Under His Wings (2 page)

“I propose a treasure hunt, Nico,” he taunted, his lips
curling into a cruel smile. “There is a prize out there you may want to find
before I do. Because if I get to it first…”

His smile widened to a grin as he shoved an image in
Nicolai’s head along their mental path. A woman. Honey-gold skin. Wild
light-brown curls. Gold eyes.

Pria. His bondmate. His dead bondmate.

“Don’t fail her a second time,” the rogue whispered.
“Goodbye, Nico.”

Evander clapped his hands and the spire whistled through the
air, a cross-tipped missile locked and loaded on Nicolai’s chest.

Shit.
Nicolai’s thighs tightened, the muscles along
his back that controlled his wings tensed, preparing to spiral upward.

But it was too late.

He gritted his teeth, braced himself for impact—

The space inches in front of his palms shimmered,
solidified. Iron smashed, grated then crumbled against the shield Lukas had
conjured with his mind.

Relief raced through Nicolai. He glanced down and caught his
second-in-command’s gaze.
“Thank you.”

Lukas dipped his obsidian head in acknowledgement.

Drawing his lips back from his teeth in a snarl, Nicolai
whipped his attention back to Evander. Or the space Evander had occupied. The
rogue had disappeared. The coward had used his telekinetic gift as a diversion
while he escaped.

Son of a bitch.

“Do we follow?”
Lukas asked, his hippogryph form
hovering nearby.

Nicolai shook his head. “No,” he said, disgusted. Damn. He’d
had him. Victory had been so close…revenge had been so close. Failure burned in
his gut, seared a path to his chest. “I hurt him. Bad. He’ll use tonight to
heal, not hunt.”

Again, Lukas nodded. The male was not a Chatty Cathy but
Nicolai didn’t need words to decipher the disapproval and worry that skated
down their telepathic link. Nicolai had broken—scratch that—blown to hell and
back the number one rule he hammered into the elite unit that served under him.
Never enter into battle with your emotions—they’ll get you killed.

Lukas had cause to be concerned and angry. Nicolai had
jeopardized his own safety as well as Lukas’. He’d allowed rage to blind him
and had abandoned all thought and consideration except revenge.

And Nicolai couldn’t promise tomorrow wouldn’t bring a
repeat of tonight.

Shifting back into his beast, he climbed into the night sky.

Hours later, Nicolai lay against hotel pillows that smelled
strongly of detergent and the flower-scented air freshener the staff sprayed
with a liberal hand. He released a tired sigh and dropped his head back on the
white cotton. Ignoring the drumbeat of pain in his shoulder, he lifted a
tumbler of whiskey the hotel so graciously provided in their well-stocked bar.
The small sip blazed a trail of fire over his tongue, down his throat and
bloomed in his stomach. The potent liquid heated his body but didn’t pierce the
cold, hard ball of shame that had settled in his gut, a heavy reminder of the
vigilante Batman routine he’d pulled tonight. All he’d needed was a cape, a
mask with pointy ears and tights.

He’d failed. And not just in allowing Evander to slip though
his fingers again. No. Tonight he’d failed Lukas and the other two men he
led—Adon and Dorian. As their
Dimios
. As their leader.

As their friend.

Fuck.
He frowned down into the amber depths of the
glass. The whiskey was making him grow a pussy.

He downed another gulp and closed his eyes. It was these
moments, after the heat of battle had cooled in his veins and the adrenaline
had run its course, he hated most. When the weight of what he was and what he
did stared him in the face and like a double-edged sword which cut both ways.
He saved lives…but he was a murderer. He was the protector of his people…but
was a pariah among them. He was revered…and feared.

He hunted and executed so his race could enjoy a safe
existence filled with love, tradition and family. And he could have none of
those blessings for himself.

The one time he’d tried to grab a slice of happiness, he’d
suffered the consequences—and his bondmate had paid with her life.

That picture of Pria Evander had projected had messed with
Nicolai’s head. Hell, he’d almost been shish-kabobbed by a fucking steeple
because of it. Evander had been cryptic as always. A treasure hunt. What the
fuck? Pria was dead—had been for five hundred years. There was no coming back
from that.

His arm snaked out and Nicolai snagged the half-empty bottle
of whiskey from the bedside table. Pouring more of the liquor into the glass,
he slammed the door shut on that particular line of thought. Even after five
hundred years guilt stalked him, relentless in its pursuit. If he hadn’t been
selfish, wanting what others had, Pria would be alive.

The
Dimios
didn’t marry, didn’t have children because
his role painted huge, neon, hey-over-here targets on their backs. It was law.
And when he’d stepped down from the role to marry, Nicolai in his hubris had arrogantly
believed he could still hunt and shit in the face of two-thousand-plus years of
tradition.

Well the Fates had shown him. As the saying went, you don’t
fuck around with tradition…or those bad-ass eternally PMSing bitches, the
Fates.

The alcohol hit the back of his throat in a blast of heat.
Loneliness washed over him. Its tide drew him under and he didn’t fight it.

Maybe he should have gone with Lukas, Adon and Dorian to one
of the pleasure dens. A hard bout of sex would have been preferable to this fun
skip down memory lane. And with a city this size there would most likely be
several dens to provide all kinds of erotic services to the mythical creatures
who resided here.

Since sex with humans was strictly forbidden, unmated males
and females kept the dens busy. A couple of hot, wild hours with a
loup-garou
may not have been a bad idea. He’d have been scratched to hell and back but his
cock would have been drained along with his overactive brain. Or even time with
a lovely, ethereal
sidhe
who would fuck his mind even as he buried his
dick in her pussy would have granted him a night of forgetfulness.

Tonight he would have to settle for the oblivion of alcohol.
Besides, sex eased the lust but not the isolation.

All the distilleries and brothels in the world couldn’t
erase his loneliness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sweet scent of hyacinth teased him, urged him to open
his eyes.

He accepted its invitation, lifting his lashes and zeroing
in on the shadowed, petite figure across the room. A figure that had his blood
imitating a witch’s cauldron in his veins. It heated, boiled. Overheated his
body until he felt like a mercury thermometer that had reached hot-as-hell
Celsius.

Nicolai shifted on the bed, hiking himself higher on the
pillows at his back. The throbbing in his shoulder faded under the pounding in
his cock.

“Come here,” he said, the lust thickening his dick having
the same effect on his voice. He lifted his arm and flipped his hand over, palm
up.

He needed her, craved her, this woman of dreams who granted
him the solace that eluded him in real life. As she obeyed his summons, he
tried to peer through the shadows that shifted over her face like pieces of an
ever-changing puzzle. But her features remained hidden from him. A glimpse of
the soft curve of her cheek or the arching bridge of her nose or the smooth
sweep of her brow…

In contrast, the moon clung to her compact sexy curves, its
glow a faithful lover’s caress. The pearly light transformed her short silky
nightgown into a sheer film that revealed the dark tips of her nipples, the
flat plane of her belly and the dense triangle of curls over her pussy. The
sweetest, most beautiful pussy he’d ever had the honor and pleasure to taste,
to touch. To fuck.

Her small, delicate palm slid over his and he closed his fingers
around hers, drawing her closer. She emitted a low pained moan as her knee
depressed the mattress next to his thigh.

“You’re hurt,” Tamar whispered, settling beside him. She
traced the reddened, swollen scar that bisected the skin of his shoulder and the
stylized geometric pattern of spirals and heavy lines that covered it. The
tattoo that branded him a member of the royal line swirled down his arm, across
the left side of his chest and over his abdomen to disappear beneath the
waistband of his loose cotton pants.

Already the wound appeared several weeks old even though
he’d received it hours ago. But he would have eagerly developed a masochistic
streak and ripped his flesh open again to have her press another tender kiss to
his skin. Her soft, sensual lips skimmed a path across his collarbone and up
the column of his neck. She lifted a hand to his face, cupped it and swept the
pad of her thumb over his cheekbone.

“I don’t like to see you hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” Nicolai murmured, covering her hand with his
and easing it from his cheek. He turned it over and nuzzled the palm. Her
breath caught and the small gasp shot straight to his dick as if the gust of
air had grazed the sensitive cock head. She rose on her bended knee, arching
into the simple touch. He flicked his tongue out, tasting her. The shudder that
rippled through her body shook the hand in his grip. Lust lashed out with a
clawed hand, tearing at his gut, hardening his cock until he almost believed
the stretched skin would burst from the hurt-so-damn-good pressure.

His beast roared, scored the inside of his chest with
dagger-sharp talons. It demanded freedom to cover and penetrate the woman who
trembled in need, whose sultry, floral scent called to man and beast to ride
out their hunger between her thighs, in her tight pussy.

With a loud growl he clasped her waist and, with no strain
or effort, lifted her high and settled her negligible weight over his legs. The
heat from her inner thighs singed him through the thin material of his sleeping
pants. The liquid fire from her wet sex burned him to a cinder. A groan ripped
free of his throat and his hips bowed, bucking hard. The hard ridge of his cock
ground between her pussy lips, the thick cream soaking his pants and dick. Her
head fell back on her shoulders, her nails digging into his forearms. He loved
the tiny pinpricks of pain, wanted them in his back, his ass. He fucking just
wanted.

He fisted the hem of her negligee and bunched the gossamer
material around her waist, revealing her thighs, the small triangle of springy
hair that covered her sex and the smooth patch of skin directly above. His gaze
lifted to her berry-dark nipples and he couldn’t retain the deep rumble that
rolled up out of his chest, or keep his cock from taking another slick ride through
her drenched slit. The distended tips were stiff points underneath her gown and
he delighted in the evidence of her desire as well as her pride in it. She
didn’t flinch or blush in embarrassment. She seemed to love his eyes on her.

Good. Because he loved having them on her.

He abandoned her waist to tangle his fingers in the wealth
of curls that surrounded her head like a halo. The exact color was indistinct
but the softness wrapped around him like skeins of silk. Even as he tilted her
head forward and lowered her mouth to his, her features remained in shadow. He
caught the trembling sensual bow of her lips and the graceful slant of her
cheekbone. But as their tongues dueled, he didn’t care if every detail and line
remained obscured. Touching her, inhaling her fragrance, sliding his cock in
her hot cream—it was enough.

“I want you,” he whispered into her mouth.

She nodded, her rasps harsh and quick as she encircled his
neck. He smoothed his rough, calloused palms down the satiny skin of her thighs
and calves and felt like a bumbling bull in the most precious china shop. She
was so petite and, even though he lay under her, his big body dwarfed hers.
Beneath his touch, smooth flesh gave way to puckered ridges and hard scars.
They marred her left hip, thigh and lower leg as if a fire wog had gotten ahold
of her but she’d escaped before its hellish blaze could touch the rest of her
body. Nicolai’s heart clenched at the pain such wounds must have caused.

Her restless movement above him wrenched a harsh expulsion
of breath from his lungs. A glance down revealed the ruddy, glistening head of
his cock had snuck past the waistband of his pants as if eager for a peek at
the sweet, hot heaven pressed against it. The plum-shaped tip was nestled in
her curls, swollen and impatient to be tucked between the folds guarding her
sex.

“Take me in your sweet pussy,” he said, demand and
desperation abraded his voice. “Don’t make me wait.”

With a needy whimper, she balanced her weight on her knees,
reached beneath the loose band of his pants and freed his cock. Thick and
heavily veined, it seemed almost brutish in her grasp. She squeezed then
stroked his cock from root to tip. He trembled beneath her touch and a clear
drop of fluid welled from the narrow slit at the top of his cock head. Damn,
her touch branded him, seared through his flesh and straight into his soul.

She set him at the mouth of her body, wrapped her arms
around his neck once more and eagerly pressed down. He groaned, his fingers
clutched her hips and grasped tight for the wild ride. Shit. He sharply inhaled
as his hips surged upward. It had been several months since they’d become
lovers yet that first moment of penetration still stole the air from his lungs.
This time proved no different. That initial resistance as he pushed into her.
The immeasurable pleasure as her tiny entrance stretched around his cock. The
quivers and spasms that fluttered over his dick as her pussy struggled to
accommodate his width and length.

He knew he was big, even more so compared to her small,
compact body. But this didn’t prevent her from sucking him deep within her
tight sex. Slick and hot, her pussy molded to his cock as if it had been
created to glove him…embrace him.