Under His Wings(67)
In the blink of an eye, the man disappeared and the terrifying gray-and-black beast that had killed Resa and terrorized her crouched on the leaf-strewn floor of the forest. The same cold black eyes gleamed above his curved beak, promising all kinds of agony before her death.
Her heart leaped to her throat and lodged there. She lifted a hand to her neck, her fingers fluttering uselessly as if she could somehow squeeze a breath out of the blocked passage. Get away. Move. The desperate thought penetrated her horror-induced paralysis. Her knees unlocked and she shuffled back a step.
At the small movement, his huge wings flapped wide, spanning the width of the path, their tips touching the trees that lined the trail.
Trapped.
Deep inside her, a curious stirring quickened. It awakened and, as if sensing the danger, lunged and snapped. Her breath exploded from her lungs and she locked her arms around her torso as her body bucked. Like a wild animal, she darted her gaze back and forth, searching for a possible escape route.
The trees. If she made it to the trees, his hippogryph wouldn’t be able to maneuver among the dense forest. He would be forced to change back into a man. While that most likely wouldn’t save her, it gave her a fighting chance.
Survival instinct kicked in and she bolted for the thicket on her left.
She’d barely run three steps before Evander materialized in front of her, cutting off her path. The hippogryph stared down at her, motionless, as if goading her to make another move.
She took up the dare.
Wheeling around, she darted for the opposite side, but just as her sneakered toe hit the edge of the woods he reappeared, his bulk blocking her escape.
Her chest rose and fell on rapid, panicked pants as she back-pedaled several steps. Evander didn’t follow but remained still, watching her.
Son of a bitch. He’s toying with me.
He was playing with her before he would kill her and leave her body for Nicolai to find.
Fury. Hot. Consuming. Blinding.
It ignited in the soles of her feet, crackled up her calves, thighs and torso until she was ablaze in its blistering heat. The fire raced over her skin, uncontrolled, razing everything in its path, leaving her a living ball of flames.
Agony replaced rage, punched the breath from her body. She dropped to her hands and knees.
“Stop!” she screamed, but the word emerged from her throat as a piercing, shrill cry that filled the woods and reached toward the sky. Her head fell back on her shoulders and another scream ripped from her soul—a scream that wasn’t faintly human.
Inside her head, bone snapped. Electricity sizzled and popped under and over her skin. She shrieked at the excruciating stretching and reshaping of muscle and tendon.
She writhed under the pain that hijacked her body, held it hostage in a merciless vise. Screams ricocheted in her head, her cries for Nicolai and help bouncing against the walls of her mind like an endless reel of agony.
She exploded. Imploded.
On a swirling ball of light and heat, she died.
And was reborn.
Shuddering, Tamar rose to feet that weren’t feet.
Talons. Yellow and dagger-sharp. White, feathered legs.
Shit. She stumbled back and yelped, but a high-pitched caw reverberated in the air. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the tip of a russet-and-cream-colored wing.
Her wing.
She’d done it. She’d completed the transformation.
Joy—wild and fierce—flooded her, strengthened her.
A hippogryph.
Testing her limbs, she stamped the ground with a hind leg and the earth beneath hummed from the impact. Power. Magic. It surrounded her, infused her. The creature that had been awakening and emerging inside her for weeks had burst from its sleep and merged with Tamar, transforming her into a being of intellect as well as unimaginable strength.
“No!” The enraged cry barraged her brain just as an earsplitting screech pierced the air. Evander glared at her, his eyes black coals of fire. His massive bulk seemed to vibrate with fury. He reared up on his hindquarters, his hooves tapping out a macabre dance as his fully extended wings shook and his head with its feathered crest twisted from side to side.
His rage sparked hers like a match to kindling. Her hippogryph took charge, transmitting messages to her body, instructing it how to move, maneuver, strike. Bowing her head, she mimicked the aggressive stance Evander had assumed—head lowered, forelegs bunched, spine arched, wings folded.
If he’d believed she would turn tail and run, he’d picked the wrong fucking hippogryph.
When he charged forward, she met him halfway.
His wide chest slammed into her as he tried to use his enormous mass to crush her to the ground. Tamar stumbled but held her position. And pushed back.
Pain hissed down her side as claws raked her but the tear of Evander’s flesh under her own talons offset her injury.