Falcon’s Captive

by Vonna Harper

  Suddenly the vast plain surrounding them became too small. He needed to be alone—just him and her.

  “You aren’t answering.” Ohanko tilted his head to the side, his gaze intense. “Farajj’s question is a simple one.”

  “Is it?”

  “You tell us. Nakos, don’t keep what you’re feeling closed up inside you.”

  “If I do, what then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Will you tell our shaman?”

  The two men exchanged a look. Then Farajj cleared his throat. “I never thought I would keep something from Tau. Without his wisdom, the Ekewoko might not still exist. But I value our friendship as I never have anything else. Whenever I think of what you had to face when your grandparents were killed, I wonder if I would have run away instead of staying with their bodies. I’ve always judged my courage against the standard you set.”

  You don’t know the truth. No one does.

  “I agree,” Ohanko said. “To be that young—”

  “It was a long time ago,”

  “Yes, it was. Still—you’re right. We aren’t here to bring the past back to life. We’re here to try to get our hands on a wild woman.”

  Jola was a wild woman, all right, yet she was more than that, something he didn’t fully fathom and might never. Bombarded by thoughts he couldn’t handle, he started walking again, followed closely by his companions. Although the craig was still a half day’s walk away, he couldn’t shake the sense that they weren’t alone out here.

  Looking up, he scanned the sky for something, anything that might explain the sensation. A few clouds rested along the horizon, but other than that, everything was a relentless blue. There was no place even a single Wilding could hide, and why was he studying the sky instead of the ground?

  Maybe because of Tau’s belief that controlling falcons would insure the Ekewoko’s future.

  Maybe something else.

  Wings and tail folded back, the Falcon dove. Her legs were tucked against the small body, the third eyelid cleaning her eyes, making it possible for her to keep the gray bird beneath her in sight. Tiny bone tubercles guided the tremendous air pressure through her nostrils and eased her breathing. She flew faster than an arrow, faster than her prey could comprehend.

  At the last instant, she extended a clenched foot and struck the bird a killing blow. It started to fall, but she easily caught up, snagged it, and brought it close to the ground before letting it drop. Landing beside the kill, she immediately started plucking feathers. That done, she began feeding.

  She’d nearly finished when a riffle of alarm sped through her system. Not waiting to see what had caused it, she took flight but remained closer to the earth than she usually flew. Her superior eyesight spotted movement at odds with what usually took place here. Her predator brain told her nothing specific, but that wisdom insisted she keep distance between herself and the unaccustomed movement. Curious, she floated closer.

  Three creatures were moving along the ground. They bore no resemblance to deer or antelope. Another sensation stirred her and took her beyond the primitive. More than just a killer now, she caught hold of the bits and pieces floating in her brain. When they came together, she accepted that the three weren’t among the Falcons she shared her world with.

  Confused and even more cautious, she flew higher before continuing her examination. She now acknowledged that when she ceased to be a bird of prey, she became one of the humans that called themselves “Falcons.” That was acceptable, part of the nature of things.

  Who, then, were these strangers?

  Blinking repeatedly, she began circling above the newcomers. Her keen sense of smell brought a hint of familiarity to her, and the longer she studied the creatures, the more she accepted that she’d seen them before. Instead of questioning her inability to have detected that earlier, she took her new knowledge as her starting point.

  So they weren’t strangers, one less so than the others. He walked with a familiar rhythm, and when he spoke to the others, the notes and tones settled easily inside her. Her small body heated, and the need for more movement touched her wings. She was growing restless. Hungry.

  A shadow from the past closed around her. In the middle of the shadow lay a dead Falcon with something long and thin driven through its body. The dead predator had been her mate, her everything.

  The creatures below had been responsible.

  Her mind pulsing from the strain of trying to process everything, she pushed herself into the sky. But even as she broke free, a bond remained. One of the newcomers was responsible for it.

  18

  Although he had no intention of telling the others, Nakos’s shoulders and back ached from the weight of the pack he’d brought with him. His legs were tired, and he had a headache, probably from the sun. If he’d been more alert, he’d have come up with a way to do something about the various discomforts by now, but walking took up a great deal of energy. Either that, he reluctantly admitted, or concentrating on his worn-out muscles was easier than asking himself what he was doing here and what he hoped to accomplish once he reached his destination.

  If Jola indeed lived on or near the mountain, she certainly wasn’t there alone, and undoubtedly her people had devised an effective way of keeping an eye out for would-be invaders.

  So he, Farajj, and Ohanko couldn’t storm the craig without being seen. What, then, did he hope to accomplish?

  Ask her to talk to him?

  And then what, grab and subdue her?

  He should have sat across from Tau while the shaman spoke to their ancestors’ bones about what to do. Putting aside his pride and whatever else had sent him out here, he should have prayed to Tau and maybe his lord for guidance. But he hadn’t.

  Feeling nothing like the warrior he’d long believed himself to be, he lifted his head and tried to focus on his surroundings, but as had happened too many times before, his eyes strayed upward. The few clouds had rearranged themselves and showed no sign of disappearing—or providing water.

  Stopping, he reached behind him for his water bladder. Sighing audibly, his companions did the same. They drank sparingly.

  “Enough,” Farajj announced and dropped to the ground. “Whether we reach that cursed place today or tomorrow isn’t going to make any difference.”

  Agreeing, Nakos settled himself on his knees and then his buttocks. He removed his pack but resisted the impulse to massage his shoulders. Ohanko had already taken off his pack and was using it to prop the back of his head against as he lay sprawled on the dirt. For three warriors, they looked more like footsore wanderers.

  Nakos flexed his fingers. Then he studied his hands, thinking not about their expertise with weapons, but what it had felt like to run them over Jola’s body. She’d been soft, so soft. Granted, at first she hadn’t wanted him to touch her, but he’d persisted and bit by bit she’d let him come closer.

  And not just physically close. Even though he probably couldn’t get her to admit it, the barriers between them had broken down. He’d controlled her body, and yet it had been much more. He hadn’t told her the whole story of his grandparents’ death, but he’d told her things no captor ever needed to tell a captive.

  Lids drooping, he tried to recall what she might have said, but much of the time she hadn’t used words. Instead, she’d opened her body to him, revealed her woman-weakness, stripped herself down. He might have invaded her personal space, but she hadn’t tried to hide her reaction to that invasion from him. At least he didn’t believe she had. She’d climaxed and climaxed, not simply because he’d forced them from her but because she’d wanted them—from him.

  Unless he’d deluded himself.

  Sleep threatened to steal over him, but before it could succeed, something touched his nerve endings. Even before he looked up, he knew what he’d find.

  Falcon.

  The three men bedded down with the base of the craig so close Nakos had noted where it broke free of the ground and began
its upward thrust. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do in the morning but then staying awake during his turn to stand guard took most of his concentration. He was also plagued by an erection that had come upon him as the sun was setting and refused to retreat despite his half-hearted attempts to masturbate.

  Before eating, they’d gathered enough dried brush to keep a small fire going throughout the night, but the low flames provided only a limited amount of illumination. Darkness was so close.

  He’d have to discuss it with Farajj and Ohanko, but it made the most sense to remain where they were for a while tomorrow and see if any of the Wildings approached. Although Jola’s behavior had convinced him that the Wildings weren’t animal-like, they might have an animal’s curiosity. If that was the case, one or more of them might slip close for a look at the strangers.

  Either that or the Wildings were out there at this very moment planning their attack.

  Picking up his knife, Nakos reassured himself that the rest of his weapons were within easy reach. One thing about the question that had just reared its head: he was now wide awake.

  Even if they hadn’t stripped him of fear, countless journeys over the years into unfamiliar land had conditioned him. Fear, he’d concluded over time, was an essential element when it came to staying alive. Without ragged nerves and heightened senses, he might relax, and relaxation could kill him. Granted, he’d never admit his insecurities to the others, but he’d guessed that he wasn’t the only one to walk with his belly clenched.

  And yet he wasn’t afraid of dying.

  Dying, his grandparents had taught him, came to everyone.

  It was the manner of that death that kept him tuned to his surroundings.

  Straightening, he listened as Farajj’s slow breathing slid into a low snore. If it became any louder, he’d have to shake his friend. However, by turning away from Farajj, he found it easier to isolate the night’s sounds. Countless insects were singing their ageless songs. For a change, right now there was only the faintest breeze, which allowed him to catch the whispery footfalls of the creatures that came out after dark. He heard the whir of an owl’s wings; something, a rabbit maybe, nibbling; a snake’s slither. The familiar sounds eased his nerves a bit, and he studied the contrast between firelight and night. The line between the two was indistinct, a blend really. Shadows waved and wavered, looking more and more unreal the longer he gazed.

  Suddenly there was something else. Alert and alarmed, he gripped his knife tight. The unexpected sound was repeated, then it disappeared. Still, he didn’t relax. It seemed to come from the earth itself, perhaps something walking or sneaking closer.

  Farajj gave out with a snorting snore. Then the warrior flopped onto his side and fell silent. Too many uneasy moments later, the earth sound came again. By turning his head this way and that, Nakos determined that it was coming from his right, but if he got to his feet, he’d give himself away.

  Not breathing, and with his heart trying to pound its way to freedom, he narrowed his awareness until nothing existed except for the faint sound. Whomever or whatever it was wasn’t coming closer. Rather, it seemed to be circling the campfire, careful to remain in the shadows. Moment by slow moment, he made the circuit with what he’d come to think of as the invader. Only one thing made sense: a Wilding was out there.

  It could be more than one, he reminded himself, but the sound appeared to be a solitary one. And the longer it went on, the slower his heart rate became. His palms were still sweaty, and now it hurt to breathe, but at least fear had stopped crawling up his throat. In its place, a warrior’s need to pit himself against the enemy surfaced.

  What are you? Who are you? Are you armed, because if you aren’t, I’ll kill you.

  A cold smile lifted his lips. His shoulders felt stronger, his back straighter—proof, he told himself, that the boy who’d buried his grandparents no longer existed.

  Certain now that he knew exactly where the stranger was, he measured the distance between them. Because of the firelight, the stranger could undoubtedly see him, which meant he’d have to rely on every bit of speed he possessed when he made his move. But he would! He would.

  Smiling again, he sprang to his feet. Four quick strides and he reached his destination. But although he’d been positive surprise would give him the advantage, he found nothing, touched no one. Confused, he darted left and then right, slashing with the knife as he did. When that, too, accomplished nothing, he stopped, confused. Only then did he realize he was now in utter darkness. Unease ran through him.

  “Where are you?” he demanded, albeit with a hint of hesitation. He turned in a slow, unproductive circle.

  From where she stood back in human form, a short distance away, Jola sensed more than watched Nakos. Because she’d guessed what he planned to do, she’d easily moved farther into the night before he reached her, but before long his senses would alert him to her location. In the meantime, however, she’d let his presence—his essence even—touch her.

  It shouldn’t be like this. In truth, she should either be asleep at the top of the craig or replenishing her sense of self by surrounding herself with other Falcons. Instead of either of those things, however, she was here. Remembering so much.

  Nakos’s tension reached out to touch her. Although she didn’t want to, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Unlike her, who carried a predator’s soul against her heart, he feared for his life. He might go to his death not letting his companions know he was close to panic, but he couldn’t keep that from someone who’d been born knowing how to take advantage of a prey’s weakness.

  She could, if her need for revenge was strong enough, terrify him. Instead, she spoke.

  “It’s me, Nakos. Jola.”

  He took a gasping breath. “You? What are you—”

  “You shouldn’t have come here.” She hurried to avoid being asked why she’d sought him out. “This place is sacred, for my people alone.”

  “My shaman will never believe that.”

  At first she didn’t know what he was thinking about. Then she remembered what Tau had said about his determination to find and capture falcons. Thinking how little the shaman knew, she nearly laughed.

  “And you do whatever your shaman tells you to?” she asked. “Even if the task frightens you.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  She nearly told him she knew better but what would that accomplish? In spite of—or maybe because of—what had taken place between them, she could never see Nakos as simply the enemy. How could she, when her body kept reminding her of those things? She didn’t want those reminders; at least, she struggled to tell herself she wanted nothing to do with heat between her legs and swollen breasts.

  But that heat was so sweet, all softness and wanting. He’d taken her places she’d never known she could go, expertly guided her from one climax to another. Granted, those explosions had left her in awe of him and frightened of her body.

  Afraid? Wasn’t that what she’d just accused him of being?

  “Are you alone?” he asked. “Maybe you won’t tell me, but I have to ask.”

  “I’m alone.”

  “Why? I’m not.”

  “I know. Your friends—”

  “They’re more than that. They’re warriors who’ve committed themselves to turning our shaman’s visions into reality.”

  “It won’t happen.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  They’d already had this argument, hadn’t they? But she didn’t want to touch on the subject. Instead, against all reason, she ached to put an end to the distance between them, to feel his arms around her, to pull him into her body.

  “Did you hear me, Jola? You need to know what you and your people are facing. The Ekewoko are proven—”

  “So you’ve told me!” The instant she’d spoken, she knew she was fighting herself and not his words. “But the Fa—those you call Wildings are far different from what you believe we are. I came here tonight to ask o
ne thing of you. Leave. Before it’s too late.”

  “Too late? You think your people’s weapons are superior to ours?”

  “There are weapons far different from knives and arrows. No matter how skilled you are, you can’t succeed against us.”

  He didn’t immediately respond, which gave her too much time to ponder whether she’d said more than she should have. Unfortunately, because she hadn’t left enough distance between them, she couldn’t concentrate on finding the answer. At least she could no longer see him. Watching him illuminated by the firelight had been hard and had brought back too many memories of the time they’d spent together. Just thinking of coming in to his arms and under his control after he’d pulled her out of the lake caused her juices to flow.

  “Is that the only reason you came here tonight?” he asked.

  “Did you think there’d be any other?”

  “No.” He spoke slowly. “And now you’ve said what you believe you needed to, are you going to leave?”

  He might be warning her that he’d try and stop her, only she didn’t think so. Just the same he was right. She had completed her mission.

  Feeling lost, she again fought the impulse to touch him. “Listen to me, Nakos. If you want to live, if you don’t want to risk your companions’ lives, return to your camp. Tell the Ekewoko that they don’t belong at what you call ‘Screaming Wind’.”

  “So I can tell my shaman and the man who raised me that I failed?”

  They spoke the same language and yet they didn’t. It had been the same for their bodies.

  Her eyes burning, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “What means the most to you? Staying alive or bowing to your leaders’ commands?”

  “That’s not what it is! I want the same things my shaman and lord do.”

  Was that true, or had the two men ruled him for so long that he no longer asked if there might be another way? “Then I feel sorry for you.”

  “Don’t!”

  Instead of saying anything more, he took several deep breaths. Remembering when she’d been so close to him that she could feel him exhale brought fresh tears. She’d been unable to get through to him tonight. There was no longer any reason for her to remain here. If his decision brought on his death, she’d live with it—somehow.