Primitive Nights (2 page)

He ignored the tribespeople before him and raised his gaze to meet hers across the fire. Dark brows furrowed, and she reached down to run her hand over the hidden knife. The muscles of his defined chest tightened, his fingers flexed at his side.

When he mumbled something in his native tongue, another man walked over, gesticulating wildly. Of a much smaller stature, this man spoke in a guttural language she couldn’t begin to understand, pointing to the sky before he brought his hands down in a sharp movement. The leader listened intently and ran a hand over his chest. He fingered the beads, his eyes still fixed on her.

Mixed emotions tumbled through her mind. She’d spent almost two years trying to protect tribes like this one, and the incredible moment in their presence was impossible to ignore. And yet, her very existence hinged on these people’s choices. Sweat beaded her lip, and despite the heat, she shivered. Certainly her predicament warranted confusion. She stood in the presence of a great leader. Maybe one of the last of his kind. One who could very well make her his last act of defiance toward the outside world.

His was one of the last surviving un-contacted tribes left in the rainforest. Their way of life depended on her and the others who wished to help them. Decimated over the years by the oil companies and illegal loggers, his people would continue to die from encroachment and exposure to disease brought by intruders. The Peruvian government did little to protect them or their land, and now, all her hard work, the hours spent fighting for change, researching, proving to any who would listen that they were a viable race of people—was for naught.

An eerie silence broke into her thoughts and she snapped her attention back to the present. The smaller man had stopped talking. Numerous curious eyes shifted between her and their leader. Each shattered breath rushed from her lungs, tension gripping at her shoulders. This might be her only opportunity. If she could control him, there might be hope.

If
the knife would even faze this man.

Used to the brutal elements and wars with neighboring tribes, he might not fear her or her weapon. But she would have to take the chance.

He closed the distance, standing too near, his gaze roaming over her body. His words were an indistinct whisper, rich with curiosity as he fingered her clothing, her hair, her skin. Resisting the urge to slap his hands away, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. His scent filled her lungs. Male, earthy, but not unpleasant at all.

She opened her eyes a fraction, following his every move from beneath her lashes. He studied her, shifting to take in every detail. Fear had her matching his movements, a slow dance that kept him in her line of vision. The firelight touched his features as they turned. Slow, steady breaths moved his chest, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. His skin was a dark, golden brown, the olive-green paint marks on his forehead much lighter than the deep green of his eyes. She studied the high arch of his cheekbones, the rigid line of his jaw. He had a strong, smooth chin, and she had to admit, he was handsome. Attractive in a rugged, untamed way. An entirely feral wa—

Wait! That wasn’t right. She met his gaze.

Green? A Peruvian tribesman with green eyes? The man next to her pushed her head down and she struggled to look up. The leader said something in their native tongue, and the hand holding her disappeared.

Tentatively, she raised her head. The man’s hard stare bored into her. Green? That was impossible.
Wasn’t it?
It seemed unlikely he came from mixed ethnicity. She hadn’t noticed a significant difference in his skin coloring compared to the others, though the odd shifts of the firelight could hide anything.

She’d never get an answer to anything if he killed her. The inability to communicate could never be as profound as it was in that moment. Raising her hands in what she hoped resembled supplication, she whispered, “I mean no harm.”

He grunted and leaned closer, inhaling deeply.
Was he actually smelling her?
A sudden urge to laugh took hold. What the hell was the matter with her? She’d cracked. John had been right, after all. She wasn’t cut out for this. She never should have come to Peru.

He’d warned her she wasn’t the type to go wandering through jungles. She’d thought her work so far had proven his theory wrong. Evidently not. At least not outside her normal safety zone. Now that actual danger presented itself, her mind couldn’t function. Another giggle threatened, and this time she couldn’t quite contain the impulse. Being smelled was too much.

The sudden rigidity of his body broke the language barrier. He didn’t like her laughter. Every muscle tightened with tension. Sweat shimmered on his skin, each breath harsh.

Not quite daring to look at him, she kept her gaze low. The bright beads draped over the expanse of his chest and taut nipples contrasted with his skin. Every ridge of his abdomen sliced downward to the thick strap of his sarong and…

She closed her eyes, shocked at the sight of his semi-hardened penis, the impressive length not completely concealed by its meager covering. The urge to laugh returned, and she licked her dry lips.

Hadn’t she had this dream before in her loneliest hours? Minus the danger of death and the tribal members looking on? A mysterious, handsome jungle man sweeping her off her feet. Carrying her away to his hut to make love to her in wild, hot passion. Her very own Tarzan.

If she guessed correctly, he might have the same thoughts. It seemed whatever emotions he felt at the moment, about her, excited him, and her heart drummed up another notch. It crashed against her ribs a moment later as she realized her death might be what excited him. Turning her head away, she focused her eyes on the ground, trying desperately to calm the erratic beat of her heart.

She jolted when his hand closed around her hair, tugging the elastic band free. He tossed it away before pulling his fingers through the ends to untangle the thick braid. Lifting the strands, he inhaled deep and brushed the tips over his mouth and cheek.

Before she realized what he was doing, he sliced off a couple inches with a knife and handed it to the man who had held her. He in turn, walked to the fire. Holding it up, he sang out to the others.

A cacophony of sound erupted around them. The whoops and guttural yells of the tribespeople awakened the jungle. Birds squawked and fluttered from their roosts. Angry yips and snarls issued from the dark, and the baleful cry of an unknown creature stretched out on the wind. The man holding her hair tied it to a decorated wooden staff. He waved the staff over the fire and the strands went up in flames. Another round of celebratory noise filled the air.

Tarzan-man hadn’t bothered to witness the burning. His lips parted in a smug smile, and at his nod, two men came forward. They grabbed her arms, digging into her skin as they held her, easily overcoming her struggles. She lashed out, kicking and screaming until the leader grabbed her neck. His hand moved down over her breasts, tucking into her shirt. One sharp tug parted the fabric to expose her chest and stomach.

Panic overwhelmed her in a dizzy swirl. She couldn’t recall a single time Tarzan had raped Jane, and all of her depraved humor fled. Primal instinct took over. She struggled, straining until the muscles of her arms burned with exertion. The men were too strong. She cursed and kicked wildly, landing several blows before the leader stepped closer. His eyes held hers and the slight shake of his head gave clear warning.

Each breath raked through her lungs, and she forced herself to remain still. Her mind wrapped around the image of fighting in vain as she was subjected to repeated rapes. It flashed to the natives burning her alive. Then to other horrendous deaths. Each vision was followed by another. She clenched her teeth and fists, forcing the images from her subconscious.

With an almost imperceptible nod from the leader, the men relaxed their hold on her arms and stepped away. An elderly woman approached, carrying two bowls. Patches of long, gray hair swept the severely wrinkled planes of her face. She kept her head lowered and offered the first bowl to the leader with gnarled fingers.

He brought the bowl to his mouth and drank. Then, he held it up to Myla’s mouth. Cool water dribbled over her lips and she opened, drinking deep. The water disappeared too quickly and she licked her lips, only realizing how thirsty she’d been.

He handed the bowl back and dipped his fingers into the second one. Chanting in a soothing rhythm, he brought his hand to her forehead. Dark crimson stained his fingers, and with a gentleness she hadn’t expected, he pressed two fingertips to her skin. Slow movements drew down over her right eye and lower to her cheek.

Her vision blurred and warmth spread through her belly. She closed her eyes as a languid sensation flooded her entire body. When she opened them again, she felt disjointed, disconnected and sensitized. The slight breeze caressed her skin with incredible strength. Each muffled sound increased and ebbed. Firelight played tricks with the surroundings, creating odd colors and ribbons of rays that danced before her eyes.

She met Tarzan-man’s gaze, entranced by his slow, confident smile. Had his lips been so enticing a moment ago? Full and damp, slightly parted? Dazed and unable to understand the sudden sense of calm, she shook her head to clear the fog. He returned to the bowl and this time, he traced his fingers over her breast, at the edge of her bra where her heart beat with violent punches. He had to feel it.

Then he placed his thumb over her navel and rotated his fingers across her lower belly, brushing the top of her pants to draw a half circle on her skin. He stepped closer, his voice a low, indistinct chant.

She tore her gaze from his and tried to ignore the heavy draw of his body. The need to back away warred with an insane want to press closer. She couldn’t shake the powerful allure that drew her to him. The way his shoulders glistened in the firelight, smooth and taut. The urge to reach out and touch him burgeoned in her mind.

Shaking the thought away, she returned her gaze to his mesmerizing stare.

His eyes never left hers as the sound of the tribe reached a crescendo. Whatever spell his gaze had wrought eased. He raised his hand, and to her utter horror, the men of the tribe started to come forward.

Lost in her stupid imaginings, she’d almost forgotten the danger around her. Now, it looked as if she might pay the price. The strange behavior of the men coupled with the torching of her hair did not bode well. This was it. She shook her head again, noticing the slight daze reflected in his pupils. The water! He’d laced it with something. He’d drugged her!

Fury crashed through the drug’s effects—somewhat—and she jerked back. His gaze followed her movements when she reached into her pocket and pulled her knife free. Wrapping both hands around the handle, she pressed the tip against his chest directly over his heart. “No!”

Silence surrounded them. The other men stopped where they stood. Tarzan-man barely glanced at the knife pressed to his skin. No telling signs of fear, no attempts to move. Then by slow degrees, he lifted his head until their eyes locked.

Anger. Absolute fury laced his icy glare. Her entire body trembled, and she knew her legs would give out at any moment. She pressed the knife closer until it made an indention in his skin. “Please, don’t hurt me. I’m here to help.”

With stunning speed, he grabbed her wrist. He twisted until her fingers burned, keeping the pressure firm as he tipped the knife back. The blade dropped from her numb hand to land harmlessly on the jungle floor.

He didn’t release her wrist. Instead, he dragged her close. His other hand wrapped around the end of her hair, tugging her head back. She had no choice. She had to look at him.

“That was unintelligent, woman.”

“I had to try someth—” Her breath caught in stunned silence.

His English was…nearly perfect.

Chapter Three

Damon groaned. Time would be his enemy. The white woman’s presence meant trouble. More intruders were sure to follow, and that he could not accept. He had to protect his tribe.

He took her momentary shock as the opening he needed. Grabbing her around the legs, he tossed her over his shoulder. The intention was not to knock the wind from her, but he had expected her to weigh more than a spider monkey. She dangled over his back, seemingly stunned. With a quick nod to the others, he grabbed a pillar torch before walking toward the dark jungle.

The marking ceremony would keep her safe until he could figure out what to do with her. But with unrest among his people and the reign of outsiders closing in on their land, his tribe no longer lived in peace. The presence of an outsider, no matter the gender, could undermine his authority even more.

The fact that he had given her his protection before his people would cause enough discord. He had not missed the shared glances of several of the tribe’s more violent faction. Already they questioned his decisions in council, spoke more freely than ever before to the elders. This woman’s appearance, and his subsequent protection, would be brought before the elders as well. No matter. He could not agree to kill a woman. Outsider, enemy, or not.

Of course, she need not know that.

Questions warped his mind. Making his way through the trees, he paced out his burdened thoughts. How was it possible that another woman could stumble into their existence? Had not this very thing happened years before? If not for that strange occurrence, he would not exist. Would this woman be similar to the one before her? Dropped into their world, where she might never be free to leave?