by Rita Herron
She made a low catlike sound, and he thumbed her other nipple, running his fingers over it until she threw her head back and practically begged him to taste her. He pressed featherlight kisses along her throat, then nipped at her sensitive flesh as he pushed her gown down her shoulders. Aching for him, she thrust herself forward, pulling him closer, and he licked his way down her torso, lowered his head and closed his mouth over one turgid nipple.
She clung to him, her legs weak, her body on fire as he suckled first one breast, then the other. Licking, tasting, pulling her into his mouth as if he savored her pleasure. She whispered his name in a throaty voice that didn’t sound like her own, thought she might explode from the heady sensations rippling through her.
She wanted to touch him, too, but he angled her sideways, and her reflection caught in the mirror. The talon marks still looked red and puckered, the ugly scars reminding her that she was less than perfect. That she had not been enough woman to satisfy her former husband.
Then the vile face of the comic Talon Terror flashed behind her eyes, and terror streaked through her. Brack had almost died tonight because of her. Another girl and Reesie had already lost their lives.
She pulled away, looked into Brack’s eyes. Heat, hunger, and questions flared in his gaze as he studied her. He was the most perfect male specimen she’d ever seen. Like a god among men, a hero in her eyes. She didn’t want to disappoint him, didn’t want him to see her many flaws.
Didn’t want to care so much. To know that if he hadn’t returned tonight, she’d never forgive herself. That she would have fallen apart.
Because she was falling in love with him.
The terror that had seized her during her earlier attack, and the helplessness she’d experienced when her husband left her, rushed back, and she pulled away, grabbed her robe and fled to the other room.
She was a coward. She knew it. But she closed the door to the extra bedroom, afraid to go back.
SONYA SILVERSTEIN’S face haunted him.
He sharpened his talons, his blood sizzling with thoughts of making her his mate. He had been so close to having her tonight. A minute longer and he could have escaped with her. Carried her through the tunnels. Into the darkness below. Back to the land where he belonged. Where he’d first learned to love the hunt. To give chase. To take whatever he wanted as his.
But he’d missed his opportunity tonight.
And now he had to settle for another.
The dark cape shrouded his face, the night sounds of the traffic in the distance fading as he combed the edges of the forest park. Even during winter, the running path stayed busy during the day. But at night, it was virtually empty.
Yet tonight, one lone jogger circled the park. One woman who thought herself completely alone.
He’d watched her before. She was long and lean. A woman with no fear of the dark. A blonde with a body to die for.
And no fear of the Talon Terror who’d already terrorized and murdered two women.
A chuckle rumbled from his belly.
Fool.
Dressed in her designer running clothes, her iPod earphones jammed in her ears, she pumped her legs and arms, threw her head up into the wind, and sang along with her iTunes. The wind tossed her blond ponytail back and forth as her running shoes pounded the salted asphalt.
She thought she was invincible. That her speed, her long legs and lithe body could outrun a man.
She hadn’t met a raptor before. Had no idea that his agility far exceeded her puny efforts. He’d trained for the hunt well. Had honed his skills for years. Knew exactly how long to stalk, then when to swoop down for the kill.
He crept into the shadows to watch her circle around and around the track. She usually ran about forty laps. About the tenth one, she would become exhilarated. By the twentieth, she’d start to grow winded. By the thirtieth, she’d be so lost in thought she wouldn’t notice that her stride was growing shorter. By the fortieth, her heart would be racing, her muscles straining, her energy waning.
Then he would pounce.
Chapter Sixteen
Naked, hard, still wanting Sonya, Brack leaned forward and braced both hands on the bathroom sink. He inhaled several calming breaths in an effort to control his turbulent emotions.
What the hell had just happened?
One minute Sonya had been whispering his name, moaning in pleasure, and the next minute she’d run. What had he done wrong?
His last girlfriend’s caustic words about him being an animal reverberated in his head. Dammit, was that what Sonya thought? Had he frightened her with his intense desire?
He’d noticed the shimmer of tears in her eyes before she’d disappeared from the room.
He yanked on a pair of sweats and strode down the hall. He should leave her alone for the night. Let her sleep. Get some rest himself.
But an ache to understand her drove him forward anyway. He knocked on the door, preparing himself in case she told him to go away. “Sonya, can I come in?” He cleared his throat. “Please.”
A strained heartbeat passed before she answered the door. When she opened it, darkness cloaked the room, but tears lingered on her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Brack.”
He narrowed his eyes, his gut clenching. “Sorry for what?”
“F-for leading you on like that.” She bit down on her lip. “I…shouldn’t have started that, then run out.”
“I don’t understand.” Emotions thickened his voice. Emotions he hated to reveal, but he’d felt such a strong connection to her that he couldn’t help himself. And he’d thought she’d felt it, too. He reached out, gently brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “What did I do wrong?”
Surprise flickered in her eyes, then regret, and he dropped his hand, thinking his touch repulsed her.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said in a hoarse whisper. She turned away, walked across the room, stared out the window at the woods beyond through the sheer curtain. “It’s me.”
He finally released the breath he’d been holding, then followed her and stood behind her. She was so close. His hands shook with the effort not to touch her. “What do you mean? If you changed your mind, if I was too rough, tell me.”
“No. God, no.” She dropped her head forward, pain lacing her voice. “It’s me, Brack. Old insecurities.” Her voice broke. “I would only disappoint you.”
Anger slammed into him. But he fought it and gently placed his hands on her arms. “What makes you think a foolish thing like that?”
“My ex…”
“You still love him?” Brack’s heart pounded as he waited on her response.
“No.” She turned around, vulnerability shadowing her eyes, sending his heart into a tailspin.
“I don’t love him anymore, Brack. Not at all. But he said things…” She let the words trail off, and the truth dawned on him. The bastard had hurt her, had made her feel as if she were at fault.
He wanted to tear him apart limb by limb.
But a display of his temper would only send her running again, and prove Erica right. And when he made love to Sonya, he wanted her to know he could be gentle. Loving. Caring.
He also wanted to erase any lingering memory of her former husband from her mind.
Tamping down his rage, he lifted his hand and brushed his fingers across the side of her cheek. “Sonya, I want you so bad it hurts. There’s no way on earth you could disappoint me. And if, when, we decide to go further, you can stop at any time. I would never force you.”
Her lips parted, and she sighed, a soft, needy sound that ignited fire in his blood. But fear darkened her eyes again, and he warned himself to hold back. He had to go slow. Earn her trust.
Sonya needed time. And they had both been physically hurt today. She must be exhausted.
“It’s been a long day,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve been through a lot. And I won’t push you or do anything until you’re ready.”
She pressed her hand over his. “You have a c
oncussion, you were hurt because of me, Brack. You could have d-died.”
Emotions warbled in her voice. He was patient with the birds he trained when they were injured. He could be patient with the woman he cared for, too.
The thought made him momentarily stiffen, tempted him to flee into the woods again. To find his solace. Be alone.
But he didn’t want to be alone tonight. He didn’t think Sonya did, either.
He laced his hand through hers. “Come on, lie down, Sonya.” Tenderness underscored his words. “You need to rest and so do I.”
Questions registered on her face. Uncertainty. Desire.
He felt them all inside him, too.
“I just want to hold you,” he said softly. “We’ll sleep in each other’s arms. Nothing more.”
A smile slowly tilted the corner of her mouth, and she nodded, then let him lead her to bed.
SONYA CURLED into Brack’s arms and savored the feel of his strong, big body pressed up to hers. He was the most masculine man she’d ever met. And although she knew people in town feared him, she trusted him with her life.
But her heart?
What would he think if he knew that she was falling in love with him? That she hadn’t only held back from making love to him because of her insecurities about her scars, but because once she gave herself completely to him, her heart would belong to him as well.
You’re kidding yourself, a tiny voice whispered inside her head. He already stole your heart.
But would he want it? Brack liked his freedom. The woods. He would travel around in his job. And Katie needed security in her life. Not for Sonya to parade men through their life, men that would never stay and be a part of their tight-knit family.
He tightened his arms around her, and she forgot her reservations and fell asleep in his arms. At least tonight, she would let him chase her nightmares away.
And when she closed her eyes, she could pretend that they had a future.
SONYA HAD THOUGHT that sleeping with Brack would create an awkward morning, but instead, she felt an intimacy with him that she’d never felt with Stan. They’d crossed some invisible barrier of trust, had given silent voice to their need for closeness and, in the darkness of the night, had managed to become more intimate even without the physical act of sex.
But as they sipped their morning coffee, the telephone trilled, dispelling the cozy domestic atmosphere. Seconds later, Brack disconnected the call, the haunted expression darkening his face again.
“Another woman was killed last night.”
Sonya’s heart fell. “Who was it?”
“A jogger named Sue Peterson.” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “He left a note this time, Sonya.”
Her heartbeat accelerated. “What kind of note?”
“Cohen said it was addressed to you.”
“Dear God.” She lowered her head into her hands, and he cradled her in his arms. A shudder tore through her. “He wants me to know he killed her because he missed his opportunity with me.”
Brack pressed his head against the top of hers and nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Tears caught in her throat. “This has to stop, Brack. I don’t know how much more I can take.”
“Shh.” He stroked her back gently. “Don’t worry. It is going to end, Sonya. I’m going to find this guy and take him down myself.”
A HALF HOUR LATER, Brack and Sonya met Cohen at the crime scene. Brack stared at the note the killer had left on the mangled girl’s body in disgust. Sonya shuddered in horror next to him as she read the message.
You made me do it, Sonya.
You can stop me any time.
All you have to do is be mine.
“Do you have any idea who’s doing this?” Sheriff Cohen asked.
Sonya shook her head, her voice filled with remorse. “No. I wish I did.”
“Did you get that search warrant for Jameson Viago’s place?” Brack asked.
Cohen nodded. “I’m on my way there next.”
“I want to go with you,” Brack said.
Cohen surprised him with a nod. “All right, I can use your help. This maniac is terrorizing the town. Half the citizens won’t even come out of their houses now. And that guy, Tripp, is adding to the problems.”
“Does he have an alibi for last night?” Brack asked.
“I don’t know yet. I’m going to pick him up for questioning.” Cohen headed to his car and Brack followed, leading Sonya by the hand.
Tension filled the SUV as they drove in silence to Viago’s place. When they arrived, Brack let Cohen lead the way up to the man’s door. Brack contemplated insisting that Sonya stay in the car, but he wanted to see Viago’s reaction to her, and she insisted she could handle the situation.
Viago answered, rumpled and half asleep, once again clad in all black. His hair was uncombed, his beard fuller, his eyes gluey as if he was high on drugs. Oddly, he merely stared at Sonya with no reaction at all.
“Mr. Viago, can you tell me where you were last night around midnight?” Sheriff Cohen asked.
Viago’s eyes shifted to the bedroom, then his computer. “I was here. Working. Then I went to bed.”
“Can anyone verify your whereabouts?” Cohen asked.
Viago flipped his computer around and indicated the time log. “I was working on updates for my Web site. See for yourself.”
Cohen gestured toward Brack, and he studied the man’s files. It looked legit. Unless someone else had logged in as him and completed the updates…
“I have a search warrant for your house and the contents of your fan mail and Web site.” Cohen stuffed the paper into the man’s hands.
Viago clawed his hand through his hair. “Listen, like I told Falcon here, I only write this cartoon. I’m not your guy.”
Brack pointed to the overloaded box of fan mail. “Then it’s possible that one of your fans could be. Maybe the answers are in there.”
Sonya’s face paled at the sight of the devil-worshiping posters and dozens of macabre photos of the falcons. Viago protested again, and Cohen snarled that he’d lock him up for impeding an investigation if he didn’t cooperate, and the man shut up.
Brack and Cohen uncovered several science fiction magazines, some with violence as themes, other sci-fi memorabilia that he’d collected, a sword that he’d bought off eBay from a movie set, photos of old classics including Dracula and several low-budget horror flicks, as well as replicas of two falcons that had died and been preserved. Granted, the guy had some sick obsessions, but they didn’t find containers of talons or a costume or trophies from any of the victims. Neither did he find any photos of Sonya that would fit a stalker’s profile.
Brack checked the man’s e-mails while Cohen and Sonya started skimming through fan mail.
“What are we looking for?” Cohen asked.
“Anything strange,” Brack said.
“They’re all strange,” Cohen said in disgust as he gestured toward one letter. “They talk about raping and slaughtering women, loving the way the bird kills.”
“He’s right,” Sonya said, a strained look on her pale face. “But this guy probably wrote Viago to brag about his actions. He would have wanted Viago to know he was the real Talon Terror.”
“We need to take them back to the station. I’ll have my deputy help us,” Cohen said.
Viago stared glumly from his sofa, drumming his pen on a sketchpad as if he was contemplating his work. Brack wondered if he was planning his next story, but noticed a sketched outline of his next issue on the computer and frowned.
In this episode, two falcons had chosen the same mate. As the story line progressed, they engaged in a horrific battle for the female, a battle that ended in one falcon’s death. The other won the mate.
The face on the dead bird looked strikingly like Brack.
SONYA’S STOMACH roiled at the violence in the letters. This sadistic cartoon character had drawn millions of fans. The ages of the kids writing in disturbed he
r even more. Adolescents in their early and late teens and twenties comprised the fan base list. Kids at impressionable ages who should be focusing on school, on healthier choices like church or sports or volunteer work.
The town desperately needed Elsie’s teen center. She silently vowed to volunteer there as much as possible.
She skimmed several crude letters from girls who fantasized about romance with this terrorizing hawk. What kinds of abnormal relationships had these girls witnessed? Were they in abusive homes now? If not, they might be headed for relationships that were doomed to fail.
Reminders of her own divorce taunted her. Sighing, she glanced up and caught Brack watching her, concern on his face, and her heart fluttered. He’d been nothing but kind, protective, gentle, patient. He hadn’t asked for anything in return.
She was completely in love with him at this point. There was no turning back. No guarding her heart or denying her feelings.
But she couldn’t demand commitment from a man who thrived on his freedom.
Another letter caught her eyes, this one dotted in a dark red substance that resembled blood. With a rubber glove, she picked up the letter, then began to read.
Thank you for your amazing creature The Talon Terror. I knew when I was small that I was different. That I was an animal in another life.
When I read the stalking techniques of the Talon Terror, I recognized them as my own. My bloodlust runs thick, my need to feed on the creatures of the forest stronger each day. And now human blood has wet my lips, I realize that I was meant to prey on the weakest of them—the females.
