He’d thought hope had kept him alive in prison, but it had really just been the faintest, dimmest shadow of a hope. Now hope—certainty—lit him up from the inside-out.
It broke through the darkness down in the bottom of his soul.
And it found his griffin.
You’re mine, Cooper said, claiming that presence. You’re me.
He didn’t know if he would have ever realized that without her.
Gretchen, his griffin said in a rumbling voice.
Finally, after all this time, it reached back for him, opening its liquid gold eyes.
Come on, Cooper said, easing into that shape. We’ve got work to do.
Wings burst from his shoulders, unfurling until they were stretched out to their fullest span. His hands formed the wickedly curved talons that would have to hold Gretchen with the utmost care. A blend of golden fur and slick feathers covered him, protecting him a little from the worst of the storm. For a few seconds there was enough pain to make him dizzy: it was like the shiv was tearing into him all over again, finding a new body to cut into. But he still had a good range of movement. He didn’t think flying would be a problem.
He used one wing to brush the snow off the backseat window, hoping Gretchen would see him and come out.
Nothing.
How long had he been out in the snow? How much time had it taken him to find his griffin again?
The ripple of fear that sent up him was even colder than the wind. He opened the back door with one talon, trying hard not to just rip it off the hinges and send it flying. If they had to take shelter in the car again, for whatever reason, he didn’t want it to be completely open to the elements.
Inside, there was Gretchen, curled up beneath the fleece blanket. Her face was so white with the cold that it looked almost bloodless. She was unnaturally still, like she’d been carved out of marble.
Cooper tumbled back into human form, snapping back to it faster than he ever had before. He reached for her.
She was so cold, so icily cold.
But she was breathing. When he held his hand in front of her mouth and nose, he could feel her breath stir against his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” Cooper said, gathering her up in his arms. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I have to put you down in the snow for a second so I can pick you up as a griffin. I got it back, Gretch. We’re going to fly away somewhere warm.”
He laid her down on the snowbank and transformed again.
He grasped her as delicately as he possibly could and held her close to the warmth of his body. Flying would cut down on the amount of time they had to spend outside, but they’d still be out in unprotected weather that would feel even colder as they whipped through the air. The ticking clock was still ticking. This was either kill or cure.
And he was mostly flying blind. It was almost a pure whiteout, obscuring everything around him in a constantly whirling blend of sleet and snow, and he was going off memories he’d had of a road trip
he’d only made once or twice. But he was almost sure, dammit. He could see the low-slung motel, an old-fashioned motor court, in his mind’s eye. It had looked drab but clean, the kind of place that could sometimes cling to a half-life forever, as long as it got a few customers every year. It had had a sign that was boasting about the rooms having cable TV, not free wi-fi or even HBO. He could almost see the color of the curtains.
His wingbeats sounded like they were counting down the time, marking the minutes and seconds as they slipped away.
His talons didn’t have enough sensation to feel Gretchen. He didn’t know whether she’d woken up enough to grasp onto him or whether—
He couldn’t think about it.
Just a few miles to the exit, and then it’s right there. Just a few miles and then it’s right there.
And then, magically, there it was, materializing out of the flurry of snow—a solid, dark shape in all the white. It was almost like the optical illusions that pilots were prone to seeing after going snow blind, but Cooper trusted his griffin’s eyes and, even more than that, its sense of overwhelming relief.
He banked in towards the motel and came down softly and carefully, laying Gretchen down against a snowbank before he shimmered back into his human form. For the first time in his life, he relished landing more than flying. He lifted Gretchen up in his arms.
She was even colder than before. Her cheek was icy to his touch. But once again, he could feel her breath, warm and gentle against his neck, and even though it wasn’t as strong as he would have liked, he’d take it. He’d take any sign of her being alive.
He tried the door, but it was locked. Shifting Gretchen in his arms, he hammered his fist against the glass hard enough to make the whole door rattle in its frame.