He circles away, his high-pitched cries growing softer. I dart across the ankle-high grass to the lake’s shoreline, my shoes sinking into the ivory sand, and glance up. The smell of lake water fills my nose as I shield my eyes from the morning sun.
There. The griffin soars a hundred feet or so above me, riding the air like waves. If not for the situation, I would find the sight indescribably beautiful.
Focus, Summer. Focus!
I glance across the lake to the other side where onlookers have already gathered to watch.
If I run like hell, I can make it. Safety in numbers and all that.
My body tenses, prepared to flee. But, no. My shoulders sag. I can’t save myself by sacrificing others, even if most of them are already probably gunning to get me kicked out.
Besides, I’ve watched enough hawks to know he’ll strike like lightning before I reach the other side. His speed from such a height will knock me into a stupor.
Incapacitated, I won’t even struggle as he lifts me hundreds of feet into the air. Then, if the textbooks are true, when he’s high enough to ensure the fall will crack me open like a piñata, he’ll loosen his hold and drop me to my death.
Afterward, he’ll take me to his mate for first dibs.
Smart and a gentleman. Is it weird to be a fangirl of the thing that’s about to kill you?
Think, you clever bitch. What else do you know about a griffin? They’re elusive creatures. They mate for life. Most die within a year in captivity. And they’re quite terrifying in person.
For some reason, I revisit Chatty-Cat. What does he hate more than anything? Belly rubs, me, and . . . the baths Jane tries to give him.
By the way he howls and fights, you would think she was trying to drown the poor bastard—
That’s it!
A gut-curdling cry shivers across the lake as the griffin makes its move.
Roaring my own war cry, I make mine. The lake water hits my body like ice. I gasp, pushing past the needles of cold, forcing myself deeper into the emerald green depths.
When the water laps at my neck, I tilt my face to the sky and wait.
“Here, kitty kitty,” I croon, praying the griffin is in touch with its feline side and not the eagle one. Crap. Eagle’s hunt in water.
Why am I only now making that connection?
The griffin’s shadow skips across the lake’s rippled surface, tinged coral-pink by the rising sun, toward me. Craning my neck, I watch its white underbelly grow larger. Larger. It’s front talons stretch wide, ready to claim their mortal prize.
Perhaps this was a bad idea.
Instinctively, I shut my eyes and prepare to dive. But the sound of wings flapping stops me. I snap my eyes open to see the creature veering away from the water—and me. Sand sprays in all directions as it lands hard on the shore.
It shakes out its massive wings, cocks its avian head in my direction, and belts out a plaintive shriek of displeasure.
Yes! I grin idiotically at the beast, my triumph at outsmarting it overriding my nerves. “You don’t like water, do you, buddy?”
At my voice, the griffin tilts its head even more, the way a dog does.
“It’s really nice.” I splash water toward the shore, sending the griffin hopping back as it squawks. “Sure you don’t want to join me?”
Its deep golden eyes peer at me with a surprising intelligence.
As if it understands my words . . .
I remember how animals around the farmhouse sometimes did the same. Responding in uncanny ways to my words. I chalked it up to an overactive imagination.
But now—well, it couldn’t hurt. t, Summer! Control your inner thirsty-ass self.