Under His Wings Page 2

  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.

  Her breath hitched in her throat and a shudder raced down her slender spine. But she didn’t ask him to stop his steady, determined invasion. This was no gentle easing like the first few times they’d made love. And from the subtle rocking of her hips, she didn’t want gentle or easy.

  “More,” he snarled. Lust was a ruthless master and he submitted to the fiery lash of its whip. He abandoned her hip and splayed one hand across her spine. He urged her to arch back over his arm. When she complied, he rose, latched onto her nipple, suckling so hard she cried out and bucked like a wild filly. Desire, sharp and brutal, struck at his gut, throbbed in his dick, and in response her pussy took him a couple inches deeper. He grunted against her flesh, his tongue lashing the stiffened tip with hard, quick flicks.

  Again, her sharp wail filled his ears and the room. Her back bowed, her fingers rose to his head, twisting and tugging on his hair. He switched from one mound to the other, treating the neglected nub with the same attention while he continued to bury his cock inside her grasping sex. The bead of flesh on his tongue, the velvet clasp of her pussy—it was good. So fucking good.

  He lifted his head, freeing her nipple with a soft pop as he transferred his grip to her hips and lifted her off his cock. Her shivery moan of objection turned into a yelp of shock as he eased her back down, needing to be as close to her as possible.

  “Again,” she whispered.

  He stroked his palms up her back and cupped her shoulders, his arms creating a brace for her as he leaned forward and momentarily withdrew from her body. Within seconds, he grasped her waist and plunged back into her wet heat. He set up a pounding pace that catapulted them both toward the inevitable climatic end of this ride. With each thrust, he ground his pelvis against her clit and ripped a cry from her throat. His lips settled in the dip at the base of her neck as he rode her toward oblivion.

  She tilted her head back, arched into a deeper bow. The submissive posture snapped something in his chest and the animalistic growl that emerged from the soul of his beast reverberated against her skin. Her scream rang out seconds before her pussy clamped down on his cock. He swore as the orgasm swelled and broke over him. It seized him in its powerful jaws, a willing captive. Just as he surrendered, a sizzle prickled low between his shoulder blades and raced down his spine—the only warning he received before, with a hollow whoosh, his wings punched the air behind him.

  Her eyes, hazy with release, widened in awe and delight.

  She reached out and her fingertips grazed the white feathers of his underwings. Pleasure careened through him at the trembling caress. He leaned forward, opening his mouth over the slim column of her neck, and allowed ecstasy to crash down, hauling him under.

  And as he dove into the crazy, wild free fall, he clasped his arms and wings around her, dragging her with him.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  So close. He was so close.

  Evander paced the length of the living room like a hamster on a wheel. Although the laceration scoring his lower torso had already started knitting together, it pulled and ached with each stride. The cramped apartment caged him. A growl rumbled in his throat. Nicolai had brought him to this—running, hiding like a rabbit.

  He was a warrior, not a coward.

  But this was only temporary. The rinky-dink living quarters, the hit ’n’ miss skirmishes with Nicolai and the rest of the krinos, the killing…well… The corner of his mouth quirked. He enjoyed that part of this little game. He’d acquired a taste for the hunt, the tearing of human skin under his claws, the gush of their warm blood in his mouth, over his hands. It was…addictive.

  And had been for the six months he’d been slaughtering the weak, spineless mortals.

  The first kill had been an accident.

  He’d been home visiting Gregor and, as had been their tradition since childhood, they’d gone soaring above their homeland, flirting with the sea and racing each other across the dark sky. As they’d tumbled to the ground, shifting, laugh
ing and shoving one another, they’d noticed too late the human woman who stood gaping at the sight of them. All three had been shocked but when she’d turned and fled across the empty field, her action had snapped his and Gregor’s paralysis.

  Animal instinct had seized him, propelled Evander after the female. He’d reached her first and pounced. The audible snap of her neck reverberated in the silence. Staring down into the female’s lovely features forever frozen in a mask of fear, Evander hadn’t experienced the expected horror or guilt.

  Exhilaration and excitement had raced through his blood, lighting him up inside like the blazing Grecian sun. And the fierce thrill had made him want to throw back his head and roar to the night sky that shamed him.

  At first.

  Soon he created situations where he convinced himself the taking of a human life was necessary. This woman had seen him do a partial shift—she had to die to preserve the secret of their existence. Or that woman had witnessed him without his gyges—she must be executed for the good of their society. But eventually he didn’t bother with an excuse other than he liked it.

  Of course, Gregor had discovered his activities. He’d begged Evander to stop before Nicolai found out. If there was anyone Evander would sacrifice for it was Gregor. In a society where twins were rare and therefore revered and cherished, his and Gregor’s childhood had been hell meted out by the two people who should have protected and treasured them. Passion and love had brought his parents together, but their desire had eventually waned and the adoration had soon tarnished into bitter, resentful hatred—hatred they’d taken out on their twin boys. Separation wasn’t unheard of in the hippogryph society, though it was frowned upon. The simplest—kindest—action would’ve been to part ways, but the narcissistic, selfish creatures who had given Evander and Gregor life would never concede failure. Never admit their pairing was a monumental mistake. So instead they rained hell on their young. Through the beatings, cruelty and neglect, he and Gregor had clung to one another, depended on one another.