by Naima Simone
Nicolai halted mid-pace and crossed his arms. Not a trace of humor softened his features “A loup-garou, not werewolf. Werewolves are fictional, but the loup-garou is very real. And yes, theoretically your neighbor could be one.” He arched an eyebrow. “But don’t worry. I checked him out and he’s as human as you are.”
“That’s a relief,” she whispered, reeling from the knowledge that she could rub shoulders with mythical creatures every day and not know it. Although…that could explain Mrs. Reynolds, the middle school secretary. The woman was such a bitch. Maybe she was some kind of joy eater or a fun-snatching medusa…
“Each race has their own set of laws governing their society, but the hippogryph maintains order by the Dimios.” His jaw firmed and Tamar braced herself for the impact of what was coming. “The Dimios is similar to your police force, jury and prison system all rolled into one. His responsibility is to investigate, hunt and execute those who threaten our safety or betray our people.”
“Rogues,” she said, her voice barely a rasp of sound. “Like Evander.”
Nicolai gave an abrupt nod.
“So,” Tamar cleared her throat and knit her fingers together, “that would make you the Dimios.”
Again, he lowered his head, this time slower. His lilac eyes, so startling in his hard face, captured hers and silence permeated the room. In her mind, she rewound and viewed the battle scenes she’d seen him engaged in over three years of dreams. Always bare-chested with huge wings of the deepest chocolate and richest cream. He fought with a stunning ferocity that stole her breath, his skill and power awesome to behold.
In those nights, he’d become Tamar’s champion, savior…her escape. The dreams had started the first night after she’d awakened in the hospital after the crash and had saved her sanity. How ironic that a figment of her imagination had kept her sane. Nevertheless, when she couldn’t move, imprisoned within a broken body, and then later tortured by Kyle, Nicolai had been the one thing to help her hold on.
Not only had he been the protector of his people, he’d been hers as well.
Nicolai returned to the chair he’d vacated and reached for her again. His hand covered her knee and the heavy weight was…comforting. He pinned her with a penetrating stare, intensifying their connection.
“Tamar,” he said, voice solemn, earnest. “Please let me protect you. Through no fault of your own you’ve become the target of a killer, but we can’t change that. I’ve already lost a friend—”
“You didn’t mention that.” Sympathy flooded her. First his wife, then his friend. Damn. “Evander?”
“Yes,” he said gruffly. “Like you, Bastien had no place in this battle. Evander targeted him to hurt me.” His voice deepened, roughened. “I’m asking you to place your trust in me. I know that’s difficult,” he stressed and squeezed her knee, “but I promise once Evander is caught, I will return you here, safe. And you’ll never hear from me or be bothered by our world again. You can go back to your life without any interference from us.”
He shifted his hands and gripped hers within his. The warmth from his strong palms seeped through her, transmitting a tingle that reminded her of the pleasure those big, knowledgeable fingers could bring. A part of her protested against the idea of never seeing him again. Not when he’d been such an important factor in her life for the past three years. Falling asleep and not seeing him, not touching him or being held and filled by him…inconceivable.
Yet those were dreams—albeit very vivid, sexy, hungry, soul-snatching, orgasm-rich dreams. She had a life that included her home, her job and the kids she taught. While that might not sound like Thrillsville to other people, it was everything to her. Everything. She’d rebuilt a world free of abuse, terror and insecurity—a world where she could walk out her door every morning to a job she loved, then return each night to a home free of violence.
Yet if she didn’t agree to Nicolai’s request, she risked losing it all anyway. And her life right along with it.
“For how long?” she asked, searching his face.
His expression hardened but the amethyst gaze never wavered. “I don’t know.”
She grimaced, closed her eyes. At least he’d been honest.
“Let me protect you,” he repeated.
Beneath the urgency in his tone lay something else. A plea she wouldn’t have expected from this warrior. The supplication undermined any objection she could’ve voiced. Nicolai, whether because of his role as the guardian of his race or a misplaced responsibility to his wife, wanted to defend her.
Damn.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go.”
Chapter Five
The Massachusetts Berkshires spread out before Nicolai in a majestic panorama of rock, forests and sky. Hidden in the wilderness near the Bash Bish Falls, the safe house was isolated, surrounded by a copse of thick trees, a sheer rock wall and a hundred-foot gorge.
It was beautiful.
It was secure.
It was hell.
The last two days had been his personal version of Tartarus. In that deep pit, Tantalus had water he could never drink and fruit he could never eat as his eternal punishment.
Nicolai had Tamar.
Secreting her away for safety had sounded like a great idea—in theory. Getting her away from Evander had consumed him, so he hadn’t taken into account the effect of being in close proximity to her all day and night would have on his mind and body. Body, hell. His dick.
He wanted. No, that word was too anemic to describe the ceaseless hunger that clawed and bit at him with dagger-sharp talons. His beast snarled constantly, demanding Nicolai take what he allowed himself only in dreams.
The dreams.
Damn. He blew out a hard gust of breath. His balls drew up tight under an erection that hadn’t gone down in forty-eight hours. The dreams had continued in spite of their seclusion. One would think the Fates would give them a break considering he and Tamar were in one another’s back pockets, but nope. Apparently the three goddesses had a warped sense of humor. Bitches.
On a low growl, Nicolai pushed away from the front porch railing and strode through the empty house toward the backyard. He could sense Adon’s presence on the perimeter, keeping watch. Lukas and Dorian were out hunting Evander and would return shortly to switch shifts.
For months now, Nicolai’s main goal had been to run Evander to ground and kill the sick son of a bitch. Yet since the night of Tamar’s attack, his priorities had altered. BT—better known as Before Tamar—nothing could have kept him from searching for the traitor hours on end. Now he resented every second spent away from the mysterious woman who hissed at him like an asp, challenged his patience like the toughest crossword puzzle and made love like the most talented hetaera.
Lust clenched his gut and twisted viciously. Just last night he’d fantasized of her kneeling between his spread thighs and lowering her mouth over his rigid cock. The thick width had stretched her lips wide and the groan she’d emitted had vibrated down his flesh and hummed in his balls. Shit. He swallowed hard and his fingers fisted as the memory played across the screen of his mind like a porno. The soft glide of her tongue under his cock head and the tight suck of her mouth had his hips surging from the mattress, his dick trying to breach her throat.
Nicolai placed his palm against the storm door that led to the back porch. Instead of pushing it open, he paused, bent his head and inhaled. Closing his eyes, he could almost feel the instinctive contraction of her gag reflex against his dick before her throat relaxed and he’d slid a couple of precious inches into that smooth tunnel.
He exhaled, lifted his lashes. Arousal that danced on the fine edge of pain throbbed in his cock. It would take one stroke to find release. Just one. The sensory image was that powerful.
But he kept his hands to himself—or not to himself.
Hell, if a person could die from blue balls, he might need to get his affairs in order.
It worried him, the consuming need, the voracious hunge
r that refused to stay in the realm of sleep. Control was imperative. It meant the difference between success and failure, life and death. Nothing had jeopardized that tight rein. Even when Pria had died, he’d channeled his anger, grief and guilt into the hunt, into taking down those who endangered his people.
Discipline hadn’t been an issue…until Tamar. Until she’d crouched in that corner brandishing an iron poker, prepared to fight like the fiercest cruxim. It was her Amazon spirit that endangered his control. It was endearing, sexy…valiant.
His main concern should be protecting her from Evander. Instead he wondered if someone should protect him from her. Her courage, beauty of heart and spirit haunted a part of his soul that would make it impossible to walk away from her at the end of this.
Willing his flesh to behave, he shoved the door open and stepped out on the back porch. The covered deck extended the length of the cabin and was surrounded by a wooden railing and several posts. He notched a shoulder against the nearest post and studied the woman exercising in the large expanse of yard.
Except for those startling moments on the sidewalk and then in the hospital, Nicolai didn’t see Pria when he gazed at Tamar. Of course it was impossible not to notice the resemblance, but the two women were so different.
Where Pria had been a sweet kitten, Tamar was a fierce lioness.
Since their arrival, Tamar had spent at least two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon back here, putting her body through a cardio and strength-training regimen. With a determined expression on her face and buds plugged in her ears, she worked her body without mercy.
The first day she’d worn a long-sleeved shirt over her sports bra. As she hit her stride and the sun rose higher in the sky, it hadn’t been long before she’d stripped the top off. The mottled, scarred flesh on her left arm, shoulder, torso and leg gleamed dully under the perspiration coating her body.
In his head, Nico had caught Adon’s sharp intake of breath.
“What happened to her?” he had asked along their telepathic link.
“Plane crash,” Nicolai responded. “Three years ago.”
Awe and admiration coasted down their bond several seconds before Adon’s solemn “warrior” echoed in Nicolai’s mind.
Nicolai agreed. In their society, strength and valor didn’t always equal muscle or heroic deeds. It entailed sacrifice, courage in the face of insurmountable odds, a toughness of spirit as well as body. Tamar embodied all these worthy traits—prized more in a soldier than skill and power.
After discovering Tamar’s name, he’d researched her. There had been plenty of information available. The crash made national news as well as the extent of her injuries and the hard, painstaking recovery that had lain ahead. Years later, she’d recuperated and salvaged the life that had almost been taken from her. The pain she must have suffered grieved him, made him wish he could have been there to comfort and care for her. But to Nicolai, each scar and ridge of puckered flesh represented her tenacity and bravery.
They were beautiful and sacred.
Unfortunately, as he stared at the sexy play of tendon and muscle across her back when she lifted her arms above her head in a stretch, he doubted Tamar viewed them the same way.
Today, like the last two days, the motions seemed effortless. If it wasn’t for the thin sheen of sweat that glistened on her arms and throat and created a dark vee down the front of her top, he would have believed the workout didn’t cost her. But a fine tremble shook her torso and legs. How much of her exhaustion was due to the rigorous routine and what portion could be blamed on the nighttime restlessness that kept her up until well after midnight, pacing the lower level of the cabin?
One glance at the pallor under her golden complexion and the slightly gray circles beneath her amber eyes answered his question.
Nicolai had observed her the past two nights, his gyges concealing him from sight as she wore a path in the floor, stopping to massage her legs and round her back as if attempting to ease an ache. Only the knowledge that she would not have appreciated his interference kept him hidden, watching. Still he refused to leave her alone—he gave her company even if she didn’t know it.
“Did you need something, Buckbeak?”
Arousal and annoyance kicked him in the gut and he gritted his teeth. A loud snicker echoed in his head and Nicolai assumed Adon, from his hidden perch, had overheard the nickname Tamar insisted on assigning him.
“Well,” she asked, propping her fists on her curvy hips. “Did you need me?”
Arousal won. His cock jerked behind the zipper of his jeans, snarling a hell yeah in reply. His heart lurched also.
Yeah, I need you to look me in the eye, not over my shoulder. I need you to share your thoughts and fears with me. I need you to hunger for me like I crave you.
“No,” he said. And before he did something incredibly stupid like utter his thoughts aloud, he turned and headed back across the porch and inside the cabin.
Damn, he hoped he found Evander tonight. He needed a good fight.
* * * * *
Tamar heaved a sigh of relief as Nicolai disappeared inside the house.
With him gone, she could breathe again. She’d sensed his presence the second he’d exited the safe house and stood on the porch, his brooding stare a physical stroke over her skin.
It had unnerved her.
It had annoyed her.
It had set every synapse firing, transmitting desire from cell to cell until she was one big pulsing mass of lust.
The last two days had been a lesson in restraint. She could write a book on the topic—How to Act Like You Don’t Care When All You Want to do is Lick Him Like a Lollipop.
As much as her nickname irritated him, it was her only defense against the desire that was a reflex to his nearness. She rose from a lunge and bent over at the waist, her palms resting on her knees. Nicolai had whisked her to this cabin for safety, but right now he was the biggest threat to her sanity. He was an addiction. A compulsion. And he had heartbreak written all over him. Her heartbreak.
“Damn,” she muttered, staring at the lush grass. Days cooped up in this place and she craved him with every single breath she took. She swore his scent permeated each room in the two-level cabin. Imagined she could sense him even when alone. Especially the past few nights when she’d been up striving to ease the ache in her legs and back. The spasms had increased in intensity and disturbed her already restless sleep. She tried not to dwell on what it could mean. The possibilities terrified her.
These days she needed to prioritize her fears since there were so many contenders. In first place was the homicidal hippogryph intent on her death. Second on the list were the new symptoms that could or could not mean the deterioration of her body.
If Nicolai failed to catch Evander, first place would cancel out second, hence its slot in the hierarchy.
She would be dead.
Third place was awarded to the dreams. When Tamar finally managed to drop off to sleep after her midnight walk-a-thons, Nicolai awaited in her dreams—their dreams. Heat flared up her chest and throat, converging in her face. Last night…God. This morning she’d spied the memory of their shared fantasy in the hard, bright glitter of his eyes and the tension in his body.
It had taken every ounce of her weathered and tattered self-control not to leap across the room, take him down to the floor and demand he fuck her senseless.
But she’d held back. In the darkest hours of night she submitted to him, but that’s where the mind-blowing sex and I-can’t-feel-my-legs orgasms ended. This fierce need had to stay in the realm of dreams. Because if she allowed the fantasies to become reality, she wouldn’t walk away from this with her heart intact. The moment Nicolai had pleaded with her to let him protect her, he’d won half of that traitorous, ignorant organ. If she surrendered the other part, she might do something stupid like beg him not to leave her. Or to take her with him.
She would be giving up the life she’d worked so hard to reclai
m.
And wasn’t that her fear? Once more she would become dependent on another person, subject to their decisions, whims…betrayals.
There were parts of her Tamar despaired she would never retrieve—her outgoing daredevil spirit, her open willingness to trust people. The Tamar of three years ago would have jumped at the opportunity to soar on a mythical creature’s back. But the Tamar who was terrified of flying, the dark and her shadow, had refused, opting to take the long trip to the mountains and safe house in a cramped car.
The crash had stolen so much from her, she couldn’t give up more—there wouldn’t be any of her left.
That she couldn’t—wouldn’t—do.
Straightening, she tilted her head back on her shoulders and the sun warmed her face. With the fresh, sweet air and the cool breeze tickling her skin, she could almost forget she was on a maniac’s short To Do list. But only for a second.
Tipping her head forward, she spun on her heel and trudged toward the cabin. Days like these she itched to bitch-slap Fate. Didn’t she have stray dogs to kick or little old ladies to push down? Instead she insisted on picking on the traumatized, scarred girl with a limp. Wasn’t that like double-dipping? How fucking fair was—
“Oof!”
Tamar braced her hands against the solid wall that had appeared in front of her. A solid wall of golden skin, sinew and bone. A tremor of need hummed through her at the unexpected contact. Unbidden, her fingers curled into the unyielding flesh of his chest. She bit back a groan but couldn’t control the shudder that shook her.
This close his wind-and-wild-heather scent wrapped around her like a lover’s embrace. The steady pounding of his pulse throbbed at the base of his neck. Heat poured out of him as if a furnace burned beneath his skin. She closed her eyes and for a quick, foolish moment, allowed herself to be lost in sensation. The thud of his heart under her fingertips. The brush of his jean-clad thighs. The thick wedge of his cock pressed to her abdomen.