Under His Wings(35)

“Could have?” Nicolai asked. “Your mother’s gone?”

“Yes.” Tamar nodded and a familiar pang of sorrow, dimmed with time but still present, resonated in her chest. “Eight years now.” That sounded like a long time ago, but sometimes when the house echoed with screaming silence and loneliness, it seemed like weeks had passed instead of years. “She loved nature. Flowers, plants, gardening. She could spend hours in our backyard puttering around in her garden. Yeah,” she murmured, “she would’ve loved this.”

Nicolai shifted closer and a warm, comforting palm settled on the small of her back.

“Our people believe when our loved ones pass on they travel to Eirene, a place of rest and peace. It’s a beautiful garden of eternal spring where flowers bloom and fruit bends the tree branches. The river never ceases to flow with the sweetest water and the sun shines in perpetual day.” He paused for a long moment and Tamar wondered if he thought of his wife and whether she dwelled in this land of beauty. “Maybe your heaven is like Eirene and your mother is enjoying this beauty every day.”

Far above them a bird chirped and another answered its call. A breeze rustled the leaves and Tamar imagined her mother as she’d been before the unexpected lethal bout of pneumonia. Her tall figure bent under one of her beloved rose bushes, brown hair pulled back into a tidy bun. A lovely smile curved her lips even as sweat dotted her forehead. Yes, this was the image she would carry of her mother from now on. Toiling in eternal spring gardens with that beautiful smile—not connected to beeping machines, her caramel skin dark against the stark white hospital sheets.

She cleared her throat. Batted away an imaginary insect and rubbed her stinging eyes. “Are your parents still alive?” she asked, surrendering to the desire to learn more about him.

He skimmed a light caress up her back and loosely clasped her neck. A tingling heat set up under her skin where his palm rested. She sucked in a breath, held it and willed her knees to remain steady.

“Yes,” he replied. “They live in Patros, our kingdom and homeland. A good number of our people still reside there.”

“Patros,” she murmured, savoring the foreign name. “Where is it located?”

“Greece. Where we originated.”

“You’re a bit far from home.”

“Not really.” He shrugged a shoulder, started a gentle massage. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, trapping a moan behind them. “I have a home off the coast of Washington.”

“That’s, uh…” Her voice faltered under the pleasure of his touch. “That’s still quite a distance from your family. But then I guess being the…what did you call it?”

“Dimios.”

“Right. Being the Dimios doesn’t permit much time for visits.” He made a non-committal grunt but her curiosity had been piqued. “How do your parents feel about your being ‘the law’?” she asked, doing her best imitation of Sly Stallone’s Judge Dredd.

Nicolai’s lips quirked at the corner in an almost-smile. How ’bout that? Apparently hippogryphs had Netflix.

“Since my father appointed me to the role, I’m guessing he was fine with it.”

Surprise reverberated through her.

She gaped at him. “Your father willingly sent you after dangerous, homicidal nutcases?”

Again he shrugged and, with the hand that wasn’t kneading her neck, scraped the hair back from his forehead. “Being the Dimios is an honor. There’s no greater satisfaction than knowing your purpose is to serve.”

“Was that your goal in life? Did you always want to be like,” she twirled her fingers in the air as if conjuring up the correct term, “the defender of your race.”

“Each hippogryph is born with certain gifts. Even among my people I had enormous strength and speed. When the time came to choose a new Dimios, it seemed a fated decision I compete for the role. There was some opposition given my rank, but I wanted it.”

“Your rank?”

“My father is the king of our people.”

Another bolt of shock struck her and Tamar skidded to a stop. His hand fell away from her as she faced him, fists propped on her hips.

“You’re a freakin’ prince?”

He arched an eyebrow, amusement lighting his violet eyes. “That’s what the son of a king is usually called.”

She shook her head, amazed. All she desired was safety, stability and a whole lot of boring after the most harrowing three years of her life. And every day he chose to fly—literally—into danger.

“Why?” she asked. “Why take this risk with your life when you’re a prince? I don’t get it.”