The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,40

blurred, and—Flash!—a falcon rolled in midair where Sara had been. The bird soared outward over the water.

Ian sat back with his mouth hanging open. “Sweet mother of Jesus.” The echo of his racing heartbeat pounded through his body.

A long, sharp cry rang out overhead. He looked up. Horus folded his wings and plummeted through the air. Oh, God, he’s attacking her. Unable to look away, he watched as the other falcon—Sara—wheeled to fend off the assault. She gave a cry of her own and spun sideways.

Horus flashed by and climbed higher, only to round on her again. Ian closed his eyes, expecting Horus to knock her from the air the same way he hunted his food. Two hundred miles an hour, he thought, picturing the male’s next attack. She’d never stand the strike.

He heard another series of calls from both of them, and opened his eyes. The birds reeled around one another, soaring past and circling back to do it again. It looked like...

Dancing.

Stunned, he watched them spin and plunge in an aerial ballet. He almost lost track of Sara in their dizzying whirl.

Then they separated. Horus rose into the air and went back to circling. Sara, the larger falcon, swept across the sky toward the cliff.

She sailed closer, dropping her tail and tilting her wings when she reached him. He stood up, remembering at the last minute to raise his gloved hand. She landed on it with a drawn-out chirrup that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Air from her flapping wings gusted against his face. He stared into her large, vivid-green eyes in wonder.

She was beautiful.

Awestruck, he held out his left hand. She gave the chirping sound again and swept her wing against his hand. The springy-soft primaries brushed through his fingers.

She leapt from his hand and fluttered to the ground. The light flashed again, and the next thing he knew, Sara stood beaming in the bird’s place. She launched herself at him and threw her arms around his neck. “I did it! He talked to me! Why did I never try that before?” She giggled and kissed him on the cheek.

Ian’s heart squeezed, and something inside him snapped. Unable to stop himself, he swung her in a circle. He set her down, but couldn’t make himself let go of her.

Still laughing, she pushed her hair back. “It was only in the most basic sense, but we communicated. At first, he was angry that I was in his territory. Then he must have thought I was just a female falcon, like you said—”

Ian felt his smile falter.

“—but I think he realized I was different, so he backed away.” Her face fell. “He’s lonely.”

“Lonely?” Ian echoed, still racing to absorb the weight of what was going on inside him. He ached.

A frown crossed her features. “Before I came back, he called out. It wasn’t so much that I understood the sound, but I had this feeling—isolation. I’ve known that feeling since I was ten years old.”

The sorrow shadowing her expression pulled at him in a way he’d never felt before. He couldn’t stand to see it. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her, very gently. “You’re not alone, Sara.”

She smiled at him with a brilliance that squeezed his heart all over again. “Thanks.”

Chapter Eight

A day later, James Lambertson arrived with more crew. Sara and her sister had been working three hours already when Alan Flintrop appeared at the site. Sara, standing at the edge of the dig trench, saw him first. With everything else going on at the site, she’d forgotten about Flintrop and his history of project-stealing.

Well, if he thought he’d be stealing this one, he had a rude awakening coming to him. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, not bothering to keep the venom out of her voice.

Faith’s head popped up over the edge of the trench. “I knew it,” she hissed.

Flintrop came to a halt when he reached them, looking regal and golden-haired like a lion holding court over his pride. He peered at them over the top of his sunglasses. “Good morning to you, too, ladies.”

Sara vibrated with resentment. Don’t call me “lady,” you pompous jerk. At thirty-five, Flintrop wasn’t much more of a veteran than she or Faith, but he had the advantage of learning archaeology at the knees of his father and grandfather. The Flintrop family profession had earned him worldwide respect and admiration. She hated him for it.

“It’s ‘Doctor’ to you, bucko,” Faith muttered from the trench. Her sister jammed her