Under His Wings

Under His Wings

Naima
Simone

Dark Judgment, Book One

Warrior, lover…savior. A winged
avenger with chocolate feathers and lavender eyes haunts Tamar Ridgeway’s dreams—her
erotic escape after surviving a horrible plane crash and enduring years of
painful physical therapy. But fantasy becomes terrifying reality when she’s
attacked by a mythical creature from her darkest nightmares. Now her sexy dream
warrior is vowing to save her, whether she wants his protection or not.

Nicolai Abioud, judge and
executioner of the hippogryph, is stunned when the woman he rescues is the same
who submits to him nightly in his dreams…and a replica of his dead wife. He’s
fascinated by her beauty and spirit, consumed by the craving to touch…to take.
Yet he lost his one true bondmate five hundred years ago. And falling for a
human—no matter how beautiful—is a foolish risk. But the choice to love may be
snatched away. Danger is closing in. They must conquer their enemy and fears, or
be doomed to lose the love of a millennium.

A
Romantica®
paranormal erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Under His Wings

Naima Simone

Dedication

To Gary, who sacrifices every day so I don’t cry. I love
you.

Acknowledgements

To my heavenly Father who continues to bless my family and
me, and provides five loaves of bread and three fish every month. Your creative
spirit made this possible, not mine.

To my husband and children, your love and support are my
lifelines. You guys are the greatest gifts God has ever given me.

To Jessica Lee, you have graduated from Jackie Chan to a Jet
Li-Jason Statham hybrid! Not only are you an awesome writer but an even better
friend—if that’s possible! I believe we’ll still call and cackle over the phone
even when we’re old and gray.

To Stormy Pate, thank you so much for wanting to read this
book and loaning me your time and giving me your excitement. You’re the best
Beta reader ever!

To Debra Glass, I don’t have enough white space to list all
you mean to me as an author and a friend. Without your insight, enthusiasm and
encouragement this book wouldn’t have been completed. Thank you for sharing
your knowledge, your experience and your heart.

To Violet Hughes…okay, I can get through this without
tearing up…sorta. The day I received the email informing me you were my editor
was one of the best days of my career. Not only did I gain a wonderful,
professional, brilliant editor, I gained a cheerleader, a teacher, comic relief
and a friend. I’ve become a better writer because of you! Thank you for being
Kathy Griffin and Super-Valkyrie-Editor all rolled into one! You are the
absolute best!

No empty fiction wrought by magic lore,
But natural was the steed the wizard pressed;
For him a filly to griffin bore;
Hight hippogryph. In wings and beak and crest,
Formed like his sire, as in the feet before;
But like the mare, his dam, in all the rest.
Such on Riphaean hills, though rarely found,
Are bred, beyond the frozen ocean's bound.

--Orlando furioso, Ludovico Ariosto

Chapter One

Dusk bullied its way across the skyline, the rolling bank of
gray and black clouds forcing daylight to pick up its ball and go home.

Nicolai Abioud studied the fast-moving mass as several
stories beneath him the denizens of the dark stirred and crept out of their
hiding places, ready to go about their business of the encroaching night. The
rundown five-story building he crouched on top of probably hosted all manner of
illicit activities. Drug addicts and prostitutes peered out of windows as
jagged as their souls, scouting the dirty garbage-littered streets for
patrolling cops or predators more vicious then they.

He was such a predator.

Only he had bigger prey to bag.

He scanned the obsidian alleys, his raptor’s eyes sighting
even the smallest scurry. Below, a scantily clad woman led an old man down the
passageway. As she maneuvered him behind the large dumpster, she glanced toward
the sky as if sensing the hunter who perched above her.

Even if she could spot Nico, her concern would’ve been
misplaced. Her wariness was better reserved for the other who stalked these
streets.

“Nico.”

He didn’t glance over his shoulder as the low
sandpaper-over-gravel voice echoed inside his head. The heavy strokes of wings
against air had reached his ears several moments ago.

“Yes?” he asked aloud. The prostitute had finished her
transaction and was headed toward the mouth of the alley. Either she had a
blue-ribbon-talented mouth or the man had a two-second fuse. Nicolai was
betting on the latter.

“There’s no sign of him,”
Lukas Gallo reported along
the telepathic link they shared.
“Maybe he’s moved on.”

“No.” Nicolai met the steady ice-blue gaze of his
second-in-command and one of the three males he led. Tonight Lukas hunted with
him. The other two warriors—Adon Laskaris and Dorian Zarides—searched for
traces of their prey on the east side of the city. Together the three males
formed the
krinos
, the select highly trained fighting unit that served
under the
Dimios
, their people’s executioner. Or Nicolai.

On the rooftop, Lukas’ obsidian plumage, wings and body
seemed to swallow the shades around him, a wormhole sucking the shadows into
his huge bulk. Only his arctic gaze and the distinctive three white stripes
across his back relieved the midnight feathers, equestrian hindquarters and
tail.

“This is prime hunting ground for him. He’s not finished,”
Nicolai murmured.

A sigh whispered down their connection.
“We were almost
too late to cover up his last kill. Even Evander wouldn’t risk the exposure
another would bring.”

“No?” Nicolai arched his eyebrow. “He’s a rogue, Lukas. By
the very definition, he doesn’t give a fuck about rules. And he damn sure
doesn’t care if he reveals us to the human world. It’s a game to him,” he
rasped, returning his gaze to the streets that grew more active, teemed with
more people…more quarry for the kill. “Us. Them. We’re all pawns in this
screwed up version of Clue to which only he knows the rules.”

Lukas remained silent at the words that sounded bitter to
Nicolai’s own ears. Evander Agnew, the latest of his people to go rogue. Over
the last four months, he’d cut a bloody trail through Europe and now here to
North America. The kills had been spread out and Nicolai, Lukas, Adon and
Dorian had worked swiftly to cover them up. But Evander didn’t show any signs
of stopping. The humans had no idea a monster out of their mythical lore—and
their worst nightmares—had been unleashed on them.

And Nicolai had trained the sadistic bastard.

As the
Dimios
, the race’s judge, jury and executioner,
it fell to Nicolai to hunt Evander and bring him down just as Nicolai had done
all other rogues who’d gone off the proverbial reservation.

Hunting his brethren, executing them and preserving the
secrecy of his people’s existence were Nicolai’s responsibilities—had been for
eight hundred years. As long as the hippogryph had been in existence, they had
those who’d gone rogue for one reason or another—resentment over the
restrictions governing their exposure to the world, exile or bloodlust.

Whether they were angry, power hungry or deranged, he’d
pursued them all. Yes, he experienced regret over some of the punishments, but
it had never been personal.

Until now.

Until Evander—an elite warrior Nicolai had trained and a
trusted soldier he’d commanded—betrayed him by preying on the weak and
defenseless.

Until four months ago when Evander had started his rampage
with the murder of Nicolai’s best friend.

Grief writhed in his gut like snakes on a Gorgon’s head.
Nicolai, Lukas, Adon, Dorian—they accepted their deaths were possible every
time they pursued a rogue and engaged in battle. But Bastien hadn’t signed up
for that. He’d been a healer, not a warrior. Yet Evander had targeted Bastien
because he’d been Nicolai’s friend. Just to hurt Nicolai, Evander had stolen
the life of a good man.

For that the betrayer would die. If Nicolai had to track him
for the rest of his existence, he would destroy this rogue.

“Nico, let me take this one,”
Lukas urged.
“You’re
too personally involved—”

“Forget it,” Nicolai snapped. A loud crack rent the air and
he glanced down, startled his black talons had stabbed the edge of the roof.
Fine fissures zigzagged over the railing and chunks of cement littered the
ground. Lifting his head, he met Lukas’ censorious gaze. Juveniles half-shifted
as they learned to dominate their beast. For an adult—especially a
nine-hundred-year-old warrior—to do so meant a loss of control. Dangerous for
one whose duty required he discipline not just himself but an entire race of
people.

“Forget it,” he repeated, voice grim. He eyed his
second-in-command until Lukas lowered his sleek black head, a sign of the
male’s submission. “We hunt here tonight. And we’ll keep on until we find the
demented bastard and take him out.”

The cold, grim words echoed in the night air as Nicolai
leaped onto the high narrow ledge, landing in a crouch. He splayed his fingers
on the rough concrete, maintaining his balance as he reexamined the murky
expanse of sky. The dense blanket of pollution hid the twinkle of stars and obscured
the moon’s pearlescent glow. A shaft of longing for the clean, fresh air of his
home pierced him. If he breathed deep, he could almost taste the rain-scented
breeze that blew over the private peninsula off the Washington state coast.
There the stars glittered like bright diamonds scattered across a velvet cloth
by a celestial hand.

As different from this place as shit from shine.

“Lukas.” Nicolai squinted at a sizeable dingy cloud sailing
at a slightly faster clip than the others. Something about the odd shape…and
when the moon’s beam struck it…

“That’s him,” he growled. Not waiting for Lukas’ reply, he
dove off the ledge, arms outstretched, head thrown back. Magic sizzled from the
soles of his feet, blazed a path up his legs, thighs, to his gut and chest and
shot to his shoulder blades and legs. It consumed him. Bone snapped and popped,
muscle and tendon contorted. His head rounded and formed a large high-arched
beak and shaggy crest as feathers sprouted along his arms and back. Two pairs
of legs—the front pair talon-tipped and the back hoofed—stretched and kicked as
his wings beat hard once, twice, and the hippogryph’s powerful, magnificent
body climbed high into air. At the same time he cast a
gyges
,the
magical net rendering him invisible to the human eye.

Beside him, Lukas’ black half-eagle, half-stallion beast
appeared and together they streaked through the sky after their prey.

“Stay back,”
Nicolai ordered through the telepathic
link. Lukas’ head snapped to the side, his arctic-blue eyes glittering with
shock and growing anger. Before the other hippogryph could voice an objection,
Nicolai growled,
“Don’t interfere. That’s an order.”

Lukas’ rage crackled down their link, but he spread his
wings wide and reared back on his hind legs, talons clawing the air.

Nicolai launched forward, all his attention focused on the
smoky billow several feet beneath him. The mist—too thick to be natural—didn’t
hinder his search. Tonight he would end this, damn it. He would end Evander. A
warning whispered through his head. The same warning he gave those who trained
under him.

Never let emotion enter the hunt. If you do, you’re dead
as fuck.

Well he was as dead as a damn doornail because there was no
way he could separate the hatred, the overwhelming grief and thirst for revenge…for
blood. Nicolai wanted the black, shriveled lump Evander called a heart in his
claws. It was the only outcome of this battle that would satisfy him.

The fog clung to his feathers and coarse hair on his back
and legs, the wisps like chilled tentacles that sought to leach the warmth from
his body, render him slow and sluggish. He relegated the discomfort to the part
of his brain labeled
Life’s a Bitch
and peered deeper into the—

There!
Triumph roared through him as he discerned
feathers the color of ash. Folding his wings against his body, he lunged,
slicing through the clouds.

A piercing battle cry escaped him. His legs extended, talons
curled, ready to tear through flesh and hide.

Just as the tips of his claws grazed charcoal feathers,
Evander cut hard to the left. Nicolai bulleted past him before abruptly drawing
up. He wheeled around to the soft sound of taunting laughter inside his head.

“Tsk, tsk.”
Evander hovered several feet above him,
seeming to hang motionless in the air like a black spider suspended on its
invisible web. A large crest rose behind his head, granting him the image of
the crown he desired to own and detested serving. Mottled gray and black
covered his breast and wings and merged with muscled, strong, fully feathered
legs so deep-brown they appeared as dark as the rest of him. Evander was a
phantom pillar of smoke, except for the ring of white that edged the outermost
points of his wings as if the tips had been dipped in paint.
“You violated
your first rule in Attack 101. Never let ’em know you’re coming.”

“Fuck you,”
Nicolai snarled.

A long-suffering sigh echoed in Nicolai’s head.
“As
eloquent as always, I see, Nico.”

Fury engulfed him, popped over every synapse and neuron. The
nickname burned in his head like acid, what had once been an affectionate
endearment now blasphemy.

“I’m going to end you, motherfucker,”
he vowed, grim
anticipation rolling through him, amping the fury that gripped his brain.
“Slowly.
Painfully.”

Delight shimmered down the link that had once bound them
commander to soldier.
“Careful,”
Evander crowed.
“You’re beginning to
sound like me.”

“I could never be like you. A traitor and murderer.”

Evander’s head snapped back as if Nicolai’s accusation were
a fist to the face. His hippogryph reared, his talons clawing the sky. Malice
glittered in his obsidian eyes.
“You are me, Nico. Don’t fool yourself.
You’re one kill away from being me.”

With timing that spoke of skill honed by time and age,
Evander shifted from beast to man except for the sharp dagger-like claws that
formed his hands and the heavy flap of wings that kept him aloft. Nicolai knew
that face—had recognized the swarthy, handsome features as those of a friend
for over five hundred years. Yet now Evander bore the face of the enemy. The
knowledge carved another sliver of pain from his soul.

“You betrayed me first. You were the traitor,” Evander
snarled. “When you executed Gregor, you betrayed our friendship
and
me.”

The accusation stabbed Nicolai in the heart and bled into
his veins even as he assumed the same form as Evander. Gregor had been
Evander’s brother and the last hippogryph to go rogue. Hunting and killing the
male he’d known and loved for over seven hundred years had damaged another
piece of Nicolai’s spirit he couldn’t afford to lose. Guilt and grief had
consumed him, but he didn’t allow his emotion to prevent him from completing
what needed to be done. As the
Dimios
, he couldn’t allow one rogue to
live while others died. If he didn’t uphold the law, chaos and death would
follow.

But by the end of the hunt, they’d lost two males—Gregor to
death and Evander to a hatred that had set him on the same path of destruction
his twin had traveled.

And a month later, Nicolai had lost Bastien. In revenge. A
life for a life.

The reminder razed a path of fury and grief up his gut,
chest and out of his throat in a roar. The agony supplied the fuel that shot
him across the sky, straight for his prey.

They clashed, twisted, bodies straining as the other fought
to obtain the upper hand. In brute strength, Nicolai outweighed Evander—his
upper torso heavier, broader. But he’d trained his former soldier well. What
Evander lacked in sheer might, he made up for in agility and speed.

Evander’s bellow of rage and pain rumbled across the sky
like thunder. Grim satisfaction rolled through Nicolai as his talons punctured
Evander’s side, the pointed tips clacking against rib. But the rogue ripped
away from him and fire slashed over Nicolai’s shoulder.

He bit back a shout, resisting the urge to clap a hand to
the injury Evander managed to inflict. Another enraged cry echoed above him
seconds before a booming crack split the air. Nicolai jerked his head up. An
iron spire and cement block teetered then tumbled off the roof of a nearby
church. It bobbed toward Evander, floating on an unseen current until halting
next to the rogue’s large frame. Arms stretched wide, Evander met Nico’s gaze,
hatred flashing in his obsidian eyes. Blood pumped from the lower side of his
torso, the rivulets slick oily spills on his olive skin.