Free Under His Wings by Naima Simone Page B

imagined to a man like Nicolai, defeat didn’t sit well.
    Whoa, wait. Caught up with him…
    She sucked in a deep breath. Flicked her gaze up toward him.
Examined the harsh planes of his beautiful face before skimming down his chin
and neck to his shoulder. The shoulder that, in her dreams, had carried a scar.
    Time slowed to the pace of a snail on Ambien.
    As if from a distance, she watched herself stand and
approach him. She stopped in front of him and neither of them moved. That broad
chest rose and fell and she fought the temptation to lay her head on it. Or
lift his shirt, place her lips on the golden flesh, open her mouth and taste
him. God, just to nibble on that intoxicating blend of honey, cinnamon and
skin.
    With trembling fingers, she pinched the hem of his short
sleeve and lifted until the black material cleared the slope of his shoulder.
    A couple of nights ago, the scar had appeared several weeks
old. Tonight it seemed even older, having a shiny, flattened look that would be
smooth to the touch. She traced the curved mark with a fingertip.
    “I dreamed of you,” she murmured, remembering how she’d
kissed the wound. How she’d climbed on top of his lap, been penetrated and
impaled by his beautiful cock as he’d taken her mouth in a kiss that had left
her empty and filled at the same time. “And you’d received this in battle.”
    Her lashes lifted and she met his unblinking stare. The ice
had melted and eyes of molten violet bore down into hers. As if he too recalled
the fierce and fast fucking.
    “ We dreamed,” he corrected gently. “I shared that
vision, sweetheart.”
    Sweetheart… She inhaled sharply and her eyes widened.
“Oh. Shit.”
    He arched an eyebrow even as a hard, slightly cruel smile
tipped the corners of his mouth. “Oh shit is right,” he agreed. “Although deep
shit is more accurate. Because that’s what we’re in.”
    Nicolai raised a hand and the fist unclenched, fingers
stretching one by one. She stared at it, mesmerized. The size of his hand from
fingertip to the base of his palm would easily span the side of her face. It
hovered over her cheek, hesitant or resistant, before spearing through her
hair, clutching the tangled strands but careful not to tug on her scalp.
    “You’re in danger,” he said and, with his other hand, cupped
the back of her neck. “I followed Evander here, Tamar. He’s after you and he
won’t stop until he kills you.”
    “Why?” she asked.
    Jesus, why was this happening to her?
    She’d survived a plane crash only to face something so much
more terrifying. Unable to not touch him any longer, she placed her palms on
his slim hips, her fingers pressing into the unyielding skin of his back. The
simple contact helped center her and keep her grounded in the middle of the
storm that had landed in her life, wreaking havoc.
    But it didn’t prevent fear from cramping her stomach or
seizing her heart.
    “Why me? I don’t know him, had never seen him before. I
didn’t even know about hippogryphs or rogues or any of this before last night.
Why…” She leaned forward, rested her forehead against the hard curve of his
shoulder, giving in to the urge to lean on someone else’s strength if even for
a quick moment. “All I wanted was a normal life. To teach. To have a husband,
kids, a healthy 401K and retirement plan. Maybe finally learn how to tend those
damn rose bushes.” The cantankerous flowers had been her mother’s pride and
joy. Before the accident, she’d paid a gardener to care for the stubborn
plants, but now she wanted to take over, to share that last connection to the
one person who’d loved her unconditionally and had never let her down.
    Nicolai’s grip on her neck tightened. “He won’t get to you,
I promise. But you’re not safe here, Tamar. He knows where you live and nothing
will deter him from coming after you again. You have to leave. I’ll take you to
a safe place away from here where he can’t find you.”
    Her head