Night of the Hawk

by Vonna Harper

  “I’m a man, but I’m not greedy.”

  Aren’t you? What about your need for her body?

  The argument, particularly what Spirit had just said, caused his head to pulse. Concerned he might lose his balance, he stepped back from the cliff, but a force stronger than himself kept his arms outstretched. Studying his hands, he acknowledged how easy it would be for his spirit to change him in even more fundamental ways—to turn him into a raptor. A killer.

  “Don’t do this to me, please!” Although his pleading tone shocked him, he couldn’t change it. “What my grandfather and uncle did—their spirits guided them in destroying enemies to this land. They didn’t spill the blood of someone—someone they’d lain beside.”

  For the third time today, unseen feathers touched him, but instead of the earlier gentle caress, these were sharp pricks, the contact painful and electric. Covering his cheeks with his hands, he took another backward step.

  You are my instrument, Mato. I’ve watched you since your infancy, looking into your heart and listening to your thoughts, feeling your strength and courage. I chose you because I believed we shared the same beliefs and you would embrace everything I stand for. But because you are human, that humanity stands between you and what must be done. That’s why your grandfather and uncle and others who carried out the spirits’ needs were made to change form. They became predators.

  Not just predators—killers, Mato acknowledged. “There has to be another way, there has to be! If she promises not to write—”

  What a fool you would be to believe her.

  Was his spirit speaking the truth, or was Spirit influenced by the past? Just because a handful of people caused the mountains and the creatures who belonged here to bleed didn’t mean all humans were bad. Smokey had taken his body into hers; surely he knew more about her than Spirit did.

  “Reveal yourself to her,” he said, desperation driving the words. “Send your beliefs and words to her. That way, she’ll understand.”

  Hers is the blood of an outsider. As such, her heart can’t hear mine beating; her ears are deaf to my words, her eyes blind to me.

  “That isn’t true. If you’d seen the way she looks at my photographs or the way she reacts to a hawk—”

  Which I sent. How can she not wonder?

  His thoughts raced in one direction and then the next, but no matter how hard he tried to pull them together, he couldn’t think of anything to say. Besides, how dare he, a simple human, argue with an essence as powerful and all-knowing as his spirit? A small and fragile part of him continued to cling to the hope that he could change Smokey’s mind, but if she agreed not to write anything, would her career be over?

  If only he’d never met her! Never stripped her and slipped between her legs!

  An ache across his shoulders reminded him that he was still pressing his palms to his cheeks, so he let his arms drop to his sides. It took everything in him not to slump forward or leap into space.

  This place had always nourished him. He loved the smell and touch of fog, the endless sound of the sea rolling over the shoreline, the water birds, days of startlingly blue skies, and others when clouds and rain coated the world. Even with everything crushing him, he looked outward and drew a measure of peace from the horizon.

  At first, he saw only a small, distant dot, but even then he knew what was coming his way. His fingers fisting, and his lungs expanding, he studied the approaching life. Longing pushed away dread at the thought of what flying surely felt like, the freedom, causing him to silently urge the hawk to speed its flight.

  Smokey Powers had initially been drawn to one of his hawk photographs, an innocent interest that in essence had changed both their lives. He had no doubt she’d share his anticipation if she was with him right now, maybe wrapping an arm around him as the other shielded her eyes from the glare. She’d say little or nothing, but her body would tell him everything. He’d soak up her single-minded focus on the bird, knowing she was thinking about much more than the act of flight. Her fertile brain would contemplate what went on inside a predator’s brain, whether it ever thought about its prey or wanted another life, if it knew how rare was the ability to fly or that its eyesight far exceeded creatures tied to the earth.

  And after she’d absorbed her thoughts and the emotions that went with them, she’d softly speak his name and turn toward him, her breasts brushing him, the heat between her legs whispering to his cock. Eyes sparkling, and lips soft and inviting, she’d tell him she wanted them to both grow wings so they could catch the same air current.

  Insane! Dangerous.

  Even though he couldn’t quite rid himself of the images his hot blood had conjured, he’d presented himself to his spirit countless times before and knew better than to fight the pull. Hawk, his hawk, was nearly overhead now.

  Such a little thing, he noted, weighing only a few pounds. It seemed unbelievable that a hawk could kill something much larger and heavier than itself, but that was the way of predators. And although he admired the perfectly formed body and long, shapely wings, he’d never tried to trap a hawk so he could study it up close because he had no wish to be attacked by killing talons and a beak.

  Once more he pushed away errant thoughts and did what he needed to—concentrate. The hawk had stopped flying and was now floating almost overhead. A breeze occasionally ruffled its feathers; otherwise, it looked as if it had been frozen in time. Awareness of a second approaching bird came slowly, but Mato finally acknowledged the newcomer. This hawk was smaller than the first, and its feathers were slightly paler, its demeanor fierce and yet somehow different—gentler maybe.

  A female? The first hawk’s mate?

  He unsuccessfully tried to force his fingers to relax, but even as he pondered whether Spirit was sending him a message about Smokey’s role in his life, he couldn’t shake off his unease.

  His hawk was watching the female, its neck twisting as the female circled it. He could almost laugh at what he took to be the female’s attempt to seduce the male. Even from this distance, he decided that the female was a beautiful example of the species. Not only was her flight seductive, complete with coy looks and fluttering wings, but she was well formed, healthy looking and probably young. She’d produce a large number of eggs and devote herself to feeding and protecting her young; what more could a male hawk want in a partner?

  Turning his attention to his hawk, he noted that it was pulling its wings closer to its body. The female responded with a low call and dipped her head in the male’s direction with a come-hither gesture. The male pushed off, wings beating effortlessly, heading straight for the female. Calling out again, the female stopped and waited, beak open and wings widespread, her breast exposed.

  His hawk struck the female in full flight, its talons slicing past feathers and flesh and tearing at vital organs. Then, screeching, the male headed into the heavens.

  Bleeding, the female plummeted toward earth.

  22

  The oils Smokey was working with represented only a small portion of her collection, but as she’d been packing to leave Portland, she’d figured she wouldn’t have much time to paint, and these had fit easily into the case she’d brought to Storm Bay. She wanted to thank Mato for bringing them to his place, but that would lead to a further conversation, specifically questions about what she was doing hunched over the coffee table in the living room instead of getting the hell out of there.

  She’d have to answer with the truth, which was she didn’t know why she stayed. Fortunately at the moment little mattered except transferring Mato’s hawk in flight photograph onto her paper. After spending too much time pacing through his house, being able to focus on her hobby felt wonderful. Painting had always rejuvenated her, and it was no different this time, maybe even more so because of her surroundings. Thanks to the large windows, her view of the woods was almost as clear as if she’d been outside, and although clouds were now in evidence, she was content to take whatever nature handed her.

&n
bsp; Pausing, she studied what she’d accomplished in the past hour. She still needed to fill in the feather details, and she hadn’t started on the surroundings, but the hawk was perfectly formed, if she said so herself. She’d never been particularly adept at capturing the essence of muscle and flesh, yet she didn’t see how she could improve on what she’d created today. The predator all but flew off the page, energy and life rippling through it. She could almost hear it cry, nearly feel the wind rushing past its body.

  Peace—that’s what the past hour had been about, she surmised as she added a little more white paint to the gray she’d been using to define the hawk’s underbelly. Considering everything she’d been through lately, being able to relax was nothing short of a gift from the gods or nature or the spirits or whatever force had supplied said gift.

  Yes, her body hummed with quiet need only Mato could first feed and then satisfy, but that hunger contributed to her overall mood. She just wished she could give him a taste of her contentment. The man was uptight, tense, worried, maybe all three and more. Maybe she should try to get him to talk about it—once she let him put back on his clothes.

  Like it’s that simple.

  A sound snapped through her, jerking her upright and destroying her lethargy. Breath snagged, she stared at the front door.

  God, but he was incredible! Shadowed by darkness and quiet but hands-down the most muscled man she’d ever seen. Granted, her reaction had something to do with the fact that he’d fucked her mindless and even more to do with their complex relationship, yet she wouldn’t change anything.

  What was it about him that allowed him to bring the wilderness inside with him? Even after he’d closed the door behind him, she continued to smell pine and mist. If she could bottle those heady aromas, she’d make a fortune selling it to women, especially horny ones.

  You aren’t horny. You can’t be, she chided as he looked down at her painting. After the antics they’d been through, she should be dead from the neck down. Only, she wasn’t.

  Wrapping her in his silence, he leaned closer. Having people study her paintings had always made her more nervous than critiques of her writing, probably because she was hardly a professional artist, and yet she’d never more needed to hear a person’s reaction. The sense of peace she’d experienced while she was alone…what had happened to it?

  A ripple of fear forced her to her feet, but though she needed to place distance between them, she remained in place. He had to have noted her reaction, and yet he only sat in the spot where she’d been a moment ago, his fingers hovering inches over the painting. If he touched it, the wet oils would smear.

  “It’s alive,” he said.

  If she lived to be a hundred, no compliment would ever mean as much. Coming from him, a man who knew more about hawks than she could comprehend, the words had her blinking back tears. But even as she ached to touch him in gratitude, she knew she couldn’t.

  Wild. He was wild. Again.

  “What happened out there?” she asked because her life might depend on the answer. “Who did you talk to?”

  “Spirit.”

  Even with shock setting off an irregular heartbeat, she understood how much he’d given her. He didn’t have to answer her; he could have lied, and yet he’d handed her the absolute truth—one deep down, she’d expected.

  Fingers now clamped around her upper arms, she struggled not to give into emotion. No matter what form her article took, she wouldn’t include her moments with Mato, because no one would believe her—and because, even if it cost her her life, she couldn’t betray this man.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “It was what he showed me.”

  Oh, shit, he was looking at her now, probing eyes tearing through her layers and maybe revealing things about her she didn’t know, setting her on fire. Suddenly and irrevocably starved for him, she breathed in rapid gasps that did nothing to cool the flames.

  Was he responsible for the inner fire? Had Hawk Spirit shown him how to strip away her skin and leave her utterly exposed? Maybe that’s why he seemed so wild—because for the first time in her life she was drawn to the savage. Not sure whether she’d begun to sway or if she was just imagining her tenuous self-control, she searched the room for distraction, but her painting had become a blur, and she could no longer see what was beyond the windows. The walls started closing in, trapping her and Mato in the too-small space. Freedom gone! Space shrinking. Him expanding, becoming her world! No longer human.

  Fear sent her running barefoot for the door, but he caught her before she could reach it and yanked her back against him. Captured again, only not by a man this time but something dangerous and primitive, deadly!

  Screaming silently, she fought an overwhelming and incomprehensible weakness. One hard spasm after another seized her; everything she’d ever believed about what her life was about shattered to leave her lost. Helpless.

  Then his arms locked around her middle with her back to him, and her terror died. He was holding her, protecting her—from what? The unnerving thought that he might be defending her from himself robbed her of other thoughts.

  “Don’t fight me.” Sealing her against him with one hand, he slid the other over her throat.

  “What—what are you going to do?”

  Not more silence, please, not that! But did she really want to know?

  Life was precious. When it came down to it, nothing mattered more than staying alive, so why wasn’t she trying to haul his fingers off her neck? Off balance and staring upward, legs splayed for balance, she acknowledged his greater strength, but that wasn’t why she wasn’t fighting.

  Her body needed his—that and nothing else.

  Shifting her weight, she ground her buttocks against him. As she did, his potent cock pressed into the small of her back. So he was wild, was he? He wasn’t the only one. They had that in common. Maybe only that.

  Barely aware of what she was doing, Smokey leaned into him even more and flattened his cock between them, and when he took a backward step, she kept pace. After a few more steps, he pushed her upright and spun her around. His open mouth put her in mind of a panting dog, and his eyes were filled with intensity. Beast, he was becoming a beast! Like his spirit?

  Hell, hell, that’s where he’d been, joining forces with Hawk Spirit, surrendering his human qualities and embracing the primal.

  “Are you going to kill me now?”

  Still hiding behind his damnable silence, he shook his head until she stopped its movement by clamping her hands against his cheeks. As she did, his eyes started to roll back in his head. Then he blinked and came back to her. A little. Maybe.

  Ah, Mato, all that strength and sexual energy are nothing against the hold Hawk Spirit has on you. You want what your spirit has chosen for you, and yet you don’t—because of me?

  Her? She was the only thing standing between him and slavish dedication to an inhuman force?

  Maybe.

  Another time—if they had other moments together—she’d ask if he’d been more human or primitive creature on the day he’d returned from his time with Hawk Spirit to find her working with her oils, but now was for instinct. And action.

  Trying to save both of them.

  He wore another of the flannel shirts that seemed to have been made for him, but much as she loved seeing him in the sturdy and practical garment, she needed nudity more. Needed to press her flesh to his.

  Her low growl adding strength to her fingers; she tore at the buttons. Most slipped out of the holes, but two flew away, leaving behind torn fabric. He looked surprised, but whether because he hadn’t expected that of her or wasn’t fully aware of what was happening, she couldn’t say. Every second he stood looking down at her was a gift; any moment he might turn against her, and if he did—

  No, she wouldn’t go there! She would wrap her mind around his capacity for tenderness and compassion—the man in him.

  He made no attempt to strip off his clothes, so she took over the task,
careful not to lose eye contact as she discarded his shirt, unzipped his jeans, knelt and unlaced his boots. After getting him to hold on to her shoulder for balance, she pulled off his boots. Still kneeling, she tugged down his jeans and shorts and helped him out of them. Looking up at the male expanse, she remembered the other time he’d been naked to her clothed state. Then she touched her tongue to his satiny tip, and nothing else mattered.

  Male, all male, fully human.

  Even as she closed her lips around his gift to her, she acknowledged how fleeting these moments were. So much stood between them. They lived in different worlds, and those worlds could and would collide. She’d spent so much time mapping out her future, setting goals, but now the future and goals didn’t matter. There was only the gift, not just of his cock but of all of him. His impact on her heart and body. Fighting back tears she’d have to shed sometime, she stroked his flanks. Opening her mouth wide, she brought him deep into her and hung on to him, tasted.

  Sucking cock. Yes, and yet expanding her throat and locking her lips around the solid, hot mass was so much more. Magical somehow. Conscious of little else, she leaned back, freeing a few precious inches of him. A hot flash that left her all but dripping in sweat made her long to strip off her clothes. Mato Hawk, lover of these rugged mountains and servant to his spirit, trusted her. She was worthy of him, she was!

  But did she trust him?

  No thinking! Not now.

  Her mind sealed tight, she let him slide the rest of the way out so she could bring his balls into her moist cave. Sucking and bathing him at the same time made the back of her neck and shoulders twitch, but despite the discomfort, heat again licked at her. Most of it was centered around her breasts and groin and the small of her back. Her jeans were too tight, her bra size too small. And the tingling in her hands had her rubbing his flanks.

  The smell of the wilderness that had come inside with him was being replaced by other scents. She couldn’t recognize all of them—a mix of sweat and soap and her juices, a little oil paint. The smells rolled through her, entering her veins and sending the swirling essence to her heart.