Primitive Nights (4 page)

He squatted to run his hand over one of her footprints. The bottoms of her shoes left indelible marks, impossible to miss. The next print deepened, telling him she lingered longer with each step. She tired. A slight shift on her right side spoke of a limp. Glancing up at the filtered moonlight, he ran his hand over the side of the tree. She headed west, nearing the falls.

He stood, shaking his head. She would get herself killed, and though he admitted to being intrigued, he had a mind to let her do so. It would solve the problems she would almost assuredly create. Every muscle in his neck tightened with tension, and he tipped his head from side to side to alleviate some of the strain. The movement gained him little relief so he took a deep breath. He needed calm.

The thought made him laugh. Not likely, with this woman around. She would be a challenge. Not to find, but to tame.

He had sensed her spirit. A passion buried under her odd exterior. Her clothing, especially the thin material that had covered her breasts, enticed his curiosity. Though he could not define it as attractive, it caught his interest.

Her skin too. So soft under his fingers. He had never seen, let alone touched such smooth, pale skin. The beauty of her hair drew him as well, infused with a scent he could not identify. It had trailed through his fingers like water, the light strands seemingly impossible to catch.

Everything about her drew him. If he did not find her soon, she would not survive for him to learn why.

He had to stop her before that happened. If not for his own curiosity and conscience, then for his mother. The thought of her disappointment spurred him on. Mother would be very upset if he let anything happen to the woman. A woman so like herself.

Perhaps upset was too simple a word. If anything happened to the stranger, he would never find peace from his mother’s anger, and he was certain she had been told of the white woman’s presence by now.

With renewed purpose, he sprinted through the trees, closing the distance on his prey. One thing stood certain, she would pay for attacking him before he took her to his mother. A smile broke free when he considered how exactly he would make her pay. He had liked the way her mouth rounded with shock when he explained the dangers of his homeland.

The light flash of her shirt ahead brought a real smile. This might be fun. He called out. “Woman, stop!”

Myla stumbled when his voice reached out through the inky darkness. Shit! This was not going well at all. She was in excellent shape, ran five miles every day, and yet her lungs were on fire. And somehow the dreadful man had managed to catch up. True, she’d probably only gained a few minutes of freedom with her attack, but still…

Her legs ached, and the stinging sensation that traveled up from the wound on her calf worried her. She had no idea if a branch or thorn had caused the injury, but it seemed the farther she went, the more it swelled and ached. The urge to stop and surrender almost took over, but she pulled on every ounce of strength she had left and pushed forward.

Relief flooded her tired body when a clearing came into view. Nothing more than a slight break in the trees, but beyond it, the land opened up to a valley where the moonlight wasn’t blocked by the canopy. Her leg refused to cooperate, and she used the stick like a crutch to make it to the opening. Shaking her head, she realized it wasn’t only the dark interior of the canopy that had made it difficult to see. Her eyes blurred at the same moment her head began to spin and she dropped to her knees, retching.

Her meager strength dissipated, and the fire in her lungs raged out of control. She toppled forward, unable to move her arms to stop the motion. When her cheek slammed into the hard ground, she groaned. Sweat ran down her neck in a slow trickle, but she shivered, racked by the sudden tightening in her muscles. Another groan forced free from her lips and she closed her eyes.

“Are you finished with this foolishness?”

She opened her eyes. Tarzan-man stood over her, his frame outlined by the moonlight. No use fighting him now. Her body refused to move from its fetal position anyway. She nodded, and that slow movement created an abominable ache in the back of her skull.

“Good.”

His hand closed around her arm and he jerked her upward. Every portion of her body revolted and she couldn’t stifle an agonized scream. “Please. Don’t. It hurts.”

With a gentleness she hadn’t expected, he laid her back down. Through blurry eyes she saw him drop to the ground next to her. “What is wrong?”

Clenching her teeth to ease the chattering, she gritted out. “I hurt my leg.”

His hands moved down each leg and when his fingers brushed over the wound at her calf, she cried out. Her pant leg rent under his strength. His hand smoothed over her forehead, his touch again surprisingly gentle as he brushed her hair back from her face. “Foolish,
alogu
. You have been bitten.”

Stars burst at the corners of her eyes, and the deafening roar in her ears muffled his words. “By—what? The spider thing?”

His chuckle alleviated some of her fear. If he could laugh, perhaps she wasn’t as near to death as it felt.

“No. But you must let me help you.” His arms shifted under her legs and neck to lift her from the ground. The movement hurt, but she clamped her mouth shut to stifle her cry. “A snake has unleashed its poison inside of you. It spreads slowly, but when you ran it moved faster through your blood. You will die without help.”

He was going to save her? She’d invaded his world, threatened him with a knife, kicked him, well, somewhere he probably didn’t like, and now he was going to help. If she did survive, she would owe him. The thought didn’t sit well. “What is your name?”

His chest rumbled against her in what could have been a laugh. “I am called Damon by my mother and Maglayo by my tribe.”

She nodded. Somehow Damon fit. “It is—nice to meet—you, Damon. I’m Myla.” She didn’t try to repeat his tribal name after botching her other attempts at his language. Besides, she wanted to enjoy the languid numbness stealing over her body.

“Myla. An odd name.”

An invisible band tightened on her lungs and blackness beckoned her into its folds. Each breath became more difficult, but she didn’t have the strength to panic. The gentle rocking movements as he walked gave her comfort. She closed her eyes and let the scent of his body seep into her fuzzy subconscious. “You won’t—let me die will—you? You’ll—help me?”

He pressed her head closer to his heart. Foolish it might be, but she’d take that as a yes.

Chapter Four

“Mother!” Damon took the last few steps toward the hut on weak legs. With a deep breath, he hollered again. “Mother, come here.”

Her soft voice called back. “Coming, coming.”

A moment later, she poked her head through the palm fronds covering the opening to her hut. Strands of white hair stuck in the frond blades and she turned around to back awkwardly away from the door, pulling the hair free. A difficult task since she also held a torch. When she finally righted herself and twirled around, her eyes shifted to the woman draped over his arms. “It is true then?”

Damon nodded, resisting the urge to drop to his knees. “Apparently. Where can I put her? She’s been bitten.
Gohilo
snake, I assume, by her symptoms.”

“Inside.” With a wave toward her hut, she mumbled under her breath and disappeared inside.

Following behind, he placed Myla gently on the cot. She looked so pale, so fragile. He dropped down next to her and brushed the hair back from her face. “Can you help her?”

The rattle of bowls came from the other corner of the hut. “I will try.”

He waited until he saw the staggered rise and fall of her chest before glancing at his mother. The uncertainty in her voice did little to reassure. “I brought her as quickly as I could. But it has been longer than I would have hoped.”

“How long?”

“Near forty minutes by the moon.”

“Not overly long then.” With a slight shrug of her shoulders, she scuttled over to the cot, holding several bowls, three leather pouches and a large water skin that bulged at the seams. “You shouldn’t have let her get bitten in the first place.”

Let her get bitten? He dropped his head against the corner of the cot. If there was a word to describe Michelle Hanson,
enigma
would do. One could never expect what she would say or do. His entire life would pass trying to understand her, and love her as he did, there were times he wished to strangle her. “I did not intend for it to happen. She is stubborn and ran off alone.”

She placed several roots and leaves in one of the bowls. Aloe, onion root maybe? She crushed them into a pasty substance with the flat end of a grinding stone, her smile way too smug for his liking. “Are you saying, dear son, that she managed to get away from you?”

“Yes, Mother.”

With a not-so-subtle chuckle, she focused on her task. He ignored her attempt to bait him and settled against the hut wall as she worked. Several more ingredients were added to the mixture before she poured water into the bowl. She took a large heap of the greenish-brown goop on her fingers and moved closer to the cot. “How?”

Startled by the question, he watched her gnarled fingers spread the paste over Myla’s palms. “I—really do not know. The snake must have bitten her while she was—”

“Not how she was bitten, foolish boy. How did she get away from you?” Her eyes searched his for a moment, then she turned to look at Myla. After spreading a thin layer of the paste over Myla’s lips, she moved farther down the cot and applied it directly to the swollen bite mark.

He cleared his throat. “She caught me—unprepared.”

A second, more obvious chuckle issued. “Really?” Her gaze roamed over him, settling low on his body. “And you will not tell me?”

“That is not the concern for the moment.”

“You can be assured I will ask her the moment she awakes.”

“Yes, Mother. I am certain you will.” He stood and brushed the dirt from his knees. “Will she live?”

“We will know soon.” Her weathered hand moved aside the torn remains of Myla’s shirt. She traced the faint lines left on her face, over her heart and finally across her belly. Then she looked up. “You have marked her as your own.”

It was not a question. “I thought to keep her safe.”

She rose on unsteady legs. After tucking her hair behind her ears, she crossed her arms over her chest. Green eyes stared up at him. “You wish to protect this woman though she wears the symbol of our enemy?”

“You do not agree with my decision?”

“Of course not.” Her voice cracked. “InterCorp’s men have caused more death than any other threat that came before them. Do you not think others will follow? They will look for her.”

“They will come whether she is here or not.” Frustrated at her adept understanding of the situation, and more, by her attempt to question his choice, he lashed out. “I am not such a fool.”

“Do not raise your voice to me. Yes, they will come, but that is why we will continue to fight.” She moved away, pacing now. “There is no reason to keep her here. You may have brought their wrath upon us tenfold if they find out she is our prisoner.”

“Then that is as it will be.” He walked over, and waved a hand down at Myla’s sleeping form. “What would you have me do? Leave her to die?”

She whipped around, her eyes hard. “Better her than us.”

Her words shocked him. He had never known her to be cruel. “She says she wants to help us.”

With a loud scoff, she walked over to look down at her patient. “What else did you expect her to say? Did you really think she would tell you the truth? Or has the sight of a woman so similar to half of yourself rattled you so much you would listen to her every lie? Enough that you made a choice to believe her, I’d say.”

“You go too far, Mother.” Anger burned in his chest, and he clenched his hands into fists. He kept his voice even, refusing to display his anger with her insubordination. “I am still
bajluk
. Your leader. You would do well to remember that.”

Though she showed no blatant signs that his statement caused her concern, a slight flush crawled up the pale skin of her neck. Her words were softer when she spoke again. “My apologies, son. I know you will do what you must to protect our people.”

“I will.”

Her gaze remained fixed on Myla. “I would like to know how you bested my son.” Bumping the cot with her knee, she continued, “Come now, I know you hear me, my dear. My medicine works quickly.”

Myla kept her eyes closed tight. Terror raced through every inch of her body. Good Lord, if she thought she’d been afraid of the son, the mother was horrifying, and worse, mad because her son hadn’t killed her. And for some reason, her slight English accent made her sound more severe. Things kept getting worse. There might be a light at the end of her tunnel, though. If what Damon said rang true, he’d believed at least a portion of the truth.

Opening her eyes slowly, she met the angry stare of a very petite, older woman. A
white
woman. With a quick mental tally, Myla counted the weird occurrences since her arrival in the tribe. Too many to count. She tried to scoot herself up on the cot but her palms burned when she grabbed the wooden brace. She wasn’t going to show weakness by crying.