Ruby Gryphon Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Foreword

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

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  20

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  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  Epilogue

  Onyx Gryphon

  Gryphons vs Dragons Series

  Karak Contact

  Karak Shifter Series

  About

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Foreword

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  Epilogue

  Onyx Gryphon

  Gryphons vs Dragons Series

  Karak Contact

  Karak Shifter Series

  About

  Gryphons vs Dragons #3

  Ruby Gryphon

  By Ruby Ryan

  Copyright © 2018 Juicy Gems Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior consent of the author.

  Cover image by Alexander Corey

  Edited by Alissa Snow

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  Hold on a second!

  This is a standalone paranormal shifter romance, meaning you can start here and have an awesome time. But if you haven't read Emerald Gryphon or Sapphire Gryphon, the first two books in the Gryphons vs Dragons series, you're missing some backstory and context that will make this one more enjoyable. If you've got the time, give those a shot first--I promise you won't regret it! Click here to get them for free on Kindle Unlimited.

  Otherwise, enjoy Ruby Gryphon!

  -Ruby

  1

  HARRIET

  I wasn't the kind of girl to have one-night stands.

  Then again, I wasn't the kind of girl to ever find myself in a bar like this.

  I followed Jason and Jon past the bouncer--who took one look at me and nodded--and into the loud bar. It seemed like any other club, with a long bar at one end playing a variety of sports games on a row of flat-screens above, with dim light and the loud din of a thousand conversations. But there was another sound, deeper and more frenzied, that I couldn't quite place.

  "This way!" Jason yelled above the noise, leading me through the crowd toward the bar.

  While they ordered drinks, I tried to crane my neck to see what the noise was coming from. It rose and fell in waves, oohs and aahs like patrons watching a football game. There were bright lights in the far corner, far brighter than the rest of the bar, and I caught a glimpse of someone bare-chested stalking around.

  What the heck was this place?

  "Here!" Jon said, handing me a glass of red wine. "Let's go check out the show!"

  "What show?" I asked, my curiosity rising. "I can barely see anything!"

  "Oh honey, you're going to love this," Jason said. He gave his boyfriend a knowing look. "And if you don't, well, then we can go somewhere else."

  I followed them away from the bar, into a thicker crowd of patrons all trying to watch what was going on in the corner. Across the room there was a raised area with seats, and Jason climbed the three steps and found a standing table where we could get a better look.

  I blinked at what I saw.

  In the corner of the room was a fighting ring, with thin brown rope walling off the square. Two shirtless men circled one-another under the blinding lights, fists held up protectively.

  A boxing ring? In the middle of a Boston bar?

  "What do you think?" Jason asked. "If you don't like it, it's alright. You won't offend us."

  "Shirtless dudes getting all sweaty? What's not to like?" I said. But then one of the fighters lunged forward with his fist, catching the other man in the ribs and doubling him over for a moment. He backed up, dancing away from the other fighter as he came on, and then they were back to circling each other with fists raised.

  I wasn't a violent person. I was an animal conservationist; if everything in the animal kingdom could coexist without bloodshed, I'd be a happy person. Heck, seeing leopards string up their prey in trees on nature documentaries made me cringe. Violence just wasn't my thing, whether necessary or recreational.

  One boxer caught the other on the side of the cheek, which drew a roar from the crowd and a wince from me. But I didn't want to be that girl, especially not to two of my friends who had finally invited me out with them, so I sipped my wine and admired the show.

  "Wait," I said. "Where are their gloves?" All they had was white protective tape on their hands, which was already stained red with blood.

  "Oh honey," Jon said with a patronizing tilt of the head. "This is bare-knuckle boxing."

  I didn't know why that was a thing, and I didn't want to look dumb, so all I did was nod.

  "Wanna get closer to the action?" Jason asked.

  "I'm good here, where it's a little quieter," I said with a smile. "I prefer to admire from afar. Don't let me stop you though!"

  Holding hands, Jon and Jason made their way toward the ring.

  And then I was alone.

  I wasn't a social person. Give me a quiet library nook or a safari vehicle on the African plain and I'd sit there for hours, but in loud places--parties, bars, or even a crowded cafeteria--I withdrew into myself. Like a protective shell falling over my body and mind, I didn't feel comfortable. Even if I did have fun, by the time I got home I'd be exhausted from trying to appear like I was having fun rather than anxious. It drained my batteries.

  And so now I was standing here, alone at a standing table, wishing I'd politely declined Jason's invitation and stayed in my apartment watching Planet Earth again.

  It's not like I didn't have work to do. My thesis on elephant conservation and the utilization of bee hives to establish territorial boundaries was due in only three months. The work itself was exciting, more than anything else I'd ever done. One of the biggest problems with African elephants today was their migratory patterns, which often took them into human-populated areas and caused havoc as a result. But it turned out elephants shied away from bee hives, so my thesis involved a plan to set up bee hive boundaries (rather than normal, wooden fences) to keep elephants from invading other areas. In addition to solving the elephant problem, maintaining the hives would provide a source of food and work for the locals. It was win-win!

  But then I'd have to get up and defend my thesis to a panel of professors. And that's the part that terrified me.r />
  The crowd roared, and I turned my attention back to the ring in time to see one of the fighters stumble, and then fall to the floor. The referee--who looked like nothing more than a frat-boy who had been pulled from the audience--bent over him and then waved his hands to indicate the fight was over.

  The winner jabbed both arms toward the ceiling and strutted around to cheers, and then the crowd began to disperse back to the bar to get fresh drinks.

  My companions returned with smiles on their faces. "A shame to ruin such a pretty face," Jon said.

  Jason snorted. "It was an improvement, you ask me."

  "Don't be jealous. I have a soft spot for blonds." Jon tugged one of Jason's curls then looked at me. "What'd you think?"

  "Oh, it was really cool." I tried to pour as much enthusiasm into my voice without it sounding fake, and I think I succeeded. "I've never seen a boxing match before!"

  "I'll grab some refills," Jason said, disappearing back to the bar.

  When he was gone, Jon arched an eyebrow at me. "This isn't your scene."

  I slumped my shoulders. "Is it that obvious?"

  "Oh honey, you're doing your best... but yeah, it's a little obvious."

  "No, it's fine!" I swept my hand around the bar. "It's good to have new experiences. I needed to get out of my apartment."

  My apartment was what I was daydreaming about being in right then, but thankfully Jon didn't call my bluff.

  "We don't have to stay," Jon said, giving me a sympathetic look. "There're a dozen other bars on this street that might be more your style."

  "We don't have to do that!" I yelled over the speakerphones announcing the next two fighters. "I've got a glass of wine, so I'm happy."

  Jason returned with three more drinks and an excited grin. "Ready to watch this next one? I'll bet you a bag of skittles that red head wins."

  "I'm not sure I want to stay," Jon said, glancing sideways at me. "All this noise is giving me a headache."

  I felt a pang of regret that he was taking the hit for my sake, but it really did sound good to leave.

  "You okay baby?" Jason put a hand on his cheek. "You did say you felt off this morning."

  "Yeah, I just think I need some fresh air. We can finish these drinks before we go."

  He gave me a look, and I said thank you with my eyes.

  "We can go out to the smoker's deck," Jason offered. "That's fresher air, at least. And less noisy."

  I was about to say that was a great idea when I saw him.

  He had a mop of dark red hair which cascaded over his eyes as he ducked underneath the rope to enter the boxing ring. He brushed it back from his face with a white-taped fist, and then pulled off his T-shirt with two hands. The motion revealed an armada of muscles from his navel to his neck, all of them lean and accentuated, like there wasn't an ounce of fat on him. He tossed the shirt to the side and sneered at the crowd through bloodshot eyes.

  His opponent was the opposite build: a big bald guy with as much fat as muscle, but muscle he did have, like a football player. He hulked over the redhead like some giant as they touched fists in the middle of the ring.

  "Let's stay here," I found myself saying. "I want to watch another fight, if that's alright."

  Jon blinded in surprise but quickly said, "Yeah, sure. I can do that if you're okay."

  "I think she's in love," Jason grinned.

  The bell rang, and then the two fighters began circling around the ring, keeping their distance. I could feel the redhead sizing up the larger man, deciding how to fight him. The size difference was so great that I felt a tightness in my chest at the thought of the redhead losing, getting punched in his sharp face and left bleeding on the floor.

  The crowd cheered, and then the bald fighter stalked forward.

  He went straight at the redhead and made a wide swing with his right hand, which the redhead leaned away from easily, sliding sideways away from baldy's follow-up punch with his left. Rage flashed across baldy's face, and then he lurched forward again, this time swinging a vicious uppercut that surely would have shattered the smaller man's jaw had he not jumped out of the way. The redhead jabbed with his right fist, catching him in the ribs underneath his right arm, and then he darted back before baldy could swing a meaty fist through the air.

  A few people in the crowd boo'd, and one man shouted, "Fuck him up, Brian!" I got the impression the baldy was a favorite around here.

  The redhead took it in stride, flashing a middle finger behind him which drew louder curses from the crowd, but only made him smile.

  "Ohh, I bet he'd be a great dancer," Jason said. "I'd love to take him to the club."

  "Now you're just trying to make me jealous!" Jon playfully punched his boyfriend in the shoulder.

  But I couldn't take my eyes off the redhead. He glided around the ring like he was on roller skates, effortless in the fight. I knew absolutely nothing about boxing, but he seemed to be biding his time while the bigger man wore himself down. Twice baldy landed a glancing blow on his body, which made me wince and want to cry out for him to be careful, but neither did any real damage that I could see.

  And then I found myself walking away from the table, moving through the crowd to get closer to the ring. I didn't stop until I was ringside, which meant shoving a few guys out of the way, but they didn't try to stop me when they saw I was a woman instead of one of the other douchebags in the crowd. From there I could see every inch of the redhead's skin, his muscles glistening with sweat and his auburn hair matted to his head. Freckles covered his arms and shoulders like little brown constellations, and he wore a lazy, almost bored look in his eyes as he circled the larger man.

  Baldy passed in front of me, and the redhead's gaze swept across my section of the ring. And then his eyes darted back, locking onto mine with intensity.

  He winked at me, sending a flock of birds to the air inside my stomach, and the tiniest hint of a smile broke through his mask.

  The bald man charged forward, swinging his thick arm in a wicked horizontal arc through the air, but the redhead was ready. He'd been waiting. He leaped to the side from the bull rush and then jabbed two quick punches at the side of baldy's head. The large man twisted and swung blind, missing the redhead's ducking body by a full foot. The motion sent him off balance and the redhead pounced in a flurry of jabs. Three to his ribs, then two to his gut and face. Sweat spun through the air as he caught baldy in the jaw and knocked his head around, and then he was falling, and even before he hit the ground the redhead struck him three more times in the ribs.

  The crowd screamed in shock and disappointment and bloodlust.

  The referee called an end to the fight, and the redhead nodded like it was no big deal. He strode around the outside of the ring with both middle fingers extended, bobbing his head in a patronizing mockery of the crowd. The air was a spray of beer and mixed drinks as they bombarded him with boos and a chorus of jeers.

  He passed by me, and his smile returned for a moment, and then he was back to taunting the crowd.

  I realized I'd been holding my breath. My chest shuddered as I filled my lungs, smelling the sweat and blood and beer that was thick in the air.

  "Come on then." The redhead helped his opponent to his feet and wrapped a friendly arm around him. "I'll buy you a drink, mate."

  Oh God, he was Irish too. As if he wasn't sexy enough.

  The crowded parted as he led his huge opponent to the bar.

  2

  HARRIET

  The redheaded fighter sat at the bar with his opponent, both of them now laughing like they were long-time friends and had not just beaten the snot out of each other.

  I couldn't take my eyes off him.

  It didn't make any sense. He was blustery and loud, the opposite of what I liked. And I really had no interest in boxing, or fighting, or any other macho "my dick's bigger than yours" sport. Yet this feeling had taken hold inside my chest and refused to let go.

  "You look like the little girl whose mom sai
d she could lick the bowl of cake batter," Jason said.

  "Uh huh," I mumbled, taking another sip of wine to hide my silly smile.

  "I have a confession: I wasn't feeling bad," Jon said. "I only said that because I thought Harriet wasn't having a good time."

  "Oh honey, you're so sweet," Jason said, putting a hand on his bicep. "But I think we're the ones who are gunna have to peel her away from this place."

  I was barely listening. A tall frat boy had strode up to the redhead and poked him in the back like he wanted to fight. It looked tense for a few moments, but now he had the frat boy laughing and slapping him on the back like they'd just found out they were related. He had an aura about him.

  "Why don't you go introduce yourself?"

  I finally peeled my eyes away and turned back to the table. "That's what I've been trying to work up the courage to do."

  "He's been sitting there for 10 minutes," Jon said.

  "I know! That's how bad I am at this!"

  "It's easy. Just compliment him on the fight. Or his muscles. Guys love compliments."

  "Especially from a pretty girl," Jason added.

  "He's nice to look at, but probably not my type," I said.

  "Not your type?" Jason's mouth hung open. "Honey, that boy is everyone's type. He's type O-positive. Nobody's gunna reject that shit."

  "I think O-negative is the universal donor," Jon chimed in, but Jason waved him away.

  "You know what I'm saying. So what's stopping you, Harriet?"

  There was one voice in my head stopping me: I wasn't pretty enough for a guy like that. The voice in the back of my head screamed it again and again to make sure I didn't forget. Most of the girls in here wore tight cocktail dresses that were practically painted on their bodies, showing every curve and inch of cleavage. I'd spent exactly 15 seconds in the mirror pinning back my own red hair before throwing on the same cotton blouse I'd worn two days in a row because I didn't think anyone would notice.

  And that's what really stopped me from going over to say hi: I had no chance with him. He wasn't just out of my league: he was playing a completely different sport with rules I didn't even understand. I'd had boyfriends in my five years at MIT, but they were always like me: goofy, nerdy, too shy to take charge or ask for what they wanted. It's who I was, and who I was meant to be with.