Page 85 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
A harpy eagle.
His Gift was effective with any kind of bird, from hummer to parrot to toucan, but the harpy eagle was his favorite. The largest and most powerful of the raptors of the Americas, it was named after the harpies of ancient Greek mythology, the wind spirits that took the dead to Hades and were said to have the body of an eagle and the face of a woman.
In Portuguese, the eagle was called gavião-real. Royal hawk.
It soared far above, a black-and-white blur against vivid blue, hunting. Hawk wrapped his hand tightly around Jacqueline’s. “Close your eyes.”
She did. Then Hawk released himself from his body, and because their hands were grasped, he was able to take Jacqueline along for the ride.
A rushing; the sensation of gravity pulling in the wrong direction, a roaring in his ears, and then it was done.
The rainforest lay vast and sparkling beneath them, carpeting the landscape for mile upon endless emerald mile. He wheeled to the right, tucked his wings against his body and fell into a sharp dive, relishing the wind on his face, seeing every dewdrop on every leaf, the air scented of earth and rain and river. Jack was with him, tethered by the connection of their hands, flesh upon flesh, conducting magic through their veins, and he felt her exhilaration and shock as if it were his own.
She felt no fear. Only pure, astonished delight. With a cry of joy that pierced the morning sky, Hawk opened his wings and flew higher.
He rolled. He banked and wheeled and soared. He flew high and low, grazing the treetops, skimming the dark, serpentine Rio Negro—spotting the mirror flash of piranha and the pale ghosts of river dolphins below—then coasted higher on a warm updraft. On the other side of the rise, the Earth fell away abruptly, and there was only wind and air and sky, blinding blue. He flew higher still, and below the land curved gently away in either direction.
He’d never shared this with another living soul.
For another thirty minutes he played, showing her all his favorite spots—the small caves behind the waterfall, all the hidden grottos and pools and glens he haunted in his wild and lonely youth—until by the end of it, his wings ached and his hunger had grown to a sharp, gnawing thing, demanding to be sated.
He didn’t think he’d subject Jacqueline to that particular activity, so he released the bird and came rushing back into his body, as did she into hers, both where they’d left them, standing empty and motionless on the porch in dappled morning sunlight.
Hawk turned to her after the final jolt of reconnection, just in time to watch her fall flat on her behind on the floor.
“Oh!” she said breathlessly, stunned and round-eyed, her legs sticking straight out in front of her and her hands pressed to either side of her head. “Oh!”
He knelt beside her, cupped his hand around the back of her neck. “Are you all right?”
In answer, she began to laugh.
“That was—amazing! Hawk! Oh my God!”
“I take it you enjoyed yourself,” he said, feeling enormously happy and more than a little smug. She was staring at him in a way that made him want to stomp around the room, beating on his puffed-out chest with his fists.
“I can’t believe it! How do you do it? What do you call it?”
“I do it just by concentrating, basically. I’ve always had this fascination with birds, and one day when I was twelve years old I was sitting in a fig tree, staring at this beautiful nighthawk on a branch above me, when suddenly I was . . . inside its mind. I saw through its eyes, like we just did with the harpy eagle. Only it shocked me so much I fell out of the tree and landed on my head. Fortunately, my head has the consistency of a rock, so I wasn’t hurt.” He laughed, helping Jacqueline to her feet. “I ran back into the colony screaming, ‘Hawk! Hawk!’ because I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and from then on everyone started calling me Hawk. After that, I learned to control it in secret, experimenting with every kind of bird. There isn’t a name for it, or at least if there is I don’t know it. There hasn’t ever been another one who could do it in the tribe’s history.”
“In secret? Why?”
He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “Because I hate politics, that’s why. If word got out that I had this unusual Gift, I’d be expected to challenge the Alpha for his position at the top of the food chain. It’s bad enough I have to live this restricted life . . . I could never be in charge of forcing everyone else to. And that’s what being an Alpha’s all about. They put the ‘dick’ in dictator.”
She studied his face for a moment, her big blue eyes shining with something like pride. “Melder,” she pronounced. “That’s what you should call it. You’re a Melder.”
“Melder.” He tried it out, unsure.
“A Mind Melder! Yes!” She clapped and hopped in place, gleeful as a child on holiday. “Can you only do it with birds? What about other animals? What about with—” She broke off.
“What is it?”
“Does . . . does this mean you can get inside my mind?”
Strange, but she looked almost hopeful. He drew her into the circle of his arms and rested his chin atop her head. “No. I’ve tried it with different animals, and people, too, but I only have the connection with birds. Though I admit being able to read your mind is something I’d love to be able to do.”
She tilted her head up and gazed at him, eyes wide. “You can ask me anything, Hawk,” she said softly. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
