Primitive Nights (18 page)

The words caused more tears, but he couldn’t have seen them. He’d stepped away and walked from the hut before she could say another word. She rushed forward, refusing to stay hidden, silly and pathetic, while he fought for his life.

Two warriors grabbed her arms the moment she emerged from the hut, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out under their harsh grasp. Damon had to stay focused, and if he knew she hadn’t listened, knew she watched, it might throw his concentration.

The men pulled her along, ignoring her silent struggles until they stopped next to a raised platform. The Hounta leader sat there, engulfed by a large wooden chair. His eyes sparkled with excitement. He waved to the men to bring her forward, and she was thrust up the steps to the platform.

The ancient leader held out a gnarled hand to point at the small animal skin next to his feet. She met his gaze, knowing he wanted her to comply. And God, how she wanted to refuse. Bowing to the will of this despicable man didn’t sit well, but concern for Damon made the choice easier to bear, and she knelt on the spot Hounta indicated. He stared at her before waving a hand to one of the men. Drums pounded around them, the platform rumbling beneath her knees.

Then Tinjtol and Damon entered the clearing.

She refused to look at Tinjtol and focused on Damon. His deep bronze skin glistened in the sunlight, drawn taut over the powerful ridges of muscle beneath. The cloth at his hips hugged his trim waist, accentuating the athletic structure of his lean thighs and calves. A thin strip of leather held his hair back from the rugged lines of his face.

He looked the same, and yet completely different.

All gentleness had disappeared. This was Maglayo. Not the gentle lover she’d shared a night of passion with. Not the tempting, enigmatic man who’d shown her the flora and animal life of his beautiful world. This was the primitive tribal leader, thrust into a circumstance beyond his control.

The way he stared, so intent and focused on his brother, made her shiver. He would kill Tinjtol if given the chance. As much as she abhorred violence, she understood the necessity of what was to happen. She didn’t accept it, but she recognized now that Damon and numerous others may have been forced to these measures.

The drums picked up tempo, and he began to move about the circle. Tinjtol matched his movements. The men were graceful, toned, dangerous. The leader grunted and the tribe erupted with animalistic cries.

Myla clasped her hands over her ears. She wanted to close her eyes, wanted to block out the horror around her. But she couldn’t. There was no way she could keep herself from watching. If Damon fell, she would be by his side.

With a steadying breath, she forced herself to straighten. She slashed at the tears still damp on her cheeks and squared her shoulders. He would know she willed him strength. He would understand she was there for him.

The Hounta leader called out, and his words brought both men to rigid attention. She nodded to Damon when he looked her way. “Be careful.”

Damon met Myla’s gaze across the clearing. A halo of sunlight framed her in gold and crimson rays. Her lips parted, moving over words he was too far away to understand. Not that it mattered. Her presence alone gave him strength. She was brave, and her simple gesture of support eased his mind. His heartbeat slowed. His
alogu
watched. His good omen. The woman he did not want to let go.

This would end well; he would have it no other way. When it was done, he would take the days that remained with Myla and teach her what he felt in his heart. His love.

He turned to face Tinjtol. Torches were lit around the clearing, and the acrid scent of smoke filled the space. Forcing his mind to focus, he felt the shift of the hair along his arms as the breeze blew across his skin. Every movement of the air intensified.

His feet sensitized to the grooves and turns of the earth beneath them in preparation for balance. Sound receded, leaving only his heartbeat and the steady rhythm of his breathing. Every muscle tingled in anticipation. The wound at his thigh pulsed dully, reminding him of its weakness.

Then he met the eyes of his enemy.

Tinjtol lunged with his knife held out to the side. Damon waited. As before, he would anger his brother. Make him careless with his rage and use that to defeat him. There would be no question this time. Tinjtol would have to die.

Damon slipped aside before the deadly blade could touch him and laughed. “Come, brother. Victory is only yours if you can take it.”

Tinjtol’s lips turned in a nasty snarl. “I will take it and cut your heart out for my dinner.”

“Come then. No more talk.” Damon waved a hand to taunt him forward.

With a harsh cry, Tinjtol rushed at him, slashing his knife quickly back and forth. Damon tried to deflect the knife’s blade. Several small cuts across his chest and upper arms opened as his brother passed. The sting heightened his awareness.

“You bleed, Maglayo.”

Damon attacked while Tinjtol boasted over his small success. He dropped low and slipped past Tinjtol to slice at the back of his knee. Then he pushed up from the ground and stood again to face him. “Now you bleed as well. Let us finish this quickly.”

Several times Tinjtol faked forward, his lithe movements difficult to track. Damon moved around the clearing with careful precision, shifting his brother’s position until the rays of sun cast over his hard features. Tinjtol’s eyes crinkled slightly at the edges as he squinted against the light and Damon rushed forward the moment he blinked.

Slipping his knife around as he swept past, Damon notched another cut into the back of his other leg. “More?” He backed away, taunting, “Do you want more, brother?”

Tinjtol’s furious yell ricocheted through the jungle, and he spun around to lunge at Damon with violent arcs of the knife. The anger and frustration in his attack made his movements clumsy. He slipped the knife into Damon’s arm as he passed but stumbled before he could gain his footing.

Damon rushed after him, ignoring the pain scorching his arm. The opening he wanted had presented itself. An uneasy pressure squeezed his chest as he pinned his enemy to the ground. The moment of choice weighed heavy.

His brother’s life or Myla’s.

Pressing a knee into Tinjtol’s back, he held the blade of his knife firmly against the ridge under his chin and yanked Tinjtol’s head back hard.

Tinjtol or Myla?

There was no choice. He pressed the blade hard and closed his eyes. A swift end was what he would choose for himself or any warrior. He would give Tinjtol the same.

“Stop! This is not necessary, Father.” A woman’s frantic voice sliced through the silence of the camp. Damon searched his mind. That voice. He knew it.

He glanced at Hounta, but the old man stared past him. “You are well, daughter?”

“I am,” the woman answered.

Damon resisted the urge to turn around. Myla shifted forward and he caught the small smile curving her lips.
“Gahiiti?”

The word left her lips with perfect inflection. Damon sensed the tension easing around them. The woman they had saved stepped into his line of vision and tipped her head in respect to Myla.
“Tolginga gahiiti.”

Then she looked at Hounta. “Father, these are my saviors.” The woman eased up next to Damon. She reached out to place her hand over his and tried to shift the knife away from Tinjtol’s neck. “I do not want Tinjtol or anyone else to die. I wish for Maglayo and his woman to be safe in return for saving me.”

Damon retained his grip on Tinjtol, desperate to calm the instinct that drove him, to control the rage roaring through his body. He looked up, meeting the feral eyes of Hounta. “I want my woman, old man. Your daughter does not want me to take Tinjtol’s life, but you say I must to have what I want.”

With a sneer, Hounta slid his hand through Myla’s hair. “Finish your enemy, Maglayo.”

Damon shook his head. “It is not him who has taken what I want.”

The old man curled his hand tight. Pride welled in Damon when Myla stayed perfectly still, her eyes straight ahead. She refused to show fear. She was beautiful.

Hounta’s daughter approached her father’s dais. “Will you give them this honor?” When he hesitated, she added, “But for them, I would not be here.”

Stale silence filled the encampment.

Hounta’s acquiescence was barely perceptible, but Damon saw the nod.

He released his hold on Tinjtol slowly. After a moment, he glanced at the Hounta woman with a slight bow. “You are well?”

“Thanks to you and your woman.” She reached a hand out to Tinjtol and he stepped before the woman. “It is your brother that has saved me?”

Tinjtol bent down on a knee. “Yes.”

Her sad smile mirrored what Damon already felt. Fighting between tribes wasted energy they could combine to stand against outside enemies.

“You will let him leave, as my father has agreed?”

Tinjtol raised a hand to her. “There will be peace from me.”

The woman smiled at him and pulled him to his feet. “You are a brave warrior.”

“No, I would have killed the man who saved you.”

Shocked by his brother’s admission, Damon remained silent. The emotions on Tinjtol’s features were oddly out of place as he spoke to the Hounta princess. Damon had never witnessed kindness in Tinjtol.

“Because my daughter requests your freedom, I must give it.” Hounta stood, his brows furrowed in anger. “You will have safe passage across our land for this day only. Go.”

Damon moved past the woman and Tinjtol to reach for Myla. She met him as he approached and let him pull her down into his arms. “We are safe because of you. Your refusal to let those men attack her is why we will leave with our lives.”

Myla turned out of his arms and walked over to the Hounta woman. “I owe you my life and the life of the man I—” Myla knew she didn’t understand. She also knew Damon did and broke off.

Had she almost said the man she loved? Did she love him? She pushed the thought aside. That wasn’t possible. Sex was one thing, but love? Shaking her head, she managed to get her thoughts back on track. “Damon, I would like to know her name.”

Damon translated the request. The woman held herself with the bearing of royalty. Her head high, shoulders straight. “Laylika.”

Myla’s throat constricted. “I am Myla.” This was truly happening. “Damon, please tell Laylika that her name is lovely, and she has my deepest gratitude.”

After he told her, Laylika smiled in return and touched the beads around Myla’s neck. She uttered a few words to Damon, and he nodded.

“She says the women have shown what peace can do between enemies and it is a peace she hopes will remain past this day. She also says
you
are welcome on Hounta land, and only need show the beads if you need her.”

“Laylika.” Myla’s voice was stronger now.

“Myla.”

Damon stood quiet and watched. When she turned to him, he brushed her hair back from her face. “You have brought a hope for peace where hatred has existed for hundreds of years. Hounta would not have let us live but for his daughter’s wishes. I am amazed by the gentleness of your spirit.”

He placed an arm around her waist, and she smiled up at him. “We did it together.”

Damon spoke to Hounta. After a moment of conversation, he smiled down at her again. “Hounta agrees with his daughter. We are safe—for now.”

The relief his statement brought changed to fear as Tinjtol approached. The gentle hand Laylika placed on his shoulder stopped him immediately. His eyes still held anger, though the emotion softened when he looked at the other woman.

Damon pulled Myla back and they walked from the Hounta camp without incident. She glanced back several times to be certain they weren’t followed. The moment they were far enough away, she yanked him close and buried her face in his chest.

“I was so scared.” She ran her hands over his back and shoulders, then reached up to touch his face and the smooth warmth of his lips. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“We still have far to go.” The way he held her belied the easy confidence in his words. With another quick hug, he took her hand and they hurried deeper into the jungle.

It was difficult, but Damon managed not to laugh. The way her bottom wiggled as she shimmied a bit higher made it nearly impossible. Actually, it made him want to groan. She hugged her arms around the tree and looked down, her eyes weary. “Like this?”

Damon nodded. Swallowing hard against the thickening in his throat, he forced himself to stop looking at her body. “Now grab the base of the frond. Slide your hand along the shaft until it is next to the tree and pull down hard.”

She reached out slowly to place her hand around the leaf’s sturdy stem. “You’ll catch me if I fall, right?”

“You will not fall. Trust yourself, Myla.”

The deep breath she took and the little nod of her head made him smile. His brave Myla. She pulled on the leaf, and the soft crack of the stem breaking loose echoed in the silence.

A moment later the green foliage drifted to the ground at his feet. He grabbed it before looking up to her beaming smile. “Okay, so maybe that wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. How many do we need?”