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Under His Wings(3)

By:Naima Simone


“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.

“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.”