Night of the Hawk

by Vonna Harper

  Low gear shifted into second, and with his increased speed came hints that he wasn’t in as much command as she had first thought. Although she needed more than those hints of what he was going through, how could she concentrate in the wake of what he was putting her through?

  Fucking was suppose to be a joint activity, right? The reality of being allowed to do nothing except wait for him had her off balance. More than unbalanced, she admitted as his nails left trails of sensation from the back of her neck, over her shoulder blades, and then down to her waist. She was a hapless leaf in the grip of a hard wind, tossed about, being torn apart, flying here and there.

  Third gear. Sometimes holding her in place via the powerful hands encircling her lower belly, sometimes releasing her so she was forced to brace herself. Her legs shook. She could escape the impalement by straightening and hugging the bed, but that was the last thing she wanted to do. Granted, she wasn’t fool enough to think he wouldn’t haul her back into place, but more important, she had to climax!

  Teeth grinding, she forced her mind off her still heating body and onto what little she might learn about him. The measured breathing was gone; he now hauled in air as if desperate to keep his lungs inflated. She smelled his sweat—though maybe it was hers mixed with what drops leaked from him. When he was this deep in her, she half believed his head could reach her throat, his balls flattened against her buttocks, their wet heat reinforcing what his labored breathing was telling her.

  Sex was messy and loud, awkward. As embers burst into flames inside her, her arms glistened. Not thinking, she licked a forearm and ran salty sweat around in her mouth. Far from satisfied, she licked again. She’d stuck out her tongue to lap from her other arm when he slammed into her with such force that she jammed her nose on the back of her wrist. Pain shot into her temple.

  “Fuck,” she moaned. “Fuck.”

  Either he didn’t know what had happened or didn’t care because, shifting into overdrive, he hammered into her. Even before the pain in her temple receded, he caught her. The point of no return was here, spreading over her, claiming her cell by cell. She wanted to wait, to have him come first, because that way she wouldn’t be so vulnerable, but the brakes were off. And she was spinning, spinning.

  “Ah! Ah, shit!”

  Her mouth hung open, but she didn’t know whether she was still screaming or had found the strength to be silent again. Her legs shook anew, and her locked-in-place knees felt as if they might shatter. Furious and rejoicing her body, she willed herself to remain anchored to him.

  Then her climax struck. Sounds spilled from her. Sex muscles spasmed and clenched, trapping him inside her. Riding him, she wrapped her mind around her climax in a effort to keep it going.

  To bring him with her!

  A shudder, running through him. A deep voice spewing nonsense.

  And then he pulled free.

  “No!” she screamed. “No, goddamn, no!”

  Hot cum burned the small of her back, his hot essence running down her sides. And she understood.

  He’d forgotten a condom but not responsibility.

  “Thank you.” She wasn’t sure she meant it.

  15

  A few minutes ago Mato had either been asleep or nearly so, his long, hard body motionless beside Smokey on the bed, but now he was standing at the window with his naked back to her. Although he’d freed her from the bedpost, he hadn’t untied her hands, prompting her not to make the mistake of trying to convince herself that their relationship had changed.

  The tension now running through him was in such marked contrast to the essence of a man at rest following sex that it distracted her from her own climax-created lethargy. Telling herself she wasn’t afraid of him, she nevertheless was careful not to do anything that might draw his attention to her.

  He was a man on the edge, but on the edge of what? The muscles on his arms and legs seemed to be growing tauter by the moment, forcing her to contemplate what she could do or say if whatever was building inside him exploded.

  The hawk. He was either looking for or communicating with the damnable hawk! Hating the bird as she’d never hated anything, she forced herself to concentrate on her breathing. Wanting to wreak havoc on a bird made no sense, but she now understood that the predator was far from simply being one of nature’s creatures. She’d entered a world and an experience she’d never known existed and now had to accept it for what it was: her new reality.

  So this man who’d both fulfilled and imprisoned her was in tune with a bird, was he? What might happen next—what might whatever the hawk was want of Mato?

  Shaken by the question, she let go of the lingering aftermath of sex and faced reality. Mato wasn’t in tune with his spirit after all. Instead the predator controlled him in some unfathomable way. It had commanded the man to capture her, and he had. Bottom line.

  If the spirit wanted her dead, Mato would obey.

  “Is it out there?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Having anticipated that he’d sidestep the question, it took her a beat to absorb what he’d just said. “What does it want?”

  “Me.”

  Tears burned, though she’d already known what he was going to say. For a moment she felt sorry for Mato, but if he’d wanted nothing to do with the mysterious thing, he could have left the area, couldn’t he? True, his roots were here, but if her survival depended on fleeing, she’d do so in a heartbeat.

  Her survival?

  Shoulders squaring, Mato spun and faced her. He was magnificent in his nudity, and intimidating. How could she just have had sex with someone so dark and hidden? And yet wasn’t his savage night quality part of his appeal?

  A flicker of movement outside the window distracted her, and though she knew what she’d see, the outstretched wings of the hovering creature dried her throat. The hawk was so close she half believed it was about to crash through the glass. Needing reassurance, she turned her attention back to Mato.

  For a length of time so short it might have only been illusion, she was looking at not a human being but a bird of prey. Cold and intense eyes bored into her. Before she could think how she might defend herself, the human returned, and yet his eyes retained an unnerving, cool detachment. If he’d looked at her like this earlier, she couldn’t have handed her body over to him.

  “Talk to me,” she tried, unsurprised to hear her voice shake. “What are you thinking?”

  Though she tried to prepare herself for any response, his silence left her adrift. His gaze stayed on her, and yet she wasn’t sure he was seeing her or even knew who she was. When he started toward her, her heart skipped beats. Chilled and hot at the same time, she struggled to make sense of the changes in him. In some respect he resembled a stalking lion. A hungry lion didn’t concern itself with anything except satisfying its hunger. Whether his prey was a newborn gazelle or a heavily pregnant zebra or some animal much larger than himself meant nothing to him. He’d kill by tearing out the hapless creature’s throat and begin feeding before the heart had stopped beating.

  She was no longer a woman to Mato, no longer Smokey Powers.

  Terrified, she scrambled onto her knees and held out her hands as best she could to protect herself, but even as she contemplated the manner of her death, she couldn’t help admiring the man. Savagery suited him. He’d been designed for strength and, yes, violence. Rules and laws meant nothing to him; he’d do what he had to. And he wouldn’t regret his actions.

  I don’t want to die! Not at your hands.

  A low, rolling cry spilled from him. His fingers clenched, making her think of a cat retracting its claws. His nostrils flared as though pulling her scent into him. Could he smell her fear?

  Then his head snapped back and his eyes widened, and she had no doubt he was reacting to her fear. Instead of attacking as she half expected, he whirled and stalked away. His retreating body appeared tense enough to shatter. She didn’t breathe until he’d walked out of the room. A floorboard creaked. S
omething thumped against the bedroom window. Her hands at her throat, she stared but saw only an indistinct shadow.

  “You’re out there, aren’t you, damn you,” she hissed. “Waiting for him. Tearing the humanity out of him.”

  You don’t understand.

  Shocked speechless, she curled into a tight ball. Up until now she’d managed to cling to the edge of actually believing what was happening, but the three words resonated as clearly as if they’d been screamed into her ear. And they hadn’t come from a human throat or mind.

  Hawk Spirit existed.

  The front door slammed shut, pulling her from the pit she’d fallen in. Mato had left her. What was so compelling he hadn’t had time to dress? Despite the unsettling image of him striding naked through the forest, she couldn’t deny that it also turned her on. Only a man who was more animal than human would expect the wilderness to embrace him as God had designed him.

  Where was he going, how long would he be gone, and what would he do to her when he returned? A glance at her hands reinforced how easy it would be for him to tear her apart. At the same time, it wasn’t as if she’d been left tied to the bed with no way of avoiding the inevitable.

  “Get up,” she fiercely ordered herself, abeit in a whisper. “Get the hell out of here.” Instead of following through, however, she stared at what he’d done to her hands. If they were long-time lovers comfortable with each other, they might have mutually designed bondage as playacting, but there was nothing fanciful or deliberately arousing about having been tied up by a near stranger, a stranger ordered about by a hawk. It didn’t matter that he’d been careful not to cut off her circulation—the purpose had been to impose his will on her.

  On the heels of another “Get the hell out of here,” she uncurled herself so she could plant her feet on the floor. Her mind fairly swam with possibilities and complications until she spotted the knife he’d used to cut off her clothes. Crouching, she snatched it up. Although the knife had been created to accomplish mundane cooking chores, it was sharp enough for any propose, including slitting someone’s throat.

  No, damn it, he hadn’t planned to kill her!

  Had he?

  Despite the tremors assaulting her, she forced herself to face yet more facts. The civilized human being others called Mato Hawk wouldn’t so much as think about spilling anyone’s blood, but he was much more than a mortal man, and that creature, that beast, might do whatever his spirit ordered.

  Sawing through the cotton strands while grasping the knife in her fingertips ate up time she needed to be spending getting out of there, but finally her arms dropped to her sides. Something shifted in her as the rope fell to the floor. She was free—yes, still naked and in his lair, but free.

  Unwilling to entertain the thought of fleeing in her birthday suit, she opened dresser drawers until she found a faded sweatshirt. It fell nearly to her knees, protecting and sheltering her. His shoes were in his closet, and though they were many sizes too big, after jamming a pair of socks in the toes, she slipped on a pair of slippers. Then she started toward the door, only to stop and snatch up the knife again. She didn’t ask herself what she was capable of using it for.

  Though she knew he wasn’t in the house, it took all the courage at her disposal to walk into the living room. She wasn’t going to look at his paintings, damn it, and yet she did. Conditioned by her last memory of him, she expected them to be dark and brooding. Instead the majority of his photographs had made liberal use of sunlight. Some, like the fawn pushing against fallen leaves and pine needles with its nose, were whimsical. Maybe Mato Hawk could laugh after all. How incredible it would be to hear his laughter and see joy in his eyes!

  Blinking back unexpected and yet necessary tears, she tiptoed to the front door. Gripping the knife so tight her fingers threatened to cramp, she slowly turned the knob and pushed. As she did, crisp and wonderfully clean air swept over her. A gentle breeze had the trees waving in welcome. With her eyes scanning her surroundings and her heart tapping wildly against her chest wall, she hurried down the stairs and stepped onto damp earth.

  Run! Run!

  The forest he’d been born into and raised in cradled Mato as he made his way to the cliff he’d been coming to for as long as he could remember. He walked with purpose, and if whatever littered the path dug into the soles of his feet, he was unaware of it. No part of him was concerned with his nudity, and he thought only briefly about the woman he’d left behind.

  Spirit had called to him. Spirit needed him.

  The remnants of last night’s storm steamed up from the ground, adding to the sweat already on his skin. An insect landed on his right shoulder blade and either bit or stung, causing him to slap himself there. Something about the instinctive act penetrated the haze wrapped around his mind, and he remembered another touch, the slide of flesh against flesh, his cock housed in a woman’s warmth. After brushing off the insect he’d killed, he ran his fingers over his cock, rekindling more memories.

  He’d wanted to be with her; he remembered that. Looking at her had stirred dormant longings for someone with which to share his life.

  Don’t think of her! Obey me, only me!

  Familiarity with Spirit’s commands should have made his acceptance easy, but for the first time in his life, he resisted. He didn’t fully understand the inner war, just that he’d always regret it if he didn’t fight. Concentrating on walking failed to clear his mind. If anything, he became more confused.

  There was Spirit, whom he loved and respected and had always obeyed, just as his relatives and ancestors had obeyed their spirits. And then there was the woman: softness and large, expressive eyes and a body made for his. The scent of sex on her, and his seed on her skin.

  Not on her next time! Inside her, filling her, turning them into one and maybe giving him a son or daughter.

  The thought slowed his steps and cleaned yet more of the confusion from him, but then the smell of the sea seeped into him, and he remembered what his spirit had ordered him to do. Although Spirit occasionally guided his thoughts, regardless of where he was, most revelations and commands came while he was standing at the ocean’s edge looking out at the vastness of the world beyond Storm Bay. Despite his inner conflict, he’d been heeding those commands all his adult life and couldn’t comprehend doing otherwise, so he lengthened his stride until he stood looking down at the restless surf. The storm’s aftermath was still evident in the higher-than-usual waves and piles of debris that had washed up on the beach. At this spot, the beach was more than a hundred feet below his perch, and he wondered if he might, like his spirit, take flight before he crashed to the earth.

  Would Spirit give him the gift of flight?

  I’m here. Again turning myself over to you.

  Have you? his spirit demanded. I see a man weakened by a woman’s body.

  Not weak, never! I am your strength, your servant.

  Do not lie to yourself, Mato Hawk. You tell yourself that loyalty to the spirits still makes your heart beat, and you have blinded yourself to certain dangers.

  What dangers?

  Her! She has crawled into your mind and heart.

  A tension unlike any other flowed through him. This wasn’t the first time he’d questioned the spirits’ commands, but that, he’d convinced himself, had come from his independent nature. He had a brain and insisted on using it, unlike some of his fellow clan members who mindlessly obeyed the spirits. More than once he’d begged the others to think for themselves, but in the end he’d always fallen in line because the spirits spoke with the same soul he did. This time was different.

  You ordered me to capture her, he pointed out. Surely you saw what happened. Taking away her freedom and imposing my will, my sexuality, on her has changed her. Now she craves me.

  No more than you crave her.

  Was there no end to what Spirit saw? I’m a man with a man’s weakness. Surely you knew—

  You’re more than a man, Mato Hawk! Without you and others like you
, the spirits are helpless. When this place we love is in danger, all we can do is fear and mourn. You are our hands.

  Spirit was right because even as he stood motionless, he sensed fresh strength seeping into his muscles. But instead of being grateful for the gift, he longed to run from everything it represented. Say it, he forced. Tell me what you want.

  She is more dangerous than I anticipated. Her will has not been destroyed; she has not become your slave.

  He didn’t want a slave. He wanted…what? Surely not a partner.

  You are silent, Mato Hawk. But behind your silence I sense your struggle. She has touched you and weakened you. That cannot be! It must not, because we need you.

  Impressions suddenly bombarded him. He cringed at the sight of massive equipment felling countless trees and tearing at the earth, and he heard the frightened cries of birds and animals as they fled the destruction.

  At the same time, the Smokey Powers part of his mind kept trying to fight her way to him, her arms outstretched. Remembering the feel of her sweet body, he mentally pushed at the enveloping fog. He was reaching for her when he noted that she held a laptop in one hand while the other effortlessly carried a large power saw.

  Even as Smokey hurried down the dirt road leading from Mato’s place to the highway, she wondered if it would do her any good. She might reach the highway before he discovered she’d escaped, but what if someone from Storm Bay spotted her? Instead of helping her, that person might run her down.

  Was it possible that everyone who lived around here knew what the other residents were doing? In the past she would have laughed at the notion of a large conspiracy, but Storm Bay was unlike any place she’d ever been, and Mato was a highly respected member of the community, a leader.

  More than a leader, she acknowledged as she slogged along in the too-big shoes. He was the alpha male.

  So what did that make her, the alpha female? According to her admittedly limited wolf knowledge, the primary male mated only with the lead female. That might have gone to her head if not for the not-so-minor matter of his having kidnapped her.