Night of the Hawk

by Vonna Harper

  Dismissing her bare feet, she opened the door and stepped outside. A breeze heavy with the scent of evergreens and ocean met her, followed by a prickle of awareness across her shoulders. Without looking behind her, she knew Mato was in the doorway, but that wasn’t what had alarmed her.

  “Where is he?” she demanded. “I sense him.”

  “Today Hawk Spirit is the wind.”

  What the hell are you talking about? she ached to throw at him, but maybe he’d given her the only answer there was. If she tried to leave the porch, would he stop her? “It’s so complicated,” she whispered. “I’ve been threatened because of some things I’ve written, once by a drug dealer, another time by a so-called investment counselor who was stealing from his clients. I wasn’t scared so much as mad. When I called the police, they tapped my line and discovered who had been leaving those disgusting messages, but even if I could call the police right now, they couldn’t do anything.”

  How many speeches had she made? Maybe they’d only taken place in her head, but just the same, they’d given her a headache. Words were supposed to be about something concrete, yet what she was trying to deal with defied description.

  “If I picked up the phone, would you let me complete the call?”

  “No.”

  On the brink of asking why, she closed her mouth because what did she need with more conversations that went nowhere? The notion of being imprisoned here wasn’t frightening; in fact, she could almost imagine spending the rest of her life in Mato’s home. That was nonsense, of course, because she’d always wanted to jump headfirst into everything the world had to offer, and yet…

  “I’ve bought you some time,” she said. “Not much, but maybe enough that you should be able to decide what you’re going to do next.” If you can make that decision.

  “Thank you.”

  So Hawk Spirit sometimes existed in the breeze, did he? It was somehow fitting—unnerving and yet right.

  What, she wondered, could she possibly write about the world beyond the concrete world she’d always believed in? Many readers would make fun of her for buying into the whole woo-woo nonsense, but others might nod in agreement. Backed by all the facts she could pull together, the end result would resonate in ways her writing never had. She might even be awarded—no, this wasn’t about some damn literary award. Instead it had everything to do with opening people’s minds to other possibilities.

  How would you like that, Spirit? If you read about yourself in my column, would you feel that everything you stand for has been justified?

  Or would you feel betrayed?

  “What is he saying?” she asked. “Does he want you to kill me?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Staggered by Mato’s response, she stared up at him. Was he expanding, becoming larger and more powerful, or was that nothing more than her imagination? Suddenly unnerved by her surroundings, she admitted that she was afraid to look around. “But earlier he was—that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

  “If necessary, yes.”

  He revealed more in a single word than she could in an entire book. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  You have to know! Head spinning, she gripped the railing. “Have you ever defied Hawk Spirit?”

  “No.”

  “What was different this time? I have a right to know.”

  This wasn’t a man who would ever allow someone to push him into a corner. At the same time, he’d committed himself to following Hawk Spirit’s guidance about whatever it was, so how did he reconcile the two? The answer came as she dug her nails into the wood: for the first time, he’d disagreed with his spirit. Because of her?

  Even though she wasn’t sure she trusted her legs to hold her, she let go of the railing so she could stand before Mato. Her hand seemed to belong to someone else as she reached out to touch his cheek; at the moment of contact, shared warmth ran between them.

  “I couldn’t,” he whispered as he covered her hand with his.

  Much as she wanted him to elaborate, she sensed he’d gone as far as he could. For anyone else, refusing to murder another human being would be a simple moral choice, but everything was so complex for Mato and, as a consequence, for her.

  “Maybe you can answer something for me,” she said to fill the air. “If state law enforcement came looking for you, what would you tell them?”

  “About what?”

  “Castetter. They’re going to be turning over every rock.”

  “I have to hear their questions before I can answer yours.”

  He was avoiding, damn him. “What about me? Are you going to hide me in the woods, leave me tied and gagged to some tree?” The image made her shudder. “Of course, if you’re arrested—”

  “Don’t go there.”

  “Why not? Because you’re guilty?”

  “Is that what you believe?”

  As part of a series she’d once done on juvenile delinquents, she’d interviewed a girl who’d been arrested for breaking into the house of a family away on vacation. The girl had reminded her of a trapped animal, defiant and scared at the same time. She’d admitted to the break-in but little else, and it had taken Smokey more than an hour to break through her defenses. A runaway because she’d refused to be raped anymore by her stepfather, she’d taken refuge in the only place she could find.

  Mato was hardly that desperate fifteen-year-old, and yet there was something in his eyes and a backed-into-a-corner air about him. But if he was a murderer?

  Even with the question stalking her, she again touched his cheek. This time her fingers lingered until he drew them away. “What was that about?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. Mato, you should be able to do what you want with your life, not what some damnable force orders you to.”

  “It’s more than orders, Smokey. In many respects Spirit and I share the same heart.”

  What about Castetter? He’d told her he’d had nothing to do with the man’s disappearance, but could she believe him? Again overwhelmed by everything they were facing both separately and together, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m trying to understand what you mean by what you just said. Maybe if I knew more about what Hawk Spirit stands for—”

  “You can’t because your roots didn’t stem from here.”

  And that meant there’d always be a wall between them? Perhaps, she acknowledged, but in one elemental way Mato’s heart and hers shared the same beat—sex. Standing on her toes, she pressed her lips to his throat. As she did, it dawned on her that they’d yet to share a kiss. And that no matter what he meant to her, she couldn’t forgive him if he’d had a hand in Castetter’s death.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  “Maybe for not killing me.” The moment she’d said the words, she wanted to take them back.

  “You should want me behind bars.”

  Shaking off the frightening image, she debated tucking her hands in her back pockets so she wouldn’t be tempted to touch him again, but the need was too great to deny. Someone reckless took control of her; that was her only explanation for what she did next. But even as she struggled to comprehend that she’d actually hooked her fingers over the waistband of his jeans, she eagerly anticipated her next move. Rocking forward onto the balls of her feet, she again kissed his throat. He was so soft there, so vulnerable and alive. The essence of that life flowed into her until it filled her, and yet, far from satiated, she ran her nails over his waist.

  Grunting, he caught her wrists but didn’t pull her off him.

  “That tickles?” she asked as stroked him there again.

  “Yeah, tickles.”

  A glance downward reinforced what she’d already sensed; his cock was swelling. “Looks like being ticklish has added benefits,” she observed.

  His hold on her wrists strengthened a little. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “I don’t know, Mato. That’s the hell of it—I don’t know.” Worn out by
her admission, she rested her head on his chest, where she could listen to his heart’s steady thump-thump. “I need something different between us. Not so complex and dangerous.”

  So do I, she almost swore she heard him respond. She wasn’t the only one who wanted to start over, but how could they possibly make that happen? Mato was controlled by the otherworldly force she’d never fully comprehend, and he refused to examine that right now, but it was different for her. If she couldn’t direct their course, at least she could start in the direction she wanted things to go.

  Light. Simple.

  Buoyed by unwise and yet needed possibilities, as well as the familiar energy spinning through her, she tilted her head so she could nibble the tendon at the side of his neck. He shuddered, and his grip shifted so he had ahold of her forearms but didn’t try to stop her. Determined to make the most of her freedom, she licked where her teeth had been. The taste of him sent a hot shiver through her, so she licked again, which left her hungry for more. She was debating nibbling his earlobe when he pushed her back and gave her a look that nearly made her laugh.

  “What are you up to?” he asked.

  “As much as I can get away with. What’s the matter, Mato? Don’t you trust me?”

  “I never said—”

  “Then let me do my thing.”

  “Which is?”

  Give me time; I’ll think of something. Anything. “You’re so serious. Don’t you ever just embrace life?”

  Instead of answering, he drew her hands off his waistband and settled them on his chest. The instant she felt it rise and fall, her fingers twitched.

  “There’s a good deal I embrace.”

  “I know you do. I’m sorry I said what I did.”

  After a moment, he released her arms, and she set about unbuttoning his shirt, somehow keeping her fingers steady as she did. Unfortunately she couldn’t do anything about the heat in her cheeks or tingling throughout her crotch.

  Light. Keep these precious moments light.

  “Think of this as part of my education,” she said once she’d finished with the buttons and had pulled out the shirttail. “You are aware that the male anatomy comes in endless varieties, which makes cataloging and classifying those differences difficult. I’ve had enough experience with you that I’m tempted to at least preliminarily place you in the well-hung category.”

  Her cheeks now flaming, she pulled the shirt apart. Oh, damn, how was she going to think, let alone talk with that dark, broad chest within reach? One step in her direction, and she’d be all over him.

  “The problem with placing a man within a category,” she continued, “is that there’s a broad continuum, everything from fat and flabby but well hung to stud-studly. Hmmm. Yes, yes, indeed, I’m going to need to do a more thorough study before I can complete my evaluation.”

  Much as she wanted to look to see if he was buying into her nonsense, she kept her attention fixed on that made-for-action chest of his. And much as she wanted to press more than one part of her anatomy against him, she didn’t trust herself to do more than cling to the shirt that still retained his heat.

  “Measurements,” she came up with. “That’s what I need, accurate measurements. And photographs. Nude photographs taken from all angles.”

  The words alone were enough to send her imagination to flight, and in her mind she saw him standing naked and proud with the forest all around while she circled him, snapping shot after shot, her trembling fingers making her wonder if any of the pictures would come out. She’d stop to wipe her sweating hands on her hips, and he’d gift her with a knowing, inviting smile, and she’d put down the camera and hold out her arms and he’d—

  Distracted by movement overhead, she held her breath before daring to look. As she suspected—or was it feared—a hawk had settled into a tree to watch her and Mato. Whether it was the same one she’d seen before was immaterial because the message remained the same: Hawk Spirit and Mato were connected in incomprehensible and inescapable ways. And most times Mato bowed to his spirit’s commands.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “You know,” was the best she could come up with.

  “He won’t hurt you.”

  How can you be sure? But of course he knew everything he needed to about his guide and the living creature or creatures that represented Hawk Spirit. There was a fierceness to today’s predator’s glare, a cold calculation that made her question what Mato had just told her about being safe.

  19

  “I want to go inside.” With that, Smokey turned toward the door, tugging on Mato’s shirt as she did so. To her great relief, he didn’t resist, and yet even though the inhospitable hawk had chased her from the porch, she hated being inside again, cut off from the sun’s warmth and invigorating breeze. Instead of apologizing for her cowardice, she drew the shirt off his shoulders and threw it as far as she could. Not long ago Mato had done whatever he wanted to her, his prisoner. She wanted to believe things had fundamentally changed between them and that she wouldn’t share what she believed had been Castetter’s fate, but she wasn’t a fool. After all, she’d been given abundant proof of Hawk Spirit’s role in Mato’s life.

  “Your shoes. Get rid of them,” she said.

  Quirking an eyebrow, he did as she ordered. Then he stood gazing down at her, his body seemingly at rest while she felt as if she were about to fly apart. Most people didn’t know what to do with their arms, but he looked content and natural with them resting by his sides. The only thing making a lie of his body language was a bulge capable of focusing all her attention on it and it alone.

  Swallowing, she debated ordering him to dispense with his jeans, but that would have been the coward’s way out. Mato had turned her body into his plaything, and it was her turn to attempt to do the same to him. Stimulating him would give her something to do, something to concentrate on and hopefully to silence her inner turmoil.

  Her hands extended toward him without her being aware of having made that decision. Maybe courage had nothing to do with her actions; maybe the light dancing throughout her was responsible. She’d seen him naked before, so a repeat shouldn’t be so hard to contemplate, should it, but she’d been stronger back then. Either that, or somehow she’s been less involved than she was now. No matter what the explanation, praying for the courage to expose him said a great deal about how far she’d fallen from the in-control woman she’d been.

  Sucking in a lungful of courage, she fumbled with the jeans’ fastening. When it finally gave up its task, she turned her attention to the zipper. The first inch or two wasn’t that hard, but then she reached the potent mound, and her head swam. More air, that’s what she needed! And an air conditioner because she was suddenly too hot, her jaw refusing to stay closed, and the top of her head tingling.

  She was practically drooling by the time she’d finished with the zipper, and though she would have given anything to guzzle a glass of ice water, because she might not be able to get going again if she stopped now, she once more took hold of the waistband. Running his jeans down over his buttocks called for trailing her thumbs over the taut flesh, and try as she did to come up with something to say, only a moan escaped her throat. Arching her back brought her pelvis dangerously close to him.

  What if he’s a killer?

  No, not now! I won’t go there. I can’t.

  All right: jeans clinging to his thighs, naked chest begging to be caressed, cock visible through the slit in his briefs, goal nearly reached.

  Against her better judgment, she glanced at the front window and then caught her breath; a hawk, surely the one that had chased her in here, was just outside, clinging to the windowsill. Its wings were outstretched as though about to take flight, its beak open, its intense eyes boring into her.

  Leave us alone!

  Mato must have sensed her shock because he followed her gaze. Gripping her shoulders, he said, “I should have known.”

  “What?”

  “That this isn’t abo
ut you and me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Something was happening to him, the change subtle and yet impossible to ignore. His already hard, athletic body became even more so, as if he were drawing strength from some inexhaustible source. Although he wasn’t changing from his human form, she sensed the potential and possibility. If she stripped away his skin and exposed the next layer, she’d find not a man but a wild creature—a predator.

  Hawk Spirit was responsible! Robbing Mato of the right to simply be a man and turning him into his instrument, his slave!

  She’d come to that realization before, so it should have been easier to accept the second time, but it wasn’t, because Mato Hawk was much more than someone she’d just met, the subject of her current assignment. She’d had sex with him, fucked him, and wanted to again. Needed.

  Sex! Sex might keep him with her.

  Dragging her attention off the window and what waited beyond it, she shrugged off Mato’s hold and yanked off her top. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, and the sight of her breasts with their hardened tips drew Mato’s gaze there. Aware of how much she was risking, she cupped her mounds and lifted them. No words were necessary. Playing with herself, stroking the heated mounds and rubbing her nipples, tamped down unwanted thoughts and fed the fire in her belly. She did so not just for her own sake but because she hoped her arousal would flow from her to him. His arms, which earlier had looked so natural by his sides, were now roped with tension, proof—she hoped, that he had to fight to keep them off her.

  Determined to make his struggle with himself even more self-absorbing, she pushed upward on her right breast and lowered her head, extending her tongue as though trying to lick herself. She’d seen a porno movie with a big-breasted woman who could suckle her own nipples, and although she couldn’t pull that off, she could pretend. And he watched.

  When her neck began to ache, she abandoned her doomed-to-failure act, but the pretense had left its mark on her—or maybe it was thinking about Mato drawing her breasts into his mouth that made her blood race anew. The power of suggestion where he was concerned was heady and exciting!