Author's Note

Well, folks, as much as I’d like to keep working on this, I have to stop for a bit—the reason is that I’ve been promising for a while that I’d return to Unleash the Magic, which I typically do as fall hits in the leadup to Nightmare Night’s Halloween setting and story anniversary. So I’ll leave you with this final chapter for now, and I hope you’ve enjoyed both the new and updated content. Hard to believe, but just a couple more chapters and this revamped story will be as long in terms of word count as the original!

Time for the now-standard boilerplate: This chapter is a heavily edited, expanded and updated version of the middle third of Feathered Heart: Chapter 4. As always, you are not only invited but strongly encouraged to check out the original.

Be advised there’s a great deal of suggestive content here, in the form of Fortrakt recounting what he thinks happened to him the night of the cider, and things getting hot and heavy between Marco and a sorely aroused Gilda at the end.

It will lead directly to a new side story chapter or two, as yet unwritten, that the next main story chapter will assume the events of but otherwise skip over. I’ve tried to keep it T-rated as much as possible, as I’d rather the adult stuff stay in the side story, but it may cross the line slightly in a couple places for purposes of narration. Apologies if so.

This chapter got rave reviews from my prereading crew of AJ_Aficionado, Silentwoodfire, and SIlverblade5. Thanks as always for all the comments and edits, guys! And thanks to all readers for the well-wishes during my recovery from my latest sleep apnea surgery. If you want to know what they did to me, look up “Midline Glossectomy”. Preferably away from any mealtimes if you want to browse pictures of it.

—Firesight

13: Explanations and Epiphanies (T-rated)

“Deal,” Gilda said as she, Chris and Tara agreed to talk to Fortrakt and Marco, respectively.

But before Chris or Tara could reply, she heard a click of metal followed by Fortrakt’s and Marco’s voices coming from the entrance to the pantry. “And we’ll start right now...” Gilda added as she heard the door open and felt a rush of cool air from within it to herald the return of the two males.

“Wow... so your homeland has that many types of fighting styles?” Fortrakt asked in amazement as he held the door open for Marco, who backed through it like he was carrying something.

“Yup,” Marco replied as he carefully stepped through the opening with an array of ingredients for dinner; it mildly amazed Gilda that humans could walk backwards on two legs like that. Then again, it still mildly amazed her that they could walk upright at all given their slightly gangly forms.

“It’s mind-boggling, really. We’re a small island chain with a limited population, but we came up with all this just to resist being invaded and occupied by colonial powers—not always successfully. We’ve got styles for blades, blunt objects, and even an array of grappling arts, some of which we’ve borrowed from the various invaders we’ve had over our history. They all take years to master.”

“And you say you’ve learned three of them?” Gilda could hear the wonder in his voice, but she could only wonder in turn why he hadn’t shown any of them—or any combat ability at all—when she’d attacked him.

Marco laughed. “I wish. I’ve only dabbled in Yaw-Yan, which is a powerful striking art, and I learned a little Dumog for grappling. The only art I really studied intensely was the Kali style, which is a weapons-heavy art where I learned how to use that baton—it’s very good at teaching you to use sticks, staffs, blades, or whatever blunt object might be at hand. Got several years of instruction there, and it’s so popular that a lot of modern militaries use it to train their soldiers!

“That was definitely something I am good at… or at least, was good at.” Gilda heard Marco sigh. “It happens when you stop practicing. And though it was useful against punks in pubs in the seedier areas of Cavite, I’m not sure yet how much good it would actually be against a full-grown griffon as opposed to those two teens I fought earlier. Particularly since I can’t even beat Sergeant Reyes with it yet.”

“So is that the reason why you’re doing these morning workouts?” Fortrakt asked as Marco released his armfuls of ingredients onto the counter—he and Chris had been alternating making meals, slowly introducing them to various human foods. “To practice?”

“Partially. But all I get is Robbie poking a training knife at my ribs and pretending to slash my neck, saying”—Marco deepened his voice to mimic Reyes’s quite accurately—“‘You’re dead. Dead. Dead. Dead again’.”

“Well, that actually sounds like training,” Fortrakt replied with a smile before seeing the rest of the group staring at them. “Uh, we’re back?”

“And dinner will be ready in an hour…?” Marco felt compelled to add, but his smile dropped as he saw the looks on their faces.

Gilda felt the eyes of Tara and Chris fall on her. She paid them no mind, instead looking intently at Fortrakt, taking in his silly grin. She then turned towards Marco, who yet again averted his gaze to avoid her eyes.

A soft trill of annoyance escaped her throat as she stood up and walked towards Fortrakt. “Let’s go, Second Spear,” she declared with a glance at Chris and Tara. “We need to talk.”

“Uh, okay?” A confused Fortrakt answered. “And go? Go where?”

“Out,” was all she would say as she left without another word, waiting for him to fall in behind her.

“Yes sir,” he said obediently as he followed Gilda to the exit, then downstairs and out the front door of the Inn.

“Uh… have I done something wrong?” Fortrakt was confused as they took flight up to an isolated late afternoon cumulus cloud and sat there, staring down at the city.

Instead of replying, Gilda answered with an observation; the stronger wind ruffling her feathers at that altitude: “You’ve been hanging out with Marco an awful lot.”

“And… is that a problem?” he asked warily. “I like him. Never mind all his toys and ‘videos’, he’s a really interesting human.”

“And what about Chris and Tara?” Gilda challenged. “You like them too, don’t you? We’re supposed to be liaising with all three of them, but you’ve barely spoken a word to them lately. They have noticed. And they’re a little hurt.”

His cougar tail and golden eagle feathers drooped. “It’s nothing personal…” he muttered. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” she asked, but Fortrakt didn’t reply despite opening his beak and closing it again repeatedly. “Did something happen over your leave? Look—I didn’t ask you how things went with that Talon eagless, because I didn’t want to tease you over it. Didn’t want to hurt you if your first round went badly on top of everything else that’s happened.”

“And I appreciate that, Decurion. Very much,” he said cautiously. “But you didn’t have to worry. For the record, my leave went fine and my mating round with Decanus Kesi Tralia went well—very well, in fact. We ate, we talked, we sparred, and then we rutted, enjoying not only each other’s company but some really good label rum afterwards. And she was not only satisfied, but she even invited me back for another round later.”

The corners of Gilda’s beak turned upwards. “Well, congratulations, cub! That means she found both your fighting and physical prowess worthy. You should be proud and feel like a true tiercel. So why are you acting unhappy? And what does that have to do with avoiding Tara and Chris?”

“Well…” His green eyes went evasive for a moment. “I know it sounds strange, but two things happened when I was with her. First, I’m not sure how, but I’m... bigger than I was.” He flushed as he spoke, and so did Gilda. “I’m thinking all that fertility potion in the cider somehow enhanced me. And if it did that to me… then it probably did it to all of us,” he told her. “Have, uh, you noticed any changes?”

“Do I look like I have a spear or sac that can be measured?” Gilda asked dryly, but she suddenly flashed back to Tara saying her ‘bra’ suddenly seemed too small for her ‘boobs’. “So that’s the reason you’re avoiding Tara? You’re worried you’re too big for her now?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “No, of course not! Why would that matter if I already said I wasn’t going to pursue her? No, Decurion. There was something else that happened.” His eyes went distant.

“What?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “If I tell you… will you please promise not to tell them?” he beseeched her. “I don’t know how they’d take it.”

She gave him an odd look, but nodded. The Tribune kept what I told her about me and Tara secret when she didn’t have to, so it’s only fair that I do the same for him, right?

“If you want to know why I’m avoiding them… it’s not because I don’t like them. Just the opposite, in fact. It’s because whenever I see them right now, I...“ He gave a shiver that she wasn’t certain was more fearful or sensuous. “I’m having flashbacks, Decurion. To that night.”

Gilda looked up sharply. “You remember what happened?”

“I’m not sure...” he hedged, his cougar tail twitching twice in indecision before he continued, “but I think so. And I also think I was wrong—that I was part of whatever happened that night.”

Her gaze at him went askance. “If you’re not sure, then how do you know?”

“I don’t,” he admitted, running his talons through the feathers on his chest in a frustrated gesture. “But I also can’t ignore what happened during one of my later rounds with Kesi.”

Gilda stared at him. “What does that have to do with this?”

“It triggered my memories,” he explained, his eyes going distant as he looked past her. “Maybe…?”

“‘Maybe’?” Gilda echoed in some exasperation. She was starting to appreciate how annoyed Tribune Narada had gotten at her when she’d been trying to get Gilda to explain why she wanted a transfer, because getting answers out of Fortrakt was proving about as pleasant as plucking itchy old feathers from her head.

“I mean, I don’t know that what I recalled was real!” He threw up his foretalons. “Everything was going fine with Kesi. We fought and mated as proper gryphons—not once, but twice. Everything happened exactly as it should—we wrestled, we rutted; she came, I came. And yes, before you ask, it was very enjoyable. But then, while we were lying together afterwards, she said she wanted to try it with herself on top, sitting up and straddling me belly-to-belly like she’d heard human females did. So I said yes, and when she did…” He shivered. “I saw… her.”

“Her? Her who?”

“Tara. I saw Tara,” he explained, turning slightly away—was he trying to hide his excitement from her? “I saw Tara sitting on me in place of Kesi, belly-to-belly and taking my spear in her nest! By the Ancestors themselves, I swear she was there, as clear as you’re standing here before me now!” His voice trembled as his words started coming quickly.

Though she didn’t want to throw cold water on what sounded like a powerful but almost impossible fantasy, Gilda felt she had to point out the obvious. “Well, that doesn’t mean it actually—”

“And I didn’t just see her in that instant, Decurion. I felt her body. Heard her voice. Smelled her scent.” He shivered, and this time, he was forced to turn away from her fully to hide his excitement. But he couldn’t hide his wings splaying into full arousal as she watched, causing her to blush.

“I have never had a dream or vision, erotic or otherwise, be so intense and involve all my senses! And by the Ancestors, she was so beautiful! My greatest fantasy made real! But then...” He shivered again and clutched himself.

“But then…?” Gilda had no idea what to make of his sudden shift of mood. Shouldn’t the possibility that he was with Tara make him happy? She was surprised to feel a moment of jealousy—not over the idea that he’d been with Tara, but over his described vision. By all the crows, why can’t I have one of those…?

He visibly swallowed. “And then, I could feel another set of talons on me that weren’t hers! A voice in my ear… belonging to Chris! He was behind me, and… b-beneath me.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he clutched himself all the harder even as his wings splayed wider.

Gilda fell speechless. She understood the implications instantly, and suddenly, what Chris had said about remembering things that seemed impossible or some form of wishcasting made sense, as did his reluctance to talk about what happened. Could it be because he’s a tiercel-tucker? And does he remember this, too? she wondered, but had little time to consider it before Fortrakt charged ahead.

“And when I realized that, I not only f-felt him inside of me, but I came instantly!” He buried his head in his talons in shame. “By the Ancestors, I’m no tiercel-tucker! Why would I have allowed that? Why would I have enjoyed that? W-was the cider so strong that we would rut anything? Or am I really…” he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“And you really think all this happened?” Gilda had to ask, even as more and more of what he detailed seemed to line up neatly with what Chris had said… and, she noted somewhat warily, what he hadn’t said. “Even with all that cider, it seems… unlikely.”

“I don’t know… that’s just it; I don’t know!” He reared up and raised up his forelegs to the sky, as if to cry out plantitively to The Ancestors themselves. “Did it really happen? Or did I just imagine it because I wanted it to have happened? Crows above, that’s just as bad when it comes to Chris! Why am I so turned on by this? Did he…? Did we…? And was Tara really…?”

His wings and tail slumped and he buried his head in his claws again, his excitement ebbing as quickly as it had come. “I’m sorry, Decurion. I know you must think I’m being a total ‘dweeb’ over this, but it’s just been too much for me to deal with. So I’ve been dealing with it… by trying not to deal with it.”

“By not being around them?” Gilda suggested, her voice more gentle, even as she was worried about what implications this had for her.

“Yes! I stay with Marco because he’s safe to be around, near as I can tell. I not only like him, but he’s good for distraction and doesn’t seem to trigger any memories for me. But whenever I see those two…” he shivered again, more violently. “I can feel and see them all over again. I’m not only terrified I’ll get turned on again, but worried I’ll want to do it all over again, even though I don’t even know that it happened in the first place!” he finished, then turned his haunted eyes on Gilda.

“So how am I supposed to deal with that, Decurion? I think I’d rather be plunged headfirst into an unwinnable war than have to figure all that out, not even knowing if it’s real!”

They ended up talking on the cloud for another twenty minutes, trying to work through what happened and what to do, including whether it would be best for Fortrakt to request reassignment for fear of being emotionally compromised and unable to discharge his duties properly.

To his credit, and unlike her, his first instinct had not been to flee—whatever else Fortrakt Gletscher was, he was no coward, and he refused to just up and quit his post in the face of his fears. “Like the Tribune said, I’m a soldier, not a sniveling cub! What kind of griffon would I be if I just up and abandoned my sworn duty to protect two good friends over this?”

In the end, after she told him that Chris and Tara were speaking to Marco just as she was speaking to him, he decided it was time to face his fears and talk with the pair directly. But when Gilda asked if he wanted her there, he shook his head, saying that it was between them. That “for the sake of their friendship,” he owed it to them to tell them what he knew, no less than Tara had when she had explained to him what had happened with Giraldi and Gilda.

“It was your duty to tell Tara about Giraldi, and her duty to tell me about both him and you. So it’s my duty, now, to tell them about this,” he ultimately decided, standing up straighter even though she could see both the determination and dread in his young eyes. “May the Ancestors guide me. And may our friendships survive the trial.”

She could tell he was afraid, but also resolute. “You really have grown up, cub,” she told him, not in the air of a superior to a subordinate but an older sibling to a younger one. “You had a successful first round only to learn something frightening, but face your fears and do what friendship and honor requires? Then I don’t care what anycreature says—you are a true gryphon, Fortrakt Glescher.”

“Thank you, Grizelda Behertz. And you are not only an officer I gladly follow, but a true friend.” He came to attention and saluted. And even though she was hardly given to overt displays of affection, she not only returned his salute, but feeling genuinely sorry for all he had been through—and worse, some things she had put him through—she hugged him, hard.

For a moment, his scent and touch stirred a memory just as he’d described with Tara, but it was fleeting and she couldn’t grasp it. “Listen, if you want me to talk to Marco first…” he began to offer, but she shook her head.

“And that’s my duty,” she said shortly. “Go on ahead of me, Second Spear. I’ll give you some time to talk to them. I’ll follow later and see you at dinner.”

Gilda stayed on the cloud for another fifteen minutes, lost in thought, considering how she was going to approach Marco but finding no satisfactory answer. Even as the cloud slowly dissolved from right under her talons with the setting of the sun, fading with the loss of daytime heating that fueled the updrafts which sustained it, she didn’t move; the words of Marco’s friends echoing through her head.

“He’s not that simple-minded.”

“Talk to him.”

Gilda squawked out an annoyed tone as she shifted position to stay on the fading cumulus, its edges becoming diffuse. She wanted to remain up there, alone with her thoughts for just a little longer. She hoped to reach some resolution, but it didn’t help. No matter how badly she wanted to, she could not get the male human out of her head, nor resolve the conflicted feelings she had for him.

By the crows, this is really getting bothersome… part of her wanted to protest. For what was the point of talking to him? If it was true that his cold demeanor was due to some silly wounded male pride over events neither he nor she had any control of, or could even remember, how was talking to him supposed to fix that?

She didn’t have any immediate answers, but with the dying cloud now fading to a few wisps, it could no longer support her, so she took flight, diving from its remains, tucking her wings to quicken her pace. The increasing rush of cool air and delicious feeling of speed—she would at least grudgingly admit Rainbow had given her that particular addiction, which she didn’t mind one bit—helped settle her mind and restore her awareness to the here and now.

Maybe Chris and Tara are right—there’s nothing that will fix this except finding Marco and talking to him, she decided as she turned her dive into a glide when she neared the same altitude as the city’s fifth level, a minute later. If Fortrakt can find the courage to do it, why can’t I?

Facing the west as it did, Arnau was bathed in fading orange rays as she landed on a third-level platform not far from the Inn. She took a moment to scan her surroundings as she’d been trained to do, only folding her wings when it was clear. The great city at sunset was a striking sight as it slowly began to glow with pinpricks of light, softer than the cold glint of the nighttime stars; it was her favorite time to fly as the sun’s light faded and the moon rose in its place. More than once she’d simply hovered high above the city to watch as one by one, each house from the Eastern Gates began to glow as they turned on their firegems; the Caleponian households brighter than the griffon ones due to their inferior night vision.

However, that did not detract from the beauty of seeing it at that height, even if she couldn’t fully appreciate it just then. Not with a potentially awkward talk with Marco still to come.

Walking back towards the Winged Hall Inn, she was greeted once more by two low-ranked Marines who let her in only after she had been scanned with their violet lights—what did they do? She had heard them referred to in passing by the Marines once as “black lights”, which made no sense given they were purple, and the whole term seemed a complete contradiction anyway—and had answered a challenge with a countersign, which they changed every day.

Regardless of the answer, all of it was necessary to ensure she was Decurion Grizelda Behertz and not another griffon—or worse, an Ibex—in disguise. Passing their inspection, Gilda walked through the artificial barricade and made her way through the lobby, towards one of the two stairwells that flanked it.

The wall-mounted firegems were starting to increase their illumination with the dimming of the sun through skylights, as they normally did in the evening; she passed a few armored Marines coming to relieve their compatriots, which would allow the latter to eat and otherwise go off-duty.

She received some greetings and even a few salutes, but she didn’t pay much attention to them until a more familiar voice was heard.

“Good evening, Decurion.”

Gilda looked up to see Staff Sergeant Stafford approaching with something he called a ‘clipboard’ and a writing utensil humans called a ‘pen’, even though it looked nothing like the quill pens griffons used. Then again, she had first mistaken it as a ‘pencil’. This was another thing that she found odd with humans; they seemed to make more than one tool to do the same job.

“Staff Sergeant,” Gilda returned his proffered salute, carefully mastering her still-roiled emotions and trying not to think about Marco for a moment. “On patrol?”

“Just reviewing our new security protocols, ma’am,” he said, causing Gilda to start at his using a form of civilian female address on her. It wasn’t the first time, by far, but she did find it jarring, and decided she would include a note about that in her upcoming cultural training seminars explaining that griffons didn’t use that form of address for female officers in the military. “Captain’s orders.”

“I see…” Gilda replied, though she really didn’t. She’d noticed before that they seemed to be putting more devices in strategic and occasionally hidden locations, but she couldn’t discern their purpose. Nor did she particularly care just then.

“Getting flight time before dinner, I take it?” Stafford asked as he continued to inspect his checklist. “We can already smell one of Mister Lakan’s latest culinary creations being cooked. In truth, we’re rather envious of how well you all eat.” He favored her with a smile.

Gilda smiled back. She hadn’t enjoyed everything they’d been served—as far as she was concerned, it was very hard to equal the exquisitely fatty yet crispy flavors of Christopher’s fried chicken—but it certainly had been interesting fare and had shown them the many unexpected ways cooked meat could be made to taste good.

It also helped that both Chris and Marco seemed to be making it a competition to see whose food would be enjoyed by Gilda and Fortrakt the most; even Tara had made an attempt at cooking some ‘pork chops’ of flying boar she found a bit too dry. “Wings need some stretching. Being cooped up in a room for any length of time isn’t good for a sky griffon like me,” she offered carefully.

“Makes sense. I noticed that young Gletscher was with you earlier. Another aerial workout for the two of you, then?”

Gilda shook her head. “Not this time. I had to discuss something soldier-to-soldier with him.” That’s true enough, right?

“Considering how close he sticks to Mister Lakan, it’s understandable why he might need a talking-to.” Stafford chuckled. “It’s become a running joke with us how easily Marco gets into trouble, no matter where we are.”

Gilda forced a smile on her face when she heard Marco’s name, though it was belied by a sudden flick of her tail, less from anger than exasperation and confusion. Part of her wished she had spoken up earlier in front of Marco to clear the air then. Even if the outcome wasn’t going to be favorable, maybe it would have at least eased her doubts?

Or maybe he would have just gotten defensive and felt embarrassed about being called out in front of his friends, she reminded herself. No, this has to be something we discuss alone and—

“Is there a problem, Decurion?” Stafford’s sudden question jolted Gilda from her thoughts. “You look troubled.”

“No problem at all,” she replied as neutrally as she could, trying to still her twitching tail.

But to her frustration, Stafford proved too perceptive; he noted her body language and frowned. “Is Mister Lakan still bothering you? Because I’ll inform the Captain if he is.”

Gilda sighed and closed her eyes. “No, that won’t be necessary, Staff Sergeant. Marco Lakan isn’t making any trouble for me.” At least, not in the way you’re thinking...

Stafford continued to stare at her for a moment before he gave an unconvinced nod, firing her a respectful salute. “Alright, I won’t keep you, then. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Thank you.” Gilda returned the honor before the two went their separate ways. Ascending the first flight of stairs to the second floor, she passed and greeted a few more Marines before she ran into Sergeant Reyes, who she knew generally came off-duty around that time. He had stripped down to splotchy shorts and an olive-hued ‘t-shirt’, as he’d heard them call it, stretching his legs as he prepared to run laps in the halls. He was also wearing one of their utility belts and an armored vest, maybe because he wanted the extra weight to train with?

He saw her and smiled. “Good evening, Decurion. I take it you’ve more or less recovered if you’re taking your usual nightly flights?”

“And you as well, if you’re doing all this training—in armor, no less,” she noted, looking him over. It was hard for her to tell beneath his clothes, but he seemed to be not so much more muscular as more wiry-looking now. “Dare I ask how it’s going with the First Spear?”

“Humbling,” he said simply, rubbing his eyes. “But at least I’m making some progress. He can still put me down pretty easily most of the time, but once in a while I surprise him. Even managed to pin a foreleg and tap him out earlier today—that was a first.”

“Oh, really?” Gilda grinned—unlike Fortrakt, she would have no qualms whatsoever about teasing Giraldi over being bested by a human. Or the Sergeant over what it might mean. “So in other words, you’re getting to the point you might be able to give an eagless a good round?” she asked him point-blank in front of two on-duty sentries, who smiled.

“I haven’t decided that!” he said somewhat shortly and with an angry glare at the pair, only to slump slightly. “But yeah, I also want to have the option. To be able to put up a good match and even fight a duel over her if I have to. And if you two spread that around, I’ll have you on mess hall duties for a week!” he warned the pair of armed sentries, who didn’t lose their conspiratorial grins.

“Understandable,” Gilda nodded with a grin of her own, only for her mood to drop again. “But on an unrelated matter… may we speak privately, Sergeant?”

“Uh… sure,” he said agreeably, leading her down the hall, out of what she assumed was earshot of the pair—griffons or even ponies could overhear conversations at that range easily. “What’s up?”

“It’s Marco…” she said, deciding she would avail herself of the opportunity to get more advice and information on him. Or was she just trying to put off talking to him a little while longer? “He’s avoiding me and I’m not sure why.”

Reyes stared at her for a moment. “Given the way you two started, I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“That was then,” she said, letting her feathers ruffle and still as she recalled that night. “He’s redeemed himself to me—mostly. But ever since he woke up and left the infirmary…”

“He’s been giving you the cold shoulder,” Reyes guessed, teaching Gilda yet another new human euphemism. “So forgive me for asking, but in order to answer, I need to know—did something happen between you that night? Are you and Marco an item now?”

Though she’d never heard that usage of ‘item’ before, the meaning was clear enough. “What makes you say that?” she asked, slightly defensively.

“Because I’m not stupid, Decurion,” Reyes replied, one of his eyebrows rising. “So is that the real reason why he joined my morning training? Am I going to hear about a mating round between you and him?” he asked, his gentle smile at least somewhat toning down the teasing tone of his words.

Gilda hadn’t thought of that, and she couldn’t help but flush as she suddenly wondered if he was in fact correct—was that the reason?

“Short answer—I don’t know what we did,” she groaned, rubbing her head with a set of talons. “I’m not lying; I still don’t remember. But maybe he does, given his behavior. I’m told by his friends that Marco may feel humiliated by something that happened that night. Something I did but don’t even remember doing,” she replied honestly, amazed that she could discuss such a matter with the human male so openly.

But then again, he had already been open with her about his eagless encounter, so why should she do any less? “Chris and Tara think that I may have… e-mas-cu-rated him.” she screwed up her beak a bit at the odd word.

“Emasculated,” he corrected with a chuckle. “Well, I’d normally joke and say you’d have to let him buy you dinner first before you rip his clothes off like that eagless did to me. But honestly, I think that’s off-base.”

Gilda blinked—what did that mean? “Off-base?”

“Wrong,” the Sergeant clarified. “As in, I don’t think Marco feels humiliated by you. I’d say from his behavior that if anything? He likes you but feels unworthy of you.”

“Unworthy?” Gilda echoed in disbelief.

“Yep.” Reyes smiled. “I remember a particular conversation I had with him after some daring junior officer swooped in and saved his ‘flank’.” He winked as he used the pony term, which had gained some favor among griffons as well. “And you know what he said? ‘Man, Robbie, I wish I was half as awesome as Gilda’.”

Gilda’s face scrunched to a dumbfounded expression that even an uninitiated human could understand. Her beak fell open, speechless for a few seconds before she finally closed it again to voice a single word. “No.”

“Yes,” Reyes replied with a chuckle. “Swear to God, whether the human or griffon ones. Once the shock wore off, he couldn’t stop singing your praises. It was Gilda this; Gilda that. I think you earned quite an admirer that night. He really does like you, Decurion. And he wants you to like him.”

“I don’t believe you,” Gilda muttered as she turned away, her tail twitching in agitation. “How could that be? He’s done nothing but avoid me for the past week. Most days he barely even talks to me. And now you’re saying it’s because he likes me?”

“Like a teenage boy around a girl he crushes on but thinks is too good for him, yep,” he said, and put that way, Gilda realized that it did make sense. “That’s my guess. Still, maybe I’m speaking out my rear. So if you really want to know… talk to him,” he suggested, more seriously. “And if you’re afraid it would just make things worse, take it from me that Marco’s a good, but complicated guy. Even occasionally an idiot, but at least a well-meaning one. There’s a reason the Marines like him, and it ain’t just because he gives us plenty of porn.”

He pointed towards the next flight of stairs at the end of the hall that led to the third floor. “So seriously, Decurion—go find him. Just corner him or something. Don’t give him the opportunity to hide behind someone else. Clear the air with him properly and don’t automatically assume that he’s avoiding you for this or that reason. I think you’ll be surprised at what you learn. And if, after all that, I'm wrong, and he gives you grief?”

He smiled thinly. “Then I’ll be sure and punish him properly at his next workout and chew his ass out like he’s a raw recruit just off the bus at Parris Island—that’s where we do our version of your ‘Gauntlet’, before you ask.”

She smiled at the thought, then offered him a set of curled talons as she’d learned the Marines didn’t salute when out of uniform. “Thanks, Sergeant.”

“My pleasure. And if it’s not too personal, let me know how it goes either way.” He bumped her talons with his fist; not for the first time she noticed the striking surface of his knuckles was nearly as hard as rocks.

“Promise,” she swore as she took her leave, wondering where and how she could ‘corner’ the brown-skinned human.

Reaching the stairwell at the end of the corridor that led to the third floor, she turned the corner to find Marco sitting on the stairwell landing with his legs resting two risers down, his head in his hands. At the sound of her approach, his head rose up and his brown eyes met her gold ones, widening slightly in what she could only presume was anxiety as their gazes locked.

“Oh… uh, hey, Gilds,” Marco greeted her, his voice subdued.

“Hey,” Gilda greeted back, her tone much sharper than she wanted. Marco grinned nervously in response. Shaking her head slightly, she took a breath, trying to relax. “I thought you were cooking dinner.”

“Ah, yes, well…” He paused, visibly grasping for words. “Chris is tending it. I, um, was actually hoping to speak with you. Fortrakt already came by, so I figured waiting here was the surest way to make sure I bumped into you.”

“Okay,” Gilda replied, sitting several stairs lower to keep her distance. She was doing her best not to let her feathers ruffle or tail twitch for fear of scaring him off—he’d certainly learned such signals of griffon anger well by then. “I’m here. So speak.”

Marco scratched the nape of his neck. His mouth opened for a moment before he closed it as his eyes wandered towards the floor. Gilda could barely keep herself from trilling in impatience and annoyance before Marco finally spoke up.

“I guess I just want to say that I’m sorry.”

Gilda felt her shoulders relaxing but forced herself to look stiff and unmoving. Her eagle eyes narrowed as they gazed at Marco accusingly, eliciting a nervous chuckle. “Then why have you been avoiding me?” she asked, pointedly not accepting his apology. Despite that, she was impressed that she was able to keep her tone level, even as her insides churned with ever-more roiled emotions. “For stuff we don’t even remember happening?”

“You’re really gonna make me spit it out? Fine,” Marco sighed, running his hand through his mane of black hair. “Because I think I do remember one or two things that happened. And I’ve been having a hard time dealing with it.”

Just like Fortrakt… “Okay. And…?” She held her breath. “Were your friends right? Did I somehow humiliate you? Make you feel like less of a ‘man’?”

He flushed. “You didn’t...” He seemed to shrink back a bit in the same manner Fortrakt had when he talked about Chris. “But… that’s a whole different crisis. Look, the reason I’m here is I just got a talking to from Chris and Tara,” he muttered. “They told me I was acting like ‘a fucking idiot’ over you. And like Tara reminded me, it’s not the first time.”

Gilda rolled her eyes. “Ah, so that’s why you’re apologizing. Your friends called you out,” she said in some contempt even as she reminded herself that she’d asked them to do exactly that. Still, she couldn’t help but feel anger that he needed a strong shove in her direction before he did so. Then again, hadn’t she?

“Well, not only,” Marco replied, starting to squirm where he sat under the intensity of her stare. “I… okay, look, this is going badly, and I have no idea how to say this.”

This time, an annoyed trill did escape Gilda’s beak; one that made Marco immediately stiffen. “I’m not going to sit here listening to you sputter and stammer, Marco Lakan. If you’re going to say something, then say it! If you can’t, then come back to me once you can.” As she made a move to walk past him and go up the stairs, Marco stood up and blocked her way.

It was a gutsy move on his part, as that was normally tantamount to inviting a griffon to fight.

“Wait! Hold on.” He held up his palms in a halting manner against her glare and low growl. “I want to fix this, Decurion! I really do! I’m just—” he sighed again “—I just need to find the right words. And no matter how well I speak it, English isn’t my first language. So I have to translate my thoughts as I go.”

Gilda exhaled slowly, trying to release some of her tension. She sat before him in a neutral pose on the landing this time, keeping her wings and feathers furled. “Okay,” she said with far more patience than she felt.

“Oh… okay,” he replied, smiling nervously as he seemed to do when he felt anxious. A short relieved laugh escaped his lips, but he immediately stopped it. “Um… okay. Okay, I’m just saying okay. Alright. Look, I realize I’m not the easiest guy to like. When I first met Chris, he and I had arguments over religion. With Tara, it was politics. The point I’m making is that I never would have thought that after a year, they would be my two best friends. At this point, I’d go to war for both of them. Hell, I’d go to war with them.”

“You’ve already proven that to me,” she reminded him. “That’s why I decided you weren’t as bad as I first thought—you defended Chris without hesitation, even facing down two hostile griffons with nothing more than a metal stick. By griffon standards, that was a very honorable thing to do.”

“Thanks. But that’s just it.” He sighed heavily. “I always seem to give a bad first impression to people I meet. In the end, it usually stays that way. For every Chris or Tara who gets over that first impression, it seems like I get five or six others who don’t—Ambassador Goldberg’s an example of the latter. So when I screw up really badly with someone, I tend to just avoid talking or hanging out with them for fear of making things worse.”

“So that’s why you ignored me?” she guessed. “You thought I was still mad at you? Over what happened with the cider, if not you accidentally groping me that first night you arrived?” She let her feathers ruffle in reminder.

“Kinda,” Marco replied, eyeing her warily. “I thought you were over me being an ignorant idiot that first night, but I wasn’t sure. And as for the cider stuff, I didn’t know how you felt about it. I didn’t even know what you remembered.”

“Nothing,” she said shortly, but then looked away as she once more felt a memory trying to rise up within her, only for it to infuriatingly bump up against a hidden barrier again. “Nothing but a strange certainty that we did something…”

“We did,” he confirmed with a sudden swallow and sheen of sweat, abruptly unable to meet her eyes. “So then if I have to tell you just what I remember doing, I was afraid you’d hate me even worse than before.”

She gave him an odd look. “Why? Over something we had no control over and few memories of?”

“Those few memories are enough. And I’m still scared you might tear me up over them?” he cringed to admit.

“And you really think I wouldn’t have then?” she challenged him. “Look, Marco—no offense, but you’re not that character in Braveheart or one of the fighters in Warrior. You’re not strong or skilled enough to overpower me—at least, not yet,” she hastily added on seeing his hurt look.

“The point I’m making is, there is no way in all the Crows you could have raped me or otherwise forced me to do anything I wasn’t willing to. And as much as I hate to admit it, the way that crow-cursed cider works is it brings out a griffon’s—or anycreature’s—deepest desires and removes all inhibitions about enacting them!

“So if I was still mad at you—or if I got mad at you while under its influence…” She had to look away again as Marco swallowed hard. “Well, the Ibex would probably have gotten what they wanted. But instead? I guess I let you have me. I guess that I wanted you to have me.” She was surprised that it felt more liberating than painful to admit. “Be honored.”

“Honored…” he repeated the word. “Then you really do like me,” he realized in further wonderment.

“Well, you’re making it a little hard right now by acting like a damned dweeb, but yes,” she replied dryly, making him cringe. “If you want to know why, it’s because you can cook, you can fight, and you’ve proven repeatedly you’ll stand up for your friends. Any one of those is considered honorable to a griffon, and having all three of them makes you worthy of friendship to most griffons—especially me!” she exclaimed as Rainbow’s face flashed through her head again.

“Thanks. But just friendship?” he had to ask. “I admit I’m still learning about griffons, but, uh... don’t you have to earn the right to ‘rut’ through a mating round?”

She stared at him. Why had he just asked that? “Usually, yes.”

“But that’s just it. I didn’t…” He slumped again. “You know, most human guys would be delighted to land a lady they think is normally way out of their league, but that’s not what I feel at all. If you want to know why I’m avoiding you, it’s because, well... It feels like I cheated with you. That I didn’t do anything to deserve you. That I only got my hands on you because we were both under the influence.

“And for the record, that’s the biggest reason I’m training now,” he forced himself to admit. “It isn’t just to make sure I can deal with another attack. Just like Robbie with that eagless of his, I want to be able to win you properly, on your terms and not because of that ‘crow-cursed’ cider.”

Gilda was struck speechless by the admission. She dimly noted that Sergeant Reyes had been improbably right in his guess that Marco’s behavior stemmed in part from feeling unworthy of her. But that mattered less to her at that moment than the heady realization that the brown-skinned human well and truly wanted her, but only if he could have her on griffon terms.

Only if he could have her on her terms!

So he feels he didn’t earn me, and now he wants to correct that by proving himself worthy as a gryphon would? By all the crows of the Kingdom, nocreature has ever offered that to me before, she thought in wonder, and she was surprised to feel a sudden and very strong surge of not just appreciation but outright desire for the brown-skinned human; a surge that quickly brought color to her cheeks.

A surge that threatened to start her wings flaring right there in front of him, not in anger but in excitement. And by my Ancestors, nocreature has ever HONORED me like that before!

Her reaction was not lost on Marco, who stared at her and smiled—not slyly, which she would have hated, but shyly, like he was afraid of embarrassing her.

“Wow… you really seem to like that?” he observed cautiously, causing her flush to deepen and wings to widen in response. The latter began to steadily rise up right there in front of him despite her weakening mental efforts to restrain them; announcing her arousal to the world. “I mean it, you know! I swear, what I want most of all is to deserve you!”

The heartfelt assertion sent another wave of pure headiness through her that left her feeling lightheaded and shattered her remaining resistance, leaving her suddenly and quite keenly aware of his presence and scent. “I know…” she barely croaked out as her disobedient wings flared rapidly to full attention, revealing her reaction to his fervent declaration with a sensual display she would have teased Fortrakt about endlessly had it happened to him just a couple weeks earlier.

She had an incomprehensible but overwhelming urge to not only show herself, but offer herself up to him right then and there! She knew it was both ridiculous and even potentially dangerous for who might see them and what it might mean. And yet, here and now, she couldn’t help it—she wanted him to see what he’d done to her; turning her on as no male ever had… again?

And he’s wrong… she somehow sensed just then as her dilating pupils flicked to the rapidly growing bulge in his pants that would have made even the best-endowed griffons proud; her flared feathers becoming instantly and exquisitely sensitive, ready to receive a lover’s touch. It wasn’t just the cider that made me do it. He did something else that really won me that night. Something that REALLY turned me on… but what?

As if in response, the image of red-caped and shield-wielding humans flashed through her head again followed by the persistent vision of metal birds diving on a strange seagoing ship through a hail of incendiary arrows. Their presence and several strong measures of music she could somehow recall sent more excitement than she could ever remember experiencing coursing through her, cider or no.

She didn’t know if it was flashbacks from her still-buried but now-boiling memories of that night driving her, each a self-contained bubble that rose and burst against her mental barrier with a release of, if not the actual recollection they contained, the feelings and emotions that accompanied them.

Tolerant amusement at his interest giving way to the simple enjoyment of being admired.

The heady thrill of being seen as desirable turning slowly but surely into a simple wish to reward.

The delicious feeling of dominance giving way to a very surprising surrender.

The delight of finding out just how compatible humans and griffons truly were.

She didn’t know what acts accompanied those emotions, but she desperately wanted to find out.

To feel it all again.

To know it all again, and this time remember it fully!

Unable to restrain herself any longer, she reared up hard and lunged at him, shoving him against the wall; her claws ready to tear his clothing off right there—to bare him fully so he could pleasure her properly with his spear as well as his soft but sensuous talons.

In response to her aggressively amorous act, a surprised but sorely aroused Marco reached up to embrace her and locked his soft lips with her hard beak. His eyes went wide and breathing came labored as he began to caress her lower flanks and back while clutching her to him, letting her feel his hardness against her belly.

A passionate trill escaping her beak as they began to kiss more frantically, she willed his hands higher towards her flight muscles as her talons began to dig into the thin fabric of his shirt, ready to rid him of his constraining clothing by ripping it to shreds.

But the sound of approaching and quite rapid human footfalls broke into her lurid thoughts; the sight of Sergeant Reyes entering the stairwell from below snapped her out of her sensual reverie. He began to charge up the first flight, taking them three at a time until he looked up and his eyes widened, spotting the intertwined pair and stumbling to a halt as he reached the landing, barely a body length away from them.

“Oh. Uh… hey, Robbie,” Marco offered wanly, still caressing her for a moment before he let her go, allowing a mortified Gilda to push back from him and hastily drop back to all fours. “Gotta say, you’ve got perfect timing!”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Sergeant?” she all but growled at him even as her wings remained flared, not giving him much room to pass. She did so even though she wasn’t sure she was more relieved or angry he had interrupted them, given how ridiculous the idea of rutting Marco right in the middle of an open and frequently traveled stairwell was!

“Uh… sorry,” he said, panting lightly as he recognized their intent and looked away. “Didn’t exactly expect to find you here.”

“It’s okay. We really shouldn’t be out here anyway,” a still-flushed Gilda pointed out, looking up to the open skylight over the stairwell through which patrolling griffons could occasionally be seen. “It’s not private and anycreature from Marine sentries to the cleaning crews may pass.”

“Y-yeah… sorry…” a flustered Marco replied. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to t-talk...?”

“If you can call that talking. Just remember that tomorrow morning is still on, Flip-boy. If you pussy out, I know where your room is,” Reyes threatened, though the twinkle in his brown eyes belied his tone. “I’ll drag you right out of bed with her if I have to.”

“I’ll be sure to wear my steel underwear then,” Marco replied flippantly, impressing Gilda that he was still able to make jokes, even caught in a compromising position.

“Oh, har, har, you little brown prick,” the Sergeant said with a mock sneer.

“Undoubtedly bigger than yours, Robbie. Wanna compare?” Marco instantly rejoined, his hands going as if in offering to his badly strained belt.

“Fucker. You know, I’m getting the distinct impression I should make myself scarce,” Reyes noted wryly as Gilda continued to glare at him, the knowing grin on his face growing as he carefully eased himself around her erect wings.

“I’ll be off then. You two have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Or if you do, I’d at least go somewhere a bit more private than this.” He resumed running upstairs with a wink that caused them both to flush.

“Considering what he’s done…” Marco noted as he hastily smoothed out his clothes, leaning back heavily against the wall as he gave a heavy exhale. “Sorry, Gilda. That hit out of nowhere…”

“My fault… not yours...” Gilda managed through pants, still stunned by the intensity of emotions and sensations she’d felt—was that what it had been like for her, that night? “S-sorry…”

“Don’t be!” Marco told her, still showing signs of strong arousal from his flushed face to the prominent bulge in his pants that caused her to blush anew, looking at it from nearly eye-level as she was. “But, uh… maybe Robbie’s right and we should continue this conversation elsewhere?”

“Right,” she agreed shortly, realizing that whatever happened, there was no turning back—that with the way she was feeling, and the way he clearly was as well, they both had to get this out of their system or it was going to happen at a far less opportune time and place.

“Then come with me to my quarters, Marco Lakan. Dinner can wait while we discuss this matter, human to eagless.” She stepped in front of him and drew her tail between his legs before raising it high over her back, beckoning him with him to fall in behind her.

To her great gratification, she heard him take a ragged breath as he felt the contact and beheld her display, she could feel his eyes following her as she ascended the first few stairs. “Love to! But, uh... I’m not good enough to fight a round yet!”

“And I’m not asking you to—at least, not now. You said you wanted it on my terms, right? Well, don’t worry—it will be.” She grinned evilly at the thoughts and ideas now flowing freely through her head, stopping her walk just long enough for him to bump into her from behind and stumble.

“You’re right that you haven’t earned all of me yet, but for honoring me like this, you’ve earned enough, Marco Lakan,” she promised him as she reached the top of the stairs and resumed a rapid walk forward towards her room at the other end of the hall. Her sky griffon wings scraped the sides of the broad corridor as he quickly steadied himself and began hurrying to catch up; she could all but feel his hungry eyes on her, ogling her flared wings and feminine features.

“Enough…?” He repeated dumbly as his breathing became harder and far huskier. “And how did I honor you?”

“You’ll see. And to borrow a phrase I remember from somewhere… it will not be quick. But you will enjoy it!”