Under His Wings(56)
Shaking his head, Nicolai searched the room for the requisite digital clock. One a.m. “It’s that late,” he murmured. “I’ve been out for three hours.”
“Three?” Bastien snorted. “More like twenty three.”
His head snapped around and Nicolai gaped at Bastien. “An entire day has passed?”
“Yes.” His friend nodded. “It was a freakin’ mortal wound. I did my part in a matter of hours, but your body still needed time to recover and gather strength.”
“Fuck,” he rasped. “Tamar.”
He rushed toward the hotel door, crossing the small room in several long strides.
“Tamar?” Bastien repeated, right behind Nicolai as he jerked the door open and strode out into the hall. “Who’s Tamar?”
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
Several short moments later, they exited the hotel lobby, cast a gyges and launched into the early morning sky.
* * * * *
Evander stared up at the two hippogryphs winging across the black, clear night from his hiding place next to the hotel.
The fury at Bastien’s resurrection from the dead and his interference in the battle had ebbed to be replaced by grim satisfaction.
Bastien wasn’t a soldier—hadn’t concealed his and Nicolai’s location with the skill of a warrior. The pair had been almost laughably easy to find. And now they would lead him to Tamar. Usher him right to the doorstep of victory.
He waited until Nicolai and Bastien had become small fading dots before he shifted and shot into the air after them.
* * * * *
Where the hell is he?
Tamar paced the cabin living room, peeked outside for what seemed like the thousandth time, observed the empty front yard and woods for the thousandth time and marched back across the room to start the fruitless process over again.
Worry did a nauseating pirouette in her stomach. Dread played an endless loop in her head of all the horrible things that could have happened.
Crossing her arms, she choked back a sob.
Nicolai had to be safe. He had to be.
She would know if he was… No! Her brain locked down on that word, refusing to even think it.
“He’s okay. He’s okay,” she whispered, chafing her arms not so much to gain warmth as to calm the…disturbance inside her.
She’d felt this way once before. Like something else inhabited her skin with her. Something ancient, wild. It refused to settle down. Its movements were as agitated as Tamar, as if it prowled the landscape of her soul, searching, waiting for…what? Nicolai’s return?
The eerie restlessness had started when morning returned and Nicolai hadn’t. Unlike the first time she’d experienced this sensation, she wasn’t afraid.
She was too worried to be afraid.
And if she rode this crazy train even farther out on its track, she had to admit the…feeling…gave her an odd sense of comfort. As if she wasn’t alone in her vigil.
Another trip to the window. Another stomach-plummeting letdown.
Another trek across the room.
She loved him.
God, did she love him.
For three years she’d dreamed about him, been fascinated with him. But those fantasies couldn’t compare to the reality of him. She inhaled a shaky breath. His kindness, patience, tenderness—he was out of some fairy tale. And just when she’d given up on those fantastic tales, he’d strode—or flown—into her life and made her believe in the goodness of people again.
Okay, so she realized and accepted he would leave her when this ended. Sort of. Pretty much. Hell. She thrust her fingers through her hair, fisted the curls. If she were brutally rip-her-fingernails-off-with-pliers honest, she’d admit even when Nicolai first mentioned returning her home and walking away for good once he handled Evander, her heart had wrenched in protest.
Even then her soul had recognized what her rational, stubborn mind had not been willing to accept. When Nicolai disappeared out of her life, she wouldn’t be whole any more. His absence would leave a gaping chasm no one—no friend, no lover—would ever be able to fill. Would she still have the dreams? Would she even want to have them?
God, which was worse? Cutting off all contact and learning to get on with her existence like an emotional amputee? Or having that small bit of him in her fantasies, waking up longing for him every morning, empty, knowing she could never touch him again?
Yes, she understood the whys and becauses that prevented their being together. He was a mythological beast. She was human. He was the judge, jury and executioner of terrifying creatures. She was a sixth-grade social studies teacher. He lived with danger and violence. She wanted bake sales and TMZ TV.
Two different worlds that had no hope of meshing.