“Nico?” the same detective asked, tone sharp. “Ms. Ridgeway, was someone here?”
“I must’ve been dreaming.” She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.” The hitch in her throat tugged on his heart as if an unseen chord connected them.
Then her words slammed into him with the force of a sledgehammer.
Dreaming?
Impossible…she couldn’t mean… He sucked in a breath. The last few months—the hot dreams—dreams that had made him eager to fall asleep at night. Eager to be in the arms of the woman who offered her body up to him with total selflessness. Allowing him to be rough and dirty when the hunger rode him hard, or tender and gentle when he just needed to touch and be touched.
Memories of the evening before swamped him.
She’d comforted him, kissing the wound he’d received, murmuring soft words of concern. Need had driven him and Nicolai had dragged her close, lifted her over his thighs and impaled her sweet, tight-as-a-wet-glove pussy with his cock. He didn’t fear hurting her with his passion. Never had she shied away from the fierce eroticism of his nature. So he’d fucked her hard, riding out his frustration and anger at his failure to capture Evander and exact revenge. Pounding away the grief that seemed a permanent lodestone in his chest for Bastien. And she’d accepted it all, her slender arms circling his shoulders and holding on. Holding him.
Until this moment he’d assumed those fantasies had been his alone, yet this woman’s words implied differently. How had she known his name? Was she his mystery dream woman? Nicolai shook his head, his brain rejecting the thought. The idea he could have been dream-sharing with this woman defied every law that had been passed down from millennium to millennium.
Each hippogryph, along with its innate magic and power, was born with certain gifts. Lukas could conjure shields like the one he’d materialized the night before to save Nicolai’s life. Evander had been born with the power of telekinesis—the ability to move objects with his thoughts. Bastien had been a master healer.
Along with the strength that came with the position of Dimios—supernatural even for a hippogryph—Nicolai was a dream-walker. He possessed the ability to cross from this world to the realm of sleep and enter another’s dreams, visions and fantasies.
Bondmates shared gifts. Every hippogryph had a fated mate—at inception the Fates parted them and only a rare and blessed few reunited with their predestined half. Bonded pairs represented a unit, equal in might, magic and spirit. A human could not match a hippogryph in might—their bodies were much more fragile and weak—and up until ten seconds ago, Nicolai believed they didn’t wield magic.
His head swam with the questions that mobbed his mind.
“It’s okay.” Dr. Conway’s gentle assurance penetrated the whirlwind in his brain, one that made a tsunami look like a mild spring rain. “These detectives just want to speak with you about tonight if you’re up to it.” The grim frown she aimed at the two men belied the calming tone she used on her patient. “Only if you’re up to it.”
Taking his cue from the doctor, the taller of the two cops softened his voice. “Ms. Ridgeway, I’m Detective Scott and this is my partner, Detective Roland.” He indicated the shorter, older man across from him with a dip of his chin. “May we call you Tamar?”
“Tamar.” She corrected the pronunciation as if she did it often. Tuh-mar. Nicolai shaped the name on a soundless whisper. Sexy. Strong. Like her. “And yes, please do.” Her gaze shifted back and forth between the men. “Resa? Is she…” Tears thickened the question, dampened her eyes.
A hesitation, then Detective Roland stretched forward and patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Tamar,” he said, regret heavy in the words. “She…didn’t make it.”
Fury blazed inside Nicolai, flaring from a seething ember to a consuming flame. After the damage Evander had inflicted on Tamar’s friend, “didn’t make it” was a vast understatement.
Tamar choked out a sob, tears falling silently down her face. “I knew that. I guess I hoped I’d imagined—” Another racking sob tore from her and Nicolai turned and braced his palms flat on the wall. His head hung low as he fought not to reveal his presence and go to her. Her sorrow and pain called out to him, clawed at his already shredded control.
“Did you see the person who murdered Ms. Hanson?” Detective Scott questioned, slipping a small spiral pad and pen from his breast pocket. He flipped to a page, his blue gaze settling on her tear-stained face, and awaited her answer.