Primitive Nights (27 page)

With a ragged moan, he pressed her into the cot, holding on to her as pleasure seared through his belly and ran like liquid heat through his loins. His body moved of its own accord, taking, giving. He braced her head with his hands and kissed her swollen lips. “Let us find peace together.”

She nodded, arching into him with her release. Waves of intense gratification crashed into him, and he waited, held on the very edge of ecstasy until she clamped around him and her cry took him over with her.

Myla settled on top of him, crossing her arms over his chest to rest her chin on her hands. She didn’t want to move. “When do you want to leave?”

It was difficult, but she kept her voice even. Making love to him had been amazing, and now in the aftermath, she didn’t want to think about the world outside. But if what he’d told her was true, and the elders had agreed to accept her help, she wasn’t about to let them change their minds. Even if that meant cutting their time shorter than what she would have liked. The sooner she could send medical aid and humanitarian workers back to the tribe the better.

Damon shifted beneath her to pillow his head with an arm. “When you are ready.”

She pressed her cheek against his chest. Would she ever be ready? “Tomorrow will be soon enough. Tonight, I need to be with you. Although I am happy the elders have agreed, I have to admit, I am not ready to say goodbye.”

“Then do not.”

She looked up at the dark green eyes that stared back with intensity. “I—have to.”

“No.” He traced a finger over her lip. “You can stay if you choose.”

Her heart leapt at the thought. Did it truly matter where she lived so long as she was with him? The depth of what she felt for him made anything seem possible. If she stayed, would she be happy to live this way? Would time turn her bitter for the world she left behind like it had for his mother?

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. What was she thinking? Barely more than two weeks and she was considering leaving everything behind to live in the jungle. The impact of her thoughts spilled over, racing through her body. She needed to get a hold of herself. Her life was elsewhere. And his was here.

Asking him to leave, to enter her way of life was out of the question as well. He was too much a part of this jungle. His spirit would be squashed by the cruelty outside his tribe. There would be no freedom like he lived now, stifled inside the confines of a home, with noise polluting his every moment.

No, she had to stop dreaming. There was only now, and when his tribe was safe, their time would be done.

His hands moved slowly down her back. The press of his sex shifted beneath her belly and he pulled her up to meet his kiss, entering her with a low moan. Her body warmed instantly, accepting him even as her heart broke.

“If my love is not strong enough to follow you wherever you go, then it is not worth having. You only have to love me in return and we will find a way.” The rumble of his words moved through her chest.

Tears broke free. It was impossible to contain them in the face of his admission. She framed his face, pressing light kisses across his brow as he moved within her. She matched his gentle lovemaking, savoring the time they had left, her tears wetting his cheeks. “I do, Damon. But our lives are too different.”

“And yet you have learned to live among us.”

She kissed him, reveling in his scent and the taste of his lips. She had learned, but it wasn’t easy. Increasing the pace of their joining, she moved her lips over his jaw, shaking her head with a silent denial. She couldn’t continue to live this way, with danger as their constant companion.

He rolled her to her back, pressing deep until he filled her, the pleasure of his body joined with hers, taking her breath away. His lips brushed hers slowly with exquisite skill, showing her the depth of his desire as he moved over her. “Do not think on it now,
alogu
. It is not the time to say goodbye. You belong with me. I will prove this to you.”

He would try, she didn’t doubt it. She also knew, even if he believed it now, he would come to realize he couldn’t live in her world. But this was not the time to convince him. He would see it for himself when they left. Until then…her tears came harder.

Chapter Nineteen

A sleek river otter slipped under and around the two canoes bobbing at the bank of the river. Tiny droplets of water glistened off the whiskers protruding from the side of its rounded muzzle. Each time the animal shook its head, a spray of water arced through the early morning rays of sunlight.

The otter’s playful antics drew Myla’s attention, and she welcomed the distraction. Though it couldn’t completely take her mind from the sadness that enveloped the small gathering around her, it gave her a momentary reprieve. Damon’s hand at her hip helped as well, but the desperate faces of what was left of his tribe would remain forged in her memory.

They looked at her with hope—with trust. Her courage faltered beneath the burden.

“Myla?”

Damon’s voice made her return her attention to the people around her. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?” She tried to smile reassuringly, but the concern in his eyes told her the attempt failed.

“Cuklho wishes to give you something.”

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she turned to face the young woman. Her soft brown eyes were brilliant in the morning light. “How is your father, Cuklho?”

The young woman came forward. “No sick. He cannot come. Very—weak.” She glanced at Michelle, standing on Damon’s right and continued haltingly, “You good—
jimbaca
—healer. I wish give thank you.”

Myla smiled. “Very good, Cuklho. You are speaking my language better every day.”

Cuklho handed her a small pouch. “Take.”

Myla slipped the small knot at the top free. A wonderful floral scent drifted from the opening. She recognized it instantly. The same aroma of the cream Damon had used on her hair the night before filled her senses. It brought with it the memory of their lovemaking, and she couldn’t help glancing over at him.

Those dark eyes moved over her body in an intimate, knowing way. She turned back to Cuklho to hide the heat flushing her cheeks. “Thank you. The scent is amazing.”

The young woman rambled off a string of words. As usual, Myla had no idea what had been said and she stood uncertainly, hoping Michelle or Damon would translate.

“She said she makes this gift from the
bochinii
flower, which will bloom for our tribe alone. You will never find this scent when you return home, so Cuklho says you must come back for more when you can.”

Her throat tightened with the sadness that enveloped her. “Thank you, Cuklho. I will—try.”

Damon placed a hand at the small of her back and somehow, the simple touch caused her heart to break. “You are sad. Come. There is a legend. I will tell you as we travel the river.”

Michelle stepped forward. “We should go, Myla.”

Myla looked around at the hopeful faces before her. Many of which had looked at her with disdain, fear, anger and any number of emotions a few short days ago. She saw none of that now. She was welcome, was considered one of them. And she had to leave.

She memorized their faces, knowing that once they settled on the protected land the government had granted E.I. to utilize, the tribe would disappear into the wilderness. It was possible she would never see any of them again.

With the weight of responsibility heavy on her mind, she let Damon guide her to the canoes. By the time she settled in the canoe the tears she’d tried to hold started falling. She waved to the men and women standing along the shore as Damon steered them out into the river.

“Do not cry, Myla.” She turned to find Michelle and Seiret’s canoe gliding next to hers across the glistening water. Michelle smiled through her own tears as she continued, “There is sadness in every parting, but more often than not, the reasons are for the best.”

Myla nodded, unable to speak through the lump in her throat. It took several long moments before she could manage a word. “Do you plan to return with Damon?”

Michelle looked around. “I have yet to decide.” Running her hands through her hair to knot it at the back of her neck, she smiled. “I haven’t been home in thirty-eight years. So much time away. My family has long since forgotten me.”

“They haven’t forgotten, but long ago I’m certain they mourned your death. I lost someone to this wilderness, and it took me some time before I believed he was gone.”

“I think the woman they knew is dead.” She shrugged. Then her thin shoulders slumped. “I never thought I would return. And after so many years, I’m not sure I want to. The world we came from must have changed since last I saw it.”

“Yes, I imagine it has.”

They fell into an easy silence. A slight breeze blew across the water, setting the tall grass along the banks to swaying. Damon and Seiret talked quietly amongst themselves from the rear of the canoes. Trills and squawks issued down from the treetops as they passed. The canoes sliced through the water with gentle grace, sending ripples out toward the shore.

Pungent hibiscus and beautiful orchids decorated the shoreline in a colorful array. Myla inhaled, closing her eyes as the aroma overpowered her senses. She would never smell those flowers again without the memory of Damon and his tribe.

“It was said, more than a thousand years ago, our ancestors filled the land. We lived as one.”

Leaning back against the side of the canoe, she let Damon’s deep voice drift over her.

“All the creatures of the jungle were bountiful, the trees drooping to the ground with the weight of their fruits. We thrived for that period in time. But there was darkness in a young man. A man that would grow greedy to be leader of such a great nation of people.”

No one spoke as he told his story. Even the land around them quieted as if entranced by his words.

“This man caused much discord between our people until years of dispute split our tribe. Close to half followed the man, Linjdil Hounta, while the others remained with Ganuk Maglayo.”

The rift between the tribes. She was shocked. Had the discord truly gone on for a thousand years? She didn’t dare to ask for fear he would stop telling the story.

“But Simbacla, the daughter of Ganuk, was a smart woman. She became strong, learned to fight as warriors do, and she understood what it meant to be a leader. All the tribe respected her, not because she was Ganuk’s only child, but because of her kindness, her strength. There was nothing Ganuk would not do for his daughter, and when she asked to hunt with the men, he agreed.

“One night while out on a hunt, Simbacla was bitten by a snake. She stumbled through the jungle in search of her tribesmen. After some time, she stopped, unable to go farther. Then a young man—a warrior she did not know, came through the trees.”

Myla stared at Damon. “Who was he?”

Damon smiled. “Patience, Myla.” He stroked the paddle through the water as he continued. “The young man, Gorhet, thought she was a vision, her beauty incomparable. He knelt at her side as she whispered her name and told him of the poison racing through her body. Gorhet was the son of Hounta, and realizing the daughter of his enemy lay at his feet, he raised his spear to make his father proud.”

She couldn’t breathe. Surely the Hounta man hadn’t killed her.

“Something in her eyes stopped him. He found it impossible to kill her. Dropping his spear, he cared for her, staying long into the night and over the next day as the poison racked her body but not her mind. They spoke to each other, of the battle between their tribes, of the dreams they held for the future. Simbacla’s kindness won over the hatred Gorhet’s father had bred in his heart, and for the first time, he knew what it felt like to experience kindness.

“Finally on the third day, he knew she would live. But it was too late for him to walk away, to return to his tribe. Love had blossomed between them, and they could not abide the thought of being apart, even if they knew their tribes would never accept them.”

Myla sighed. She could see the lovers in her mind. A Romeo and Juliet of the jungle. Pulling her feet closer, she rested her chin on her knees and listened.

“So they met for months in a secret grove at the border of their lands. Here they loved and talked, the animals and jungle around them secluding them from the eyes of their tribes. And when they let that love bring them together, a child was conceived.”

Myla sensed the darkness taking over the legend.

“When the child within her womb became too large for Simbacla to hide, she went to her father. Ever kind, Ganuk calmed her fears and gathered his closest advisors. It was to be the first meeting of the elder council. There were heated words shared, but in the end, the decision to welcome the young man into their tribe was reached.

“Gorhet was overjoyed and begged his father to meet with Ganuk. To his surprise, his father agreed. Gorhet and Simbacla led their tribes to the grove where they had first met. At first all seemed well, but Simbacla was the first to notice the silence of the jungle. When Linjdil Hounta’s men rushed into the grove, attacking Simbacla’s father, the great Maglayo, he was killed. Then Simbacla was slain at Gorhet’s feet by his own father.”