Under His Wings by Naima Simone

Author:Naima Simone
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Ellora's Cave Publishing Inc.
Published: 2013-01-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

A couple of hours later, Tamar entered the small but well-equipped kitchen. Nicolai and Adon had already left for their evening hunt for Evander which meant the elusive Lukas and Dorian were on babysitting duty. She’d yet to see the men Nicolai had told her belonged to his unit. From his description, she gathered they were the hippogryph counterpart of Special Forces. Well, they were good at remaining out of sight—she was alone and, damn it, lonely.

As dangerous and unwise as the yearning was, she wanted Nicolai.

She prepared a simple dinner of baked chicken and salad. As she’d done every night since arriving in the cabin, she made four more plates—two for the invisible men who guarded her and two for Nicolai and Adon when they returned from their hunt. She placed Lukas and Dorian’s dinners outside on the porch and the remaining meals in the refrigerator.

To alleviate the heavy silence, she turned on the television to a syndicated sitcom. The laugh track granted her the false pretense of not being lost and isolated. A couple of quiet, uneventful hours passed. Night fell early in the mountains and soon the yawns were cracking her jaw open at ten-minute intervals. Deciding to turn in, she recovered the wiped-clean dinner plates from the porch, cleaned up the kitchen and ascended the staircase for the last time that night—maybe. Exhaustion weighed down her limbs. Hopefully she wouldn’t be back downstairs in a couple of hours pacing the floor.

When she entered the bedroom assigned to her, the first rumble of thunder rolled across the night sky. She hurried over to the bedside lamp, flicked it on and couldn’t contain her sigh of relief as the soft light beat back the darkness. The anxiety that always tagged along with the dark eased and she slid into bed. Huddling under the covers, she closed her eyes and willed sleep to come.

Hours—maybe minutes—later, Tamar jerked up in bed. Unsure of what woke her, her head swiveled from side to side. The room was a black hole. Her heart pummeled her chest, rising up and down like a seesaw. She sucked in several deep gulps of air and her breath was a harsh roar in the silence. Her fingers clutched the blanket, the material bunched in her grasp.

Trembling, she released her death grip on the covers and reached toward the lamp. But a jerk on the chain brought no result. Panic stole up her throat, crafty and with malicious joy. Suddenly she was transported back in time, had returned to her bedroom at home, fumbling with the lamp next to her bed, desperate to have light wash throughout the room. But no matter how many times she flipped the switch the room remained dark. Later she discovered Kyle had deliberately unplugged the lamp, using her fear to torment her.

A mewl like a wounded creature escaped her and the sound horrified and humiliated her. It had been three years since the crash, damn it! Children were afraid of the dark, not twenty-eight-year-old women.

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