Primitive Nights (6 page)

Seiret moved from somewhere in the crowd to stand at Damon’s side. Pulling Myla to her feet, Damon pushed her to his trusted friend. He waited until she looked back. “You will be safe with him. Please go and no matter what, you must follow his guidance.”

To Seiret, he spoke softly in their native tongue. “The woman will die unless I am victorious. Put her in a boat on the river if Tinjtol succeeds. It is her only hope.”

Seiret nodded his understanding and pulled Myla away. The rush of relief her departure caused was fleeting. Tinjtol had to be dealt with.

Damon waited until Seiret and Myla were a good distance away. There was no turning back now. Tinjtol’s disrespect hung blatant.

He did not want this, but Tinjtol had pushed too far. Bonds of responsibility and leadership tightened over his chest as he turned to his brother and spoke so all could hear his words. “Brother Tinjtol no longer respects
Bajluk
Maglayo.”

Tinjtol’s feral smile spoke before the words left his mouth. “Maglayo has never had my respect. He is weak, and I challenge his right as
Bajluk
.”
 

“I will meet Tinjtol in the fire circle.” Damon accepted what he had always know was destined to be. “Prepare the burial ground. Tonight a man will die.”

Chapter Five

Myla sat on the cot.

The man Damon had ordered her to go with sat across from her on the ground, his long, brown legs tucked across one another Indian style. He kept busy by meticulously winding a long strap of paper-thin bark over a stick frame in an intricate weave that formed a holster of sorts. She decided against guessing the weapon it would hold but found his skill impressive.

He glanced up from time to time, offering only a nod or smile. Once, shortly after arriving in the hut they currently occupied, he’d brought her water. Other than that, his obsidian eyes stayed focused on his task.

Myla pulled her legs up on the cot and wrapped her arms around them. Her body ached. Between the crash and the snake bite, she’d have fared better going head-to-head with a truck. Sleep had come easier than she’d expected, and waking up in Michelle’s hut had been a shock.

This hut differed from Michelle’s. Hers had almost seemed like a home; with makeshift curtains, a heavily padded cot and chairs that could have passed for patio furniture.

This hut…this hut belonged to Damon. His scent lingered to mingle with the earthy materials used to construct it. Skins of several different animals littered the dirt floor. Everywhere she turned, unique rocks, gems and artifact-like wooden carvings lay scattered about. Every object in the room intrigued her. So many questions she’d always had about this tribe could be answered in this hut, and by the man who claimed it.

When her eyes landed on two ancient-looking books on a low stool next to the cot, she couldn’t contain her curiosity. The words along the spine had long since faded, making it impossible to decipher the titles, the leather covers cracked and wrinkled with age. She shifted closer and ran her fingertips over the top book. Where had these come from? An unlucky explorer? A missionary trying to educate the natives?

She didn’t have much time to consider it when the man, her guard, she guessed, stood up and walked to the entrance of the hut. He pulled back the fronds back and turned in her direction to hold a hand up in the air. He seemed confused and shook his head. Then he pushed his hand forward, palm out. Myla assumed it meant stay and she nodded with a smile. He repeated the
stay
sign again before disappearing through the fronds.

The second he left, she jumped from the cot. She needed a weapon. Anything sharp would do. She rifled through the rocks and carvings, cringing when the rough edges brushed her blistered palms. The weapon would have to be small. Something she could hide in her bra or pocket. Her fingers closed over a smaller rock with a pointed edge.
Perfect.

After slipping it in her bra, she continued to look through the hut. It only took a few moments. The life of a tribal leader certainly was simple, she mused. At least where material possessions were concerned. She glanced back at the opening to the hut several times, but it seemed her guard wasn’t coming back.

Venturing closer to the opening, the deep guttural language of the tribe reached through her tension-muffled hearing. It spilled in rapid succession from two men armed with spears at either side of the entrance. As if two were needed to watch her. Damn.

She flopped back on the cot with a sigh. Maybe the books would keep her occupied. Lifting them from the table gently, she flipped open the first cover.
The Great Gatsby
. She placed that one on the cot and checked the next title.
The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe
.

Wonderful books, both. Had he read them? Or perhaps his mother? She’d obviously taught him to speak fluent English. Maybe she’d taught him to read and write as well. It was possible the woman had known his way of life might not last forever.

Whatever the reasons, Myla was glad for the books. A good story might help take her mind off her current situation. Even briefly.

Damon met Seiret near the edge of the clearing. “You left her alone?”

Seiret laughed. “She tried several times to speak with me, but I will never understand your mother’s language, no matter how long you try to teach me. She will stay. Jaklaj and Bokrle stand watch.”

“As long as she listens when the time comes.” He hated involving Seiret in his problems. His friend had been more like a brother than Tinjtol. Clasping his shoulder, Damon squeezed. “You are a good friend. If Tinjtol gains victory tonight, Myla will die. You must take her away the moment I fall.”

“I will.” Seiret paced away, his eyes downcast. “There is someone else to consider. What of your mother?”

Damon understood. His mother’s safety within the tribe would be in question as well. “She will not leave. In fact, she would rather die than go back to her world.”

His friend stopped, a confused expression lifting to his brows. “But does she not hate this life?”

“She dislikes so much.” Damon glanced at the sky. He had yet to understand his mother. “Nothing seems to please her. I think she no longer knows where she belongs.”

“A demon you fought, yes?”

Seiret was correct. For many years of his youth, he had wondered about the world outside, dreaming of the life his mother described and the wonders he could never begin to imagine. Time had changed those foolish fantasies. He had earned his place as
bajluk
and accepted his life. “True at one time. I am beyond that now. My only concern is for our people.”

“And Myla.”

Yes, and Myla, though it made little sense why he cared at all. “If my mother will go, then I would have you take her as well. I will speak with her tonight. She is not so foolish. She will understand the danger Tinjtol presents.”

Seiret started to walk away, but stopped. His shoulders slumped. “I would rather stand at your side this night.”

Pride filled Damon’s chest. There was no one else he would choose to stand beside him. “My friend, I would be honored to have you. But you are the only man I can trust completely with Myla’s safety.”

Seiret nodded and disappeared quietly into the trees. Damon turned toward his hut. And Myla.

The impending fight with Tinjtol did not dim his curiosity. Other than his mother and several scouts from the oil company, he had only encountered one other person from Myla’s world. That man had brought a hope that still lived deep in his heart. A hope for peace.

He approached the hut with quiet steps. No noise came from inside, and he pushed the leaves aside to enter. Myla lay on his cot asleep, her arm draped over the pages of one of his books. He watched her, taking in every detail.

Her slender nose turned up a bit at the tip. Long lashes brushed the top of her high cheekbones to hide her magnificent blue eyes. Her hair cascaded in an unruly mass over his cot, dangling almost to the dark
colokbu
skin covering the ground.

He resisted the urge to run his fingers through the golden-brown strands and continued his perusal. Her body was thin, toned, though it curved nicely at her hips and the pants she wore framed her bottom to perfection. He could well imagine how enticing she would look in a sarong, or nothing. The edges of the shirt she held together in her sleep had opened enough for him to see the deep cleavage between her breasts and the intricate pattern of the fabric covering them. Somehow the lacy material cupped against her pale skin made her even more delicate, more enticing.

Angered by his weakness, he crushed the thought. She was not his.

He turned away from her and pulled the beads and necklaces from his neck. It took several minutes to untangle the
bajluk
coils from his hair and after he removed them, he stared at the simple strips of braided animal skins and beads. He’d worn his decorations for fifteen years, since the day of his father’s death. He had never taken them off, until today. A man came to the fire circle as a man, nothing more.

The fire circle waited and within it, Tinjtol. Could he kill his own brother? He did not doubt for a moment that Tinjtol would kill him. He could not recall a time that he and his brother had been on good terms. It mattered not. He would fight. Either way, Myla would be safe. He could only hope the same for his tribe. Under Tinjtol’s leadership, peace would never be an option.

Damon removed his cloth and washed, letting the cool water drip over his face and hair as he prepared for the battle to come in his mind. Tinjtol had proven himself a fierce warrior over the years. Crafty, smart and very fast. Anger was his only true weakness.

If Tinjtol became careless with his rage, securing dominance would be simple.

A soft gasp broke through his thoughts, and he turned to find Myla staring at him. Her gaze moved over him. He saw no fear. Merely curiosity. The way her eyes traveled his body was arousing, and when she licked her lips, his sex swelled. When her gaze rested on his arousal, her cheeks flamed and she looked away. It was an odd reaction. He was unused to a woman who denied her feelings.

She swallowed hard, her eyes rounded. Now he saw fear radiating from the blue depths. “W-what are you doing?”

The way she jolted when he moved spoke of her thoughts. He wrapped a ceremonial cloth around his waist to ease her worry. “You need not be concerned. I will not force myself on you. I must prepare.”

The soft rustle of her movements filled the hut as she sat up stiffly. “Prepare? For what?”

He walked to the cot and helped her to her feet. She did not resist his touch. “The man who harmed you is my brother. He has challenged me.”

Her brows furrowed. “Challenged? To a fight?”

The need to touch her hair flexed his fingers, and he slipped them through a curl on her shoulder. “Yes.”

Her hand closed over his, her eyes wide. “No.” She sank to the cot, shaking her head. “You can’t. Please, he didn’t hurt me. I swear.”

“It does not matter. He challenged me. You were merely a reason more feasible than others.”

Tears brimmed her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “I didn’t wish to cause problems. Why can’t you let me go? Then this will all end.”

Damon dropped to his knees and lifted her chin so she looked at him. “You will need to leave if Tinjtol kills me.”

She gasped. “Kill you? You’ll kill each other over this?”

“Yes. And if I lose, Tinjtol will kill you.”

Her hand fluttered through the air. “I don’t want this to happen. Can’t you talk to him? Explain to him that I will leave. That there is no need for violence.”

He wished it were that simple. Maybe in her world, but not in his. He dropped his hand away from her face, troubled by the sensations that lingered from her soft skin. “My brother uses your appearance to do what has been his intent for some time now. You are nothing more than a path to me and his wish to end my time as
bajluk
.”

“
Badgelook
? That means leader?” She waited for him to nod before continuing. “And he wants to take your place?”

The sad set of her face tugged at his heart. Did she truly mean it when she said she wanted to help? Her distress certainly seemed genuine. “Yes, he chooses a different path for eliminating the white men’s presence on our lands.” He stood and paced away. “There are rival tribes who have been forced over our borders by your people’s invasion. This causes discord and fights. Tinjtol has tried for several years to convince our elders to stand up and fight together.”

She shook her head. “Violence solves nothing. The more you and the other tribes fight, the greater the chances that InterCorp’s ingression will become easier. Doesn’t he realize his way will make your numbers weaker?”

Damon’s heart pounded in his chest. Exactly. Her views matched the very sentiments he wished the elders to understand. Not only did he find her intriguing as an outsider, her understanding of his tribe’s plight was astounding.

If he survived the fire circle, he would bring her before the council elders. He only hoped hearing this view from someone outside their world might help convince them the time had come to change ancient ways. Fighting a losing battle was no longer feasible. The time had come for conformity, to a certain extent. “Tinjtol holds to the old ways. While I wish our existence could remain as it is, my mother taught me that life is uncertain and progress will not and cannot be stopped.”