Eye of the Falcon (Psychic Visions #12)(21)
Chapter 8
When Issa woke the next time, her heart was heavy; her eyes burned from the acid of her tears, and the pain went so much deeper than muscle and bone. Humbug, who she had thought was dead, wasn’t. Overjoyed to know her feathered friend had survived, it was horrible to now know Humbug was in mortal danger.
She closed her eyes and whispered, “Humbug, please stay safe. Please, if anybody is out there who can help him, please do so. Humbug’s an innocent victim. … And he’s very special. He needs me.”
“Who are you talking to?”
Her eyes flew open to find Eagle standing at her door. Something about his stance, his arms, his body language, was not quite stiff but a little more unyielding than she’d seen before. She understood. It wasn’t that he was afraid; he was wary. Everything so far was a test of his beliefs.
And maybe he was right to do so. Maybe the rest of the world should keep their distance because she knew she’d go after these men if they went after Humbug.
She now knew beyond a doubt those men were evil. The world would be so much better off without them.
“I was praying, hoping somebody would find Humbug.” She studied Eagle for a long moment. “You don’t trust me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust me.”
Her gaze widened. “I trust you more than I have ever trusted anyone.”
At that, a surprised look came across his face, and he took a step inside, his arms still across his chest. “Why is that?”
She tilted her head toward the falcon. “Because Roash trusts you.” And for the first time she saw a crooked smile cross Eagle’s face. “You love birds,” she said in a low voice as she studied him for any sign of the evil that had already touched her life. She knew that, even though he’d been good to her, evil sometimes took its time to show. “So you can’t be that bad.”
He nodded. “Not only do I love them but I save them. When you are healthy enough, I can take you out to meet the more than two hundred birds I keep here.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Her gaze widened in shock. “Seriously?”
If there was ever a dream job for her, this would be it. To help more than just a couple would be beyond amazing. And then she remembered that evil came in many forms—especially walking on two legs. She shuddered. “How far away from the house are they?”
“Not very far at all. I have pens that go for several hundred feet.”
“Pens?” Her heart sank. To be caged was not the ideal life for a bird.
He nodded. As if reading the look on her face, he said, “Most are injured. Most will never fly again. And, if they do, they can only lurch from side to side. They just become easy food for other predators.”
She nodded. She understood Mother Nature was a hard taskmaster. Life was for the fittest. She wanted to reach out to the injured birds on the property as she had tried with other birds so often in the past. But she was scared to open anything up right now. She was still too weak. It look a lot of energy to reach out. If she heard Humbug’s cries of distress, it would break her. Feeling the tears welling yet again, she whispered, “Is there any more of that soup?”
Her body needed strength. And she needed a moment to collect herself. This man saw too much. Maybe understood too much. As if he could see the hatred in her heart and didn’t trust it. She felt the hatred, and she didn’t fully trust him. Few things in her life she believed in more than the fact that the men who kidnapped her and shot her birds deserved killing. But she knew, very much so, that she couldn’t let anyone else get hurt.
Everyone around her died. A lesson hard learned, the one there was no disputing. She watched as Eagle nodded, turned, and walked away. She closed her eyes, and, feeling Roash’s gentle beak brush along her cheek, she opened the corner of her mind and sent out a tentative call. Her mind instantly filled with screams, so many, so loud, so hard, so long, that she couldn’t stand it, and she was knocked out again.
*
A terrified cry filled the air, and Eagle raced back to Issa’s bedroom. At her side, his fingers reached for her neck, checking for a pulse. Her chest rose and fell gently, her breath slow and stable. For whatever reason, she was unconscious. He threw back the blankets and checked over the surgical site and then her many other injuries.
But nothing appeared to be wrong. The head injury was bothersome though. Roash crooned, his tone almost like a melody against her face. Even as Eagle watched their interaction, he could see the trouble and pain eased back from her expression.
“Wow. What is going on?” he whispered. He could see the bond between these two. He’d never witnessed anything like it before. It was too unbelievable to understand, but he wanted to. It was just so foreign to be here with this woman. This woman with the eyes the color of midnight, the color of the sky, and the color of secrets of the deep dark sea.
Seeing no sign that she would wake, he stepped back, covered her up again, and returned to the couch. He sat down and cradled his face in his hands. All he could think of was what he’d heard of ancient times, of people who had supernatural abilities or connections, but they were all myths or legends as far as he knew.
Not flesh and blood like the woman in the next room.
He knew she was all woman. There was no way to disguise the small plump breasts, curvy hips, tiny waist. Even covered in bruises, the beautiful woman remained there, just so damaged that he couldn’t see her as anything other than a wounded warrior.