Force of the Falcon. Rita Herron
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they need to be destroyed,” Sheriff Cohen said.
Brack’s jaw tightened, his control teetering on the edge. What kind of ignorant moron was Cohen? “What they need is medical treatment.”
“Gentlemen, why don’t we see what Sonya has to say before we do anything rash,” Dr. Waverman suggested.
Brack and the sheriff exchanged silent, menacing looks, but followed quietly. The scent of antiseptic and medicines pervaded the halls; the beep of hospital machinery and rattling of medicine carts and gurneys added a layer of charged tension.
Brack’s gut clenched when he stepped inside. Sonya lay against the stark white sheets, her dark curly hair spread across the pillow, her face pale in sleep. Long dark lashes curled against ivory skin dotted with the faintest row of freckles. Her lips were a natural ruby color, her chin slightly pointed, her face heart-shaped. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her before, but she was stunning, like a real-life Sleeping Beauty. The childish story taunted him—if he kissed her, would she wake up and be healed?
Ridiculous.
His gaze landed on her bandaged hands and anger churned through him. A primitive surge of protective instincts swelled in his chest, as well.
The sheriff walked over and stared at Katie with a scowl. She looked impossibly small and fragile huddled in the chair beside her mother’s hospital bed. Someone, probably the nurse, had helped her into fresh dry pajamas and socks, and had thought to give her a pad of paper and some crayons. She was drawing intently, her pug nose scrunched in concentration.
“Katie, did you see the animal that attacked your mother?” Sheriff Cohen asked.
So much for tact.
Katie slowly tipped her face upward, but she cowered into the chair away from the hulking sheriff.
Brack strode forward and knelt beside her chair. She automatically reached for his hand, and he slid it around her trembling shoulder. “It’s all right, honey. We just need to know what happened to your mommy.”
“It was one of those hawks, wasn’t it?” Cohen asked. “They’ve been attacking each other, and tonight they attacked your mother, isn’t that right?”
Katie’s lower lip quivered. “I d-don’t k-know what it was.”
“What do you mean, honey?” Brack asked softly.
“It wooked wike a giant bird,” she whispered, “but it w-was a monster.”
Brack gritted his teeth, then glanced at the picture she’d drawn. Although it was crude, a four-year-old’s handiwork, the definite shape of a winged creature filled the page. Maybe a large eagle or hawk. Black and brown, with long, sharp talons.
Except this bird had the head of a human.
HE LIFTED his talons in front of him, smiling at the torn flesh and blood lingering on the sharp edges. Tonight the animal inside him had emerged from the gray emptiness of the night, called to life by the scent of blood and fear.
First the eagle that he had ripped apart with his talons. Then the little girl’s terrorized cry. The scent of her small body. Then the smell of a woman’s.
Oh, but she had tasted sweet.
Her blood had only whetted his appetite for the hungers of the flesh. For her body. Her heart. Her soul.
She had been the first human.
But not the last.
The animals had served him well in the beginning. But as he fed the beast within him, the need for more sustenance grew.
From now on, the birds would be his appetizer.
Then he’d feast on a human’s blood and let the two mingle together.
Chapter Four
Brack stared at the drawing of the winged monster, and his gut clenched. Katie was only a child, was tiny herself, and she’d been terrified—had she imagined the half bird-half man? Or could it really exist? Some kind of mutant…
No, it was impossible. He practically lived in those woods, knew the mountains. If such a creature existed, he would have seen it.
There are places to hide, a voice whispered inside his head. The old mines and tunnels. The dark edges of the forest…
The rumors about the epidemic of typhoid fever that had once destroyed half the town rose from the depths of his subconscious. The bodies had been burned, buried in a tunnel underground, the old mine blasted shut, hoping to contain the germs of the dead. He’d always wondered if somehow the ashes of those who’d died might filter into the land or water and rise to haunt them.
“Katie—” Sheriff Cohen leaned over, beefy hands on his knees “—was that what you saw, or are you getting the birds mixed up with this man here?” He pointed to Brack. “Are you sure he didn’t attack your mother?”
Katie’s eyes widened to saucer size, and Brack cursed silently. How dare Cohen suggest that he had attacked Sonya? The son of a…
Cold rage poured through him, but he stood ramrod straight, his pulse pounding as he waited on Katie’s response. He didn’t know what he’d do if she decided she should fear him, but the thought disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.
Sonya’s eyelashes fluttered, then she opened her eyes and stared at him. Her eyes were the most unusual green he’d ever seen, somewhere between the lush green of the Colorado mountainside in spring and the dark, rich color of emeralds. And they were as bewitching as an animal’s eyes in total darkness.
Again, he felt a deep connection, although a wariness flickered in her pain-filled expression, and he realized she had heard Cohen’s accusations. Her skeptical gaze tore at him.
Hell, he didn’t care. He was what he was, and he wouldn’t change for anybody.
Katie clutched the sketchpad to her side with one hand and slid her other one around his own. “No, Mr. Bwack, he saves us. And the birds…they brings him to me.”
Brack frowned. Did she have some kind of sixth sense when it came to animals as he did?
Whatever the reason, her gesture of unquestioning trust tugged at emotions long buried in his chest.
Emotions he didn’t want to feel for her or her mother.
Emotions that whispered that maybe he didn’t really want to be alone. That as much as he’d hardened himself to thinking that he could live without a woman in his life, he was wrong.
That Sonya Silverstein might fill some part of his soul that had been lost a long time ago.
He immediately jerked his gaze from hers, his instincts warning him to walk away. He could not forget who he was. Could not get involved with Sonya and lose himself in the process.
He had to discover the truth about these bizarre attacks and take care of the birds. Nothing else mattered.
He wouldn’t let it.
EVERY BONE AND MUSCLE in Sonya’s body ached, but she dragged herself from the effects of the medication and pain, and opened her eyes. Her daughter was frightened and needed her.
The scent of alcohol and hospital odors permeated the air. The rustle of the sheets as she twisted them in her fingers rattled over the blur of voices. Through the fog of drugs, Sheriff Cohen’s accusations registered. She noticed the angry glint in Brack Falcon’s powerful jaw as he’d clenched it. He could be formidable when crossed. Maybe even dangerous.
But her frail little daughter slid her small hand into his large one in blind trust.
The sight made her heart twist. Was Katie right to trust this stranger?
He had been in the woods when she was attacked. She’d heard the rumors about the Falcon men. Had been forewarned by some of the older