Excerpt from Eye of the Falcon
Book 12 of the Psychic Visions Series
Eagle walked onto the long veranda and stared at the sky. He saw no sign of the falcon who’d taken off on him—the falcon so badly injured it shouldn’t have been able to fly.
Out of habit he called out, “Rikker? Come home, boy.”
The sky was empty. The falcon long gone.
That didn’t stop Eagle from searching the vast blue depths. As always it drew him in like a wounded soldier to the hope something—someone—was out there. He was no stranger to hope. Lying in Afghanistan, waiting for rescue with a bullet-torn body, he’d stared for hours as his hope waned.
He’d woken up in the hospital weeks later, realizing sometime hopes and wishes did come true.
Now he gave homage to the sky on a regular basis, the blue depths having given him the courage to stay alive until the shooting around him had died down and his team could come for him. He’d rebuilt his life outside of the Special Forces unit he’d been in. A life as far away and as unregimented as possible. He had over 120 acres here. Part of it was an inheritance from his grandfather, and the other parcel was purchased as a barrier to keep the rest of the world at bay.
He’d seen enough of what humanity could do to one another. He couldn’t stop them anymore, but at least now he didn’t have to witness it. Here he worked to save those birds that had always rested at the edge of his heart. Something about the majesty of the raptors just called to him. He hadn’t planned on creating a refuge for them, but no doubt that was exactly what he’d done.
A biologist buddy, also a former marine, had found an injured eagle and had brought it to Eagle as he’d been the closest help at the time. The concept snowballed.
And that brought him around to wondering about Rikker and what happened. Something impossible.
Rikker had a badly broken wing, leg and a deep cut on his back. Eagle had found him when out riding several days ago. Instead of panicking when a human approached, the falcon had stayed still and let Eagle pick him up and bring him to the center for treatment. Due to the animal’s more docile behavior and, by now, out of habit, Eagle had checked for leg bands, then the local falconry clubs.
No one was missing a falcon. Or no one wanted to own up to it and possibly be handed a bill for the bird’s care. Not that Eagle would have done so, but he’d seen how people’s behavior shifted once money was involved.
In fact he hadn’t expected the raptor to survive the night. He’d managed to stop the bleeding, set the leg and wing and stitch up the injuries, but the bird had been off his food and water and barely holding on his perch. None of which was a good sign. Yesterday morning he’d been even worse. He’d given up the fight to live until he suddenly tried to rip apart Eagle’s hands.
When Eagle had taken the falcon outside into the sunshine, thinking it might be a kindness to put the bird down, the raptor had exploded from his arms—as if the falcon had read Eagle’s mind and flung himself into the sky in a last attempt at freedom. Except, with his injuries, no way in hell that falcon should’ve been able to fly. And he was one of the largest that Eagle had ever seen in his life.
But Rikker had taken to the skies with a vengeance and disappeared.
With his rescued dogs, Gunner and Hatter, at his side, Eagle walked to the raptor cages. The two big dogs went a long way to keep a lot of the wildlife back at the fence line where they belonged.
Caring for the large birds brought in a multitude of other prey looking for an easy meal. Although Eagle’s property was well fenced, the birds often hurt themselves as they panicked, trying to get away from the threat of predators.
As Eagle approached the pens, he realized something was wrong. He picked up speed and ran the last few yards. Instead of the normal rustling of feathers, calls and chattering among the birds, there was silence. He approached quietly, feeling hundreds of eyes turn his way. And yet not one bird made a sound.
Unnerved, he walked around the perimeter of the multiple pens, looking for the predator that had them all tense. He pulled his gun from his holster and approached the corner cautiously. Glancing to all sides, he could see nothing that would put the birds on full-alert status. Peering around the corner, he saw the same high grass and bushes leading to the tree line farther back. He kept walking. Predators of all kinds had one thing in common. They were sneaky as all hell.
His steps as soundless as his property, he automatically checked the fences, looking for holes. Foxes were notorious for getting inside the fence but were still unable to penetrate the raptor cages. And, if they were smart, they’d stay clear. Coyotes often stayed just off to the side and taunted the birds, letting them know that, given any weakness, they’d be there to tear apart their throats. But the wolves were even more intimidating. They would howl from a distance, knowing the birds were within reach, almost salivating at the luscious meals inside the cages.
And still behind him … was only silence. Every bird watched his progress. He kept glancing into the pens for any clue. Something was seriously off. A thick dark growl erupted from Gunner’s throat. The huge sheepdog ambled forward, his ears up, his back raised. Hatter raced behind with a lesser sense of smell. More concerned with the joys of puppyhood, he pranced and jumped around Gunner, trying to figure out what this new game was all about.
Unfortunately Hatter was no puppy; he was just stunted in growth and seriously stupid.
Eagle walked past, dropping a soothing hand on the back of Gunner’s neck. “What is it, boy?”
Gunner hunkered down, even as the hair on the back of his neck rose. Eagle studied the long grass and the thick forest beyond. The air was still, heavy. Nothing moved. Not even the wind.
A negative space was up ahead where the ground cover appeared flattened. A trail of broken and trampled grass led to it, but, unless the animal left the same way, no path exited the hollow. With Gunner at his side, Hatter loping behind, Eagle slowly approached. Reaching the fence line, he stood on the bottom beam and stretched up, hoping to see what was hiding.
Just then something erupted from the long grass.
He watched in amazement as Rikker soared high above, his cry splitting the air with its piercing screech, only to circle back around again and again and slowly lower himself down. Eagle could see its broken wing, and yet the bird still flew straight. Eagle didn’t understand—but he wanted to. He swung a leg over the top of the fence and jumped down on the other side.
He ordered the dogs to stay. Gunner broke into furious barking as if warning Eagle not to go there. But the dog wasn’t able to jump this fence easily. With his weapon ready, Eagle slowly parted the long grass. Just as he caught a glimpse of something white on the ground, the falcon rose once again, flapping its big wings in front of him.
“Easy, Rikker. Take it easy now. Let me see what’s going on.”
Unable to see around the irate bird, Eagle stepped forward, using his arms to brush back the raptor. His gaze dropped to the ground, and he froze, his mind struggling to compute the scene before him.
A nude woman, bloody and scratched to hell, lay collapsed on the ground unconscious—or dead.
“Jesus Christ.” He put away his weapon and dropped to her side. Young, with long dark hair half covering her face, skinny to the point of being gaunt. Her bare feet bloody and torn. As if she’d run until she couldn’t take one more step …
Instinctively he searched for a pulse, only to have Rikker flap his dangerous large wings in Eagle’s face and claw at his hands.
“Stop. I have to help her. Just like I helped you.”
With a wary eye on the bird, Eagle was determined to subdue the falcon if he didn’t let Eagle check out the woman. He slowly outstretched his arm again. Rikker made a harsh cry but settled onto the woman’s shoulder.
Not the best place but it would do for the moment. Eagle found a pulse at her wrist. Slow and steady. He did a quick check for injuries. He ran experienced fingers down her spine, her extremities, looking for breaks. He couldn’t find any broken bones, but her right ankle was swollen and her shoulder badly cut. He frowned, his mind racing to identify the wounds and their cause.
Keeping his face and eyes protected from the falcon, still uncertain of the reason for the bird’s presence, Eagle searched the woman’s back and chest. And found a small hole on the shoulder she lay on. He settled back on his heels. He knew that wound.
She’d been shot by a small caliber handgun at close range. He gently rolled her forward and found no exit wound.
“Goddammit.” He glared at Rikker. “What the hell is going on here?”
In a move that shocked Eagle into silence, Rikker slowly lowered his head and stroked the woman’s cheek with his beak.
“Well, shit,” he whispered. Eagle pulled off his shirt, throwing it across her form. Wishing he had a blanket with him, he glanced at the house and realized it’d be better to pick her up and take her back, but how badly wounded was she? He worried about internal injuries the most. Still she couldn’t stay here. That’s when he noticed the bright red blood on the grass beside her head. As soon as he probed that side, she moaned. In a gentle voice he whispered, “Take it easy. You’re safe now.”
Just then she rolled to her back. Her eyes opened, and cloudy midnight-blue irises gazed at him. She seemed to focus only to have her lashes slowly drop again. Her mouth worked, and he could sense the effort behind her need to speak.
“It’s okay. You’re safe.”
Her eyes opened, this time with more clarity. And landed on Rikker. Instead of crying out or screaming in terror, she murmured, “Mo chara, you found me.” She gently stroked the falcon. He crooned at her touch. Her eyes drifted closed again.
Aware of the time passing, but also aware of something magical happening, Eagle studied her waxy features, his gaze catching sight of the fresh blood on her forehead.
Grim, he slipped his arms under her frail form and lifted her. As if Mother Nature herself was helping, the wind picked up, making the trees bow around him, the branches forming a curtain for him to carry her through. The air held an eeriness, something otherworldly going on. The dust swirled up at his feet, taking away his footprints, even though it had rained just that morning. And then a rumble sounded … as if someone gave them cover to hide the noise Eagle now made.
Unnerved, but understanding an opportunity had presented itself, he cradled her against his chest and strode back to the dogs. He awkwardly made it over the fence and froze. Rikker stood on Gunner’s back, both ahead of Eagle as if urging him to move faster, with neither complaining about the odd transportation system. Even Hatter was out in front, for once a serious look in his eye.
Eagle didn’t have a clue what was going on, but, whatever it was, it had to do with the injured woman in his arms. He picked up speed, almost running to his house. As he came to the large falcon pens, the silence was suffocating. His heart slammed against his chest, and he could hardly breathe for the tension coiling inside.
As soon as he pounded up the steps to his house and bolted inside, the dogs barked, and the raptors screeched, filling his world with a cacophony of sound—like some invisible command had been released.
He stared down at the frail woman in his arms and asked in a low, shocked voice, “Who are you? And what the fuck just happened to my world?”