“Pria died. She was killed.”
The relief would have brought her to her knees if she’d been standing. But shame immediately bombarded her. His wife had died—her relief was callous in the face of that tragedy.
“I’m sorry,” she said and meant it. Her mother’s death had nearly sent Tamar into the grave with her. She could only imagine the agony Nicolai suffered having to bury his wife. It must have been unbearable.
“It’s been a while. Nearly five hundred years ago.”
“Still it must—” She gasped and her spine hit the back of the couch. “Five hundred years?” she repeated and gaped at him. “Just how the hell old are you?”
He scowled and Tamar shrugged, too stunned to be polite.
“Nine hundred years old,” he supplied stiffly.
“Damn,” she whispered, awed. Her gaze touched on the broad unlined forehead, the blade-like cheekbones and wide, sensual mouth. No wrinkles—not even a laugh line. He appeared to be in his late-twenties or early-thirties, not old enough to have witnessed the events she taught her students. “How is that even possible?”
His bark of laughter echoed in the room. “You can ask me that after everything you’ve seen?”
“I know, I know,” she murmured. “But up until twenty-four hours ago I believed hippogryphs were relegated to Greek mythology and Harry Potter, and humans were the only inhabitants of earth except for the occasional UFO.” She shook her head. “Excuse me if some of this continues to bowl me over.”
He dipped his head, acknowledging her point even as his lips twisted into a wry smile. “I’ll give you that. Especially since I’ve had nine hundred years to become accustomed to the idea.”
“Will you tell me what I’m dealing with?”
The hesitation was small but there. She cocked her head to the side and studied him. “Let me guess,” she drawled. “If you tell me, you’ll have to kill me.”
Nicolai threw her a sharp glance, eyes narrowed to lavender slits. “Don’t joke about that.”
She snorted. “Oh please—” Once more she drew up short as an ugly, incredible thought entered her head. “You wouldn’t really have to kill me.” She swallowed. “Would you?”
Muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “clusterfuck”, Nicolai surged to his feet. Tension vibrated from him, agitation in every stride of his long-legged pace.
“Let’s get this out of the way,” he growled. “I’m not going to hurt you. And I won’t allow anyone else to touch you.” His head whipped around and he pinned her to the couch with a hard stare. “Understand?”
Tamar nodded, choosing not to utter a word. Silence was probably prudent at this moment.
“My people have existed since the beginning of time. We’re one of the oldest races—”
“One of?”
After the blast of another glare, she held up her hands in the ancient—he would know better than her exactly how ancient—sign of submission. “Sorry. I’m listening.”
“Yes,” he said. “We are one of many races that live in secrecy. As the world grew more populated and smaller, we had to learn to adapt or become extinct. Our existence depends on our ability to remain hidden to humans and appear as one of you.”
“So my neighbor could be a what? Werewolf?” she blurted, again violating her resolution to remain quiet. But damn, this was just too much to take in!
Nicolai halted mid-pace and crossed his arms. Not a trace of humor softened his features “A loup-garou, not werewolf. Werewolves are fictional, but the loup-garou is very real. And yes, theoretically your neighbor could be one.” He arched an eyebrow. “But don’t worry. I checked him out and he’s as human as you are.”
“That’s a relief,” she whispered, reeling from the knowledge that she could rub shoulders with mythical creatures every day and not know it. Although…that could explain Mrs. Reynolds, the middle school secretary. The woman was such a bitch. Maybe she was some kind of joy eater or a fun-snatching medusa…
“Each race has their own set of laws governing their society, but the hippogryph maintains order by the Dimios.” His jaw firmed and Tamar braced herself for the impact of what was coming. “The Dimios is similar to your police force, jury and prison system all rolled into one. His responsibility is to investigate, hunt and execute those who threaten our safety or betray our people.”
“Rogues,” she said, her voice barely a rasp of sound. “Like Evander.”
Nicolai gave an abrupt nod.