Under His Wings (7 page)

She shook her head, dumbfounded. She should have been
frightened by his calculated scrutiny, not turned on.

“And how did you come by this knowledge?” he asked, the tone
soft but containing a hint of danger that warned her to tread carefully.

Common sense returned and fear crept up and overtook lust.

“Harry Potter,” she replied, breathless. Her feet took over
and shuffled backward, placing more space between them even as she babbled, “
The
Prisoner of Azkaban.
Buckbeak.”

Confusion, then what appeared to be chagrin, crossed his
features. His lips twisted into a humorless smile that bordered on a grimace.
“Of course.” He paused. “Buckbeak.”

Again, her gaze darted to the window. “That was you
outside?” Tamar hesitated and for a second her throat closed around the
question. She was almost afraid of the answer. When he maintained his silence,
she continued in the same halting voice. “You’re like the man from last night.”

His face underwent a transformation from wry annoyance to
grave sobriety. He nodded tersely. “But not the one who killed your friend.”

Terror swept through her, its power weakening her knees. Her
shoulder smacked the wall and pain radiated from the socket down her arm. The
poker fell from her hand and dropped to the floor with a solid thump. Nicolai
shifted forward and she uttered a small cry, scooting along the wall until she
trembled in the corner again. She held up a hand, palm out.

“Tamar,” he said, ignoring her warning, and eliminated more
of the distance between them.

“No,” she rasped.

She didn’t want to be afraid of him, didn’t want to believe
the man who’d caressed and kissed her with such passion was capable of the
carnage she’d witnessed last night. But in the last twenty-four hours her life
had gone from blessed normality to an episode of
Supernatural
. Her
initial delight and shock in coming face-to-face with Nicolai may have held off
the fear, but now it overwhelmed her, threatened to drag her under its cold
obsidian undertow. “Please, can you turn the lamp on?”

Nicolai halted, his chest mere inches from her palm. The
heat of his body called out to her like a siren’s wail and she dropped her arm.
She pressed her hand to her thigh and rubbed as if she could erase the tingle
from the almost-touch. Nothing could get rid of her fierce yearning to stroke
the hard wall of muscle though.

His eyes narrowed at her request, but after a long moment he
complied. He leaned to the side and snagged the chain that looked ridiculously
delicate in his big hand. A sharp tug and a circle of soft light filled the
room. Tamar exhaled, the claustrophobic suffocation easing from her chest and
loosening its grip on her throat.

Nicolai should have appeared less threatening in the light.

Not.

The muted glow emphasized his large frame that had been
partly hidden in shadow. Wide shoulders, enormous chest, slim hips and long
legs with thighs that could have no doubt cracked walnuts. A warrior’s body. He
wouldn’t have been out of place in ancient Sparta, bearing armor, a spear and
shield. Yet the black t-shirt and pants he wore were just as intimidating as
any soldier’s regalia.

His gaze settled back on her and, for the first time since
he’d entered the room, she could clearly see the color. Lavender, just as she’d
remembered. Except in her dreams, his eyes had burned with desire.

Now as he studied her with all the warmth of a bug under a
microscope, they were twin chips of violet ice.

“H-how?” She crossed her arms and gripped her elbows. A
chill skated over her body and she tightened her embrace. “How is this—”

“Possible?” He mimicked her pose, except with his thick legs
spread shoulder-width apart his posture exuded confidence and strength while
hers reeked of fear. “I can answer part of it. The other,” he lifted one
shoulder in a half-shrug, “I honestly don’t know.”

That reply did little to comfort her.

“Come here,” he commanded. And when he extended his arm,
palm up, she almost slid her hand into his. Almost. It seemed natural to unfold
her arms and reach for him, but reason intruded, ruled. At the last second, she
tensed, jerked back and edged past him, ignoring the hand that had brought her
such immense pleasure she’d writhed and erupted under it.

Avoiding his stare, she perched on the mattress and waited.
Slowly, his arm lowered and Nicolai turned toward her, his expression as
unreadable as the Sphinx. He slid his hands in the front pockets of his pants.

“We don’t have a lot of time, Tamar,” he began. “You are
right. We—my people—are called the hippogryph. We’ve lived beside humans as
long as they have existed, but sometimes, like last night, the secrecy of our
world is threatened.”

“Last night. The other monst—uh…hippogryph,” she said with a
blush. God, for some reason calling him a “monster” felt like a racist slur.
“That was you?”

He nodded, overlooking her blunder. “I tracked Evander to
your town and found him before he could attack you.” A moment of silence passed
between them. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

Resa flashed across her mind. Tamar shook her head as if she
could knock the painful image loose. “Evander?”

“The one who came after you,” he explained and for the first
time a hint of emotion entered his voice. Anger. “He’s what my people call a
rogue, a traitor. I’ve been on his trail four months now. Though I’ve caught up
with him a few times, he’s managed to elude me. Like last night.” From the grim
set of his mouth, Tamar assumed his failure to capture this Evander rankled.
She imagined to a man like Nicolai, defeat didn’t sit well.

Whoa, wait. Caught up with him…

She sucked in a deep breath. Flicked her gaze up toward him.
Examined the harsh planes of his beautiful face before skimming down his chin
and neck to his shoulder. The shoulder that, in her dreams, had carried a scar.

Time slowed to the pace of a snail on Ambien.

As if from a distance, she watched herself stand and
approach him. She stopped in front of him and neither of them moved. That broad
chest rose and fell and she fought the temptation to lay her head on it. Or
lift his shirt, place her lips on the golden flesh, open her mouth and taste
him. God, just to nibble on that intoxicating blend of honey, cinnamon and
skin.

With trembling fingers, she pinched the hem of his short
sleeve and lifted until the black material cleared the slope of his shoulder.

A couple of nights ago, the scar had appeared several weeks
old. Tonight it seemed even older, having a shiny, flattened look that would be
smooth to the touch. She traced the curved mark with a fingertip.

“I dreamed of you,” she murmured, remembering how she’d
kissed the wound. How she’d climbed on top of his lap, been penetrated and
impaled by his beautiful cock as he’d taken her mouth in a kiss that had left
her empty and filled at the same time. “And you’d received this in battle.”

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, tear 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 details 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.”

As soon as Lukas uttered the words, the muffled cough of a
car engine reached Nicolai’s ears…and grew fainter as the seconds passed.

“Shit.”

The last image he saw before shifting and rocketing into the
sky was the grin splitting his second-in-command’s face.

* * * * *

Tamar clutched the doorknob, her ear plastered to the door.

The frantic pace of her heart tripled as Nicolai’s heavy
footsteps neared the bathroom and paused. She shut her eyes, pressed harder. If
her ear came away painted a coat of powder-blue, she wouldn’t be surprised.

After several long seconds, the resonant tread moved again
and, an instant later, her bedroom door opened and closed.

She expelled her pent-up breath, the whistle like the leak
of a balloon.

Now to get the hell out of here.

Tamar wasted no time unscrewing the lock before twisting the
knob and jerking the bathroom door open. Like a windup toy on speed, she darted
around the room, yanking drawers free and snatching up clothes with no regard
to whether they matched or not. Tank top, jeans and flip-flops. She tugged them
on in record time, grabbed her keys off the dresser and crossed the bedroom.
Cracking open the door, she listened then cautiously peeked around the door
jamb.