Under His Wings

by Naima Simone

  Her lashes lifted and she met his unblinking stare. The ice had melted and eyes of molten violet bore down into hers. As if he too recalled the fierce and fast fucking.

  “We dreamed,” he corrected gently. “I shared that vision, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart… She inhaled sharply and her eyes widened. “Oh. Shit.”

  He arched an eyebrow even as a hard, slightly cruel smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “Oh shit is right,” he agreed. “Although deep shit is more accurate. Because that’s what we’re in.”

  Nicolai raised a hand and the fist unclenched, fingers stretching one by one. She stared at it, mesmerized. The size of his hand from fingertip to the base of his palm would easily span the side of her face. It hovered over her cheek, hesitant or resistant, before spearing through her hair, clutching the tangled strands but careful not to tug on her scalp.

  “You’re in danger,” he said and, with his other hand, cupped the back of her neck. “I followed Evander here, Tamar. He’s after you and he won’t stop until he kills you.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  Jesus, why was this happening to her?

  She’d survived a plane crash only to face something so much more terrifying. Unable to not touch him any longer, she placed her palms on his slim hips, her fingers pressing into the unyielding skin of his back. The simple contact helped center her and keep her grounded in the middle of the storm that had landed in her life, wreaking havoc.

  But it didn’t prevent fear from cramping her stomach or seizing her heart.

  “Why me? I don’t know him, had never seen him before. I didn’t even know about hippogryphs or rogues or any of this before last night. Why…” She leaned forward, rested her forehead against the hard curve of his shoulder, giving in to the urge to lean on someone else’s strength if even for a quick moment. “All I wanted was a normal life. To teach. To have a husband, kids, a healthy 401K and retirement plan. Maybe finally learn how to tend those damn rose bushes.” The cantankerous flowers had been her mother’s pride and joy. Before the accident, she’d paid a gardener to care for the stubborn plants, but now she wanted to take over, to share that last connection to the one person who’d loved her unconditionally and had never let her down.

  Nicolai’s grip on her neck tightened. “He won’t get to you, I promise. But you’re not safe here, Tamar. He knows where you live and nothing will deter him from coming after you again. You have to leave. I’ll take you to a safe place away from here where he can’t find you.”

  Her head snapped up.

  “What?” she asked, even though she’d heard every word he’d said. Every word. “What do you mean leave? For how long?”

  His hands fell away from her nape and hair. He shifted back and his eyes were once again cold, harsh. Pitiless.

  “For however long it takes. I won’t risk your safety.”

  Tamar blinked up at him. The reality of her situation was rapidly sinking its bitter hooks into her mind and the harsh truth inspired a different—and just as strong—panic to scramble through her.

  “You said you’ve hunted him for the last four months.” She swallowed, wetting her suddenly parched throat. She slid the tip of her tongue across her dry lips and still her voice croaked like a frog. “I’m supposed to drop everything, give up my life while you chase him? What if it takes you that long to catch him again? I have school. My life.”

  Nicolai’s mouth lost its sensual curve as it firmed into a straight, grim line. She got the feeling he didn’t like being reminded of his failure to capture the rogue. But damn it! He asked—no, demanded—her to sacrifice the existence she’d suffered and fought for.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” she announced, pushing past him, the panic clawing its way up her stomach and chest to squeeze her throat. The abrupt turn on her heel sent a shard of pain lancing through her hip and screaming down her thigh. “Shit,” she muttered as she stumbled, braced herself with a hand pressed to the wall and limped across the bedroom.

  “Wait,” he called behind her.

  “Just give me a minute, Buckbeak,” she yelled over her shoulder. “You break into my house to tell me I’m on the hit list of a deranged lunatic-slash-mythical creature and I have to abandon the life I’ve worked so hard to get back. Just give me one damn minute.”

  She didn’t wait for his response or grant him an opportunity to stop her.

  Not that a slammed and locked bathroom door would keep him out if he did decide to come after her.

  But logic didn’t factor into her thinking at the moment. She flipped the lid of the toilet seat down and slowly lowered to perch on top. Her thoughts churned as she gripped her thigh and methodically dug her fingers into the throbbing, tight muscles.

  I can’t do this again.

  A wail pressed against the walls of her mind, a wild cry she couldn’t—refused to—loose. The last time she’d cried had been after Kyle had left a year and a half ago. She’d vowed never to be a helpless victim again.

  Yet here she was, once more at the mercy of another.

  Nicolai wanted to protect her from this Evander—she got that. But he also demanded she blindly place her trust in him, uproot herself and allow him to carry her off to an unknown place. In her fantasies where he was her winged warrior, maybe she would have said, “Sure thing, let’s go.” But this was real life.

  And in real life, even people considered trustworthy and loyal were capable of betrayal.

  Tamar had dated Kyle for a year, had intended to spend the rest of her life with him, and he’d abused her when she’d been at her weakest, unable to defend herself from the physical and emotional slaps.

  Now she was expected to pack her bags, leave the security of her home and become completely dependent on another man—a man who shifted into a mythological creature capable of tearing a human limb from limb.

  One of the same mythological creatures who wanted her dead.

  Chapter Four

  Well, that had gone well.

  Nicolai thrust his fingers through his hair and fisted the strands at the back of his head. He glared at the door, frustrated.

  He’d fucked up. Royally.

  Because his role as Dimios required that he hunt, judge and execute his own people, he chose not to live with them, realizing one day he may be called to track and kill them. Case in point—Gregor. So aside from Bastien, his closest friends were the three males he led, limiting his communal circle to three men as taciturn and antisocial as he.

  Still, this didn’t excuse the tactless way he’d delivered the news that Tamar was in danger. If he could, he’d reach back and kick his own ass.

  Damn. He grunted, threw one last frown at the closed bathroom door and paced across the room. Yes, his communication skills were rusty as hell, but he couldn’t blame his blunder on them.

  Well, not entirely.

  He placed the fault squarely on his dick.

  As soon as he’d entered the moonlit room, her scent had beckoned him. The sweet citrus perfume of hyacinth emanated from her skin. It had been the same in his—their—dreams, the hospital and even stronger in her bedroom where she slept. His gaze had lingered on the turned-down sheets and the beast in him had yearned to roll around on that wide bed, to loll in the covers until their scents tangled, mated.

  His cock had hardened, throbbed behind the zipper of his pants. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if the metal had been imprinted on his flesh like a damn tattoo. But if smelling her had sent his hippogryph into high alert, seeing her had it snapping and clawing to be set free. To cover, fuck and protect.

  All really bad signs.

  The dark could not hide her from him—his eagle’s sight noted every detail about her face and body as if daylight had streamed through the window instead of the moon’s milky-white glow. Though her caramel skin had retained its hospital pallor and fear had lurked in her amber eyes, she’d been vibrant, alive. And so fucking hot, man and beast had fought not to take her down to the floor, t
ear the clothes from her curvy little body and pound into what he knew was a tight, sweet pussy that would melt like lava around his cock.

  Lying in the hospital bed, still and fragile, she’d tugged at his heart and stirred the need to shield her from any further threat. But tonight she’d huddled in the corner of the bedroom—so afraid he could smell fear pouring from her skin—wielding an iron poker as if it was a Louisville Slugger and his head was a fastball. Tamar had called to the warrior in him. Brave in the face of her fear.

  It was then, with her crouched in a battle stance, he’d detected the minute differences between Tamar and Pria.

  While they shared the same tawny eye color, the shape of Tamar’s eyes was more slanted than his bondmate’s. Both women were petite, but Pria’s small frame had been softer, more rounded, while Tamar’s compact curves hinted at a woman used to hard work and play. Lean, sinewy muscle corded her slim shoulders and arms, visible under the sleeveless top she wore. Though the two women bore the same cleft chin, Tamar’s appeared firmer, more stubborn than the delicate line of Pria’s.

  And then there were the scars.

  Puckered whirls and ridges covered her left shoulder and arm, telling their own story of tragedy and pain. His heart had clenched at the sight of them. His hippogryph had howled at the agony she must have suffered.

  Still, those dissimilarities were skin deep.

  A reluctant smile touched his lips.

  Tamar had snapped at him, called him that insulting name. Buckbeak. He snorted. He’d lived with humans for hundreds of years and knew most of their slang and pop culture. With the phenomenal popularity of J.K. Rowling’s series based on a young wizard, he’d caught Tamar’s reference immediately. His wife would have never been so impudent. She’d been a shy, demure woman, her temperament as far from this spitfire as east from west. Pria would have trusted Nicolai to protect her from harm. She wouldn’t have fathomed picking up a weapon to defend herself.

  Maybe if she had—instead of relying on him—she might be alive today.

  Her mistake had been in placing too much faith in her mate.

  His fists tightened at his sides and he jerked to a quivering halt outside the bathroom door. Needle-like stings pricked his palms and his back itched and tingled as his wings threatened to burst free.

  Another really bad sign.

  His emotions and instincts short-circuited around Tamar, popping and sizzling like an out of control current. He’d loved Pria—she’d been the only woman in his long existence to touch his heart—but even she hadn’t incited this…this wild primal need to fuck. Theirs had been a gentle courting, as tender as their mating bed.

  But with Tamar, shit, both man and beast snarled and lunged to scratch, bite, mount…take.

  It didn’t make sense. None of this did. His behavior reminded him of a mated male. And that was just impossible.

  Nicolai frowned. The connection he shared with Tamar defied every known lore and belief held by his people. Yes, some species mated with humans. The hippogryph wasn’t one of them.

  Even though mated pairs did not share gifts and the females could not transform into their beasts like bondmates, in human form the couples were equal in strength and power. And even if he could bypass the dream-sharing with Tamar, one important, huge factor continued to exist—humans and hippogryphs did not mate.

  For humans were mortal and hippogryphs were…not.

  His people were magical beings—stronger, more powerful, immortal. Yes, hippogryphs could have sex with humans—it was frowned upon, but not forbidden. Fucking was a physical act based on a primal, biological need. It didn’t require emotion or commitment or a melding of spirits. Hell, sex didn’t require names.

  Mating was not only a sharing of bodies, but hearts. It was the continuation of a species, the affirmation of tradition. Theoretically—and theory was all healers had since there wasn’t a known mating between a hippogryph and human—interbreeding with a weaker, less-gifted mortal race would emasculate a people who prided themselves on strength and power. Whose survival depended on the young produced from mated unions. Hybrids, or half-breeds, would be considered deygma, abominations.

  The imbalance of a human and hippogryph mating would be far more perilous with bondmates. Though his people could take more than one mate, they often stayed with their chosen partner for a lifetime. Yet if something—such as death—occurred to separate the pair, finding another mate was possible. But unlike the relationship between a mated pair, a hippogryph had only one bondmate. The soul tie between the male and female went so deep if one of the pair died the other normally decided to follow his or her mate into death or opted to enter nepenthe, a coma-like sleep that could last for centuries—or eternity.

  Grief and fury had engulfed Nicolai after Pria’s death. Yet instead of selecting Eirene or eternal rest, he’d chosen to channel his rage and sorrow into hunting rogues like the one who’d murdered his bondmate.

  Still, no matter how short the time Nicolai and Pria had together, she’d been the fated other half of his soul. The female whom the Fates had destined for him.

  So this…this attraction to Tamar had to be something else—something with a reasonable explanation.

  Like he needed to get laid.

  Inhaling a deep, steadying breath, he willed back the partial change. At the same time her hyacinth aroma filled his nostrils, lined his throat and seemed to attach onto every hair follicle on his body.

  It was delicious, intoxicating…and wrong.

  All creatures possessed a scent particular to their race—as if their DNA contained a specific code labeled smell. Nicolai recognized other hippogryphs by the traces of wild heather and wind that clung to them. The loup-garou carried the untamed fragrance of ancient dark-moss-covered forests, while the grimm reeked of freshly turned earth and desolation.

  Humans also bore an identifying genetic scent.

  Fragrant sun-baked clay—hot, earthy, fresh. Mortal. Along with her individual perfume, Tamar bore the smell of sun and brick in her skin. Yet underneath that lingered something else. Something old, primitive…erotic. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but one thing for sure. It wasn’t human. It was…other.

  Hell. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. Nothing about Tamar was simple. From the dreams to Evander’s attack to her damn fragrance. Maybe her name translated into “fucking complicated”.

  Again he tunneled his fingers through his hair. At this rate he wouldn’t be surprised if permanent furrows dented his scalp. Turning his ear to the bathroom door, he listened for several long moments. No sound came from the other side.

  Taking advantage of the lull before the inevitable storm, Nicolai summoned his second-in-command along their link. “Luke.”

  “Yes?” The reply came immediately.

  “Meet me at…” Nicolai supplied Tamar’s address. “The backyard.”

  “On my way. I should be there in five.”

  Nicolai threw one last glance at the closed door then strode from the room. Moments later he emerged from the house, moving onto Tamar’s back porch. By the time he jogged down the steps and halted in the middle of the yard, Lukas’ large shadow appeared above him. The hippogryph landed on the lawn as silent as the night surrounding him. The instant its talons and hooves touched ground, the beast shifted, assuming the form of a tall, powerfully built man clothed in unrelieved black. Midnight hair framed his swarthy, sharp features.

  Hippogryph and man shared the same piercing arctic gaze, and the three white stripes that crossed the beast’s back marred the man’s skin from shoulder to waist. Whether in human or hippogryph form, Lukas was intimidating as hell.

  “We have a situation,” Nicolai said in lieu of a formal greeting. Quickly, he summed up what had occurred with Tamar, beginning with her witnessing Evander’s transformation and the attack on her friend, to the evening’s confrontation. He omitted his insane hunger for the woman and the dream-sharing, not yet ready to cop to what those not-so-small deta
ils might imply.

  “What a clusterfuck,” Lukas growled. “Fucking Evander.” His blue eyes flared with the promise of agonizing retribution when the krinos finally caught up with the rogue and their former friend. “What now? She’s as much a danger to us as Evander. But we can’t just leave her either. If what you say about her is true, he won’t let her go.”

  Nicolai nodded. “I know. I’m moving her to a safe house until we catch the son of a bitch. Hopefully if we get her out of here fast enough, Evander won’t realize she’s gone and we can set a trap for him.”

  “And then what?” Lukas asked, tone grim. “She knows about us, Nico. How do you intend to handle that? By law, her knowledge threatens us and falls under your jurisdiction. What are you going to do?”

  Nicolai gritted his teeth hard until an ache mushroomed along his jaw. Everything Lukas had pointed out was right. Nicolai and his krinos handled all dangers to their people—rogue or human.

  Yet killing Tamar after protecting her…

  The Dimios saw the cold logic behind the decision. But man and hippogryph rebelled at the thought of such an abomination as her death. It was deygma to him.

  “I’ll deal with that when the time comes,” he said and couldn’t keep the deep, aggressive rumble from his voice. “Where’re Adon and Dorian?”

  Lukas snorted. “Probably face deep in pussy by now.”

  “Well go dig ’em out,” Nicolai ordered. “We’re going to have to take shifts guarding Tamar and hunting Evander.”

  “And the woman? Tamar?” Nicolai’s second crossed his arms, the dark slash of his brows lowered over his ice-blue gaze. “Will you be okay dealing with her considering the resemblance to Pria?”

  “I’ll. Deal. With. It,” Nicolai bit out.

  “Really,” Lukas drawled and cocked an eyebrow. He tilted his head to the side and studied Nicolai. “Okay, I’ll butt out. But a word of advice? You might want to start dealing with the woman now.” His lips twisted in a sardonic facsimile of a smile. “Especially since she just took off in a car.”