widening as he sat back, one hand trapped in mine, the other clutching the cup of what I assumed was water so tightly his knuckles whitened and the cup visibly shook.
"Drink, sweet angel," he babbled after a moment of silence, his voice low, his expression unreadable. "Everything is going to be alright. You're safe now."
He put his arms around my shoulders so gently, treating me as if I may break at any moment, like I was fragile, a porcelain doll he didn't know the purpose of, and helped me to sit up just enough that he could put the cup to my lips without my choking on the water. I let him tip it so a few drops trickled down my parched throat. I felt it, though it was no colder than room-temperature, all the way down into my empty stomach.
Gods, how long had it been since I had eaten? We had eaten, just a bit, at the inn. How long ago had that been? Days? A week? I had no idea.
I licked my lips, refusing to look away from Griffin's confused, indiscernible eyes, and flinched when I tasted the blood that dripped from them. Griffin must have noticed, because he lifted the cup to my lips again, then again, and again, until it was empty and I was nearly panting with the effort of sitting up enough to drink it down.
After he positioned the pillows to prop me up just a bit, he lowered me down again so softly, smoothly, slowly that I felt like a piece of precious glass, then he set the cup down and turned his eyes down to our still-joined hands.
"River, I—" he began, his voice hesitant, worded so carefully I knew I wasn't going to like what he would say next, but before I could cut him off and possibly hit him for continuing to be a stubborn ass, he froze as the door behind him opened and a voice, deep and rumbling, familiar enough that my heart leapt into my throat, called out.
"You look like death warmed over and spit back out, kid."