Primitive Nights (7 page)

“She’s right.” Myla stood and walked over to his collections. She ran a hand through the numerous stones before picking up a cracked geode. The purple crystals sparkled even in the limited light. “This rock is a perfect example. It may have taken thousands of years to form into this brilliance on the inside and yet time, coupled with the progression of better tools, broke it.”

Damon moved closer to cover her hand with his. “There is little I or anyone else can do. What has happened to it can only be stalled, so that it does not break more.”

She didn’t move away when he pressed closer and he inhaled her scent, letting it fill him. Her smile came sad. “You’re right that nothing can restore it, but now that it has been fractured, the same progress that destroyed it can protect it.” Her words were a mere whisper, and he followed the path of her tongue over her full bottom lip.

He ran his thumb across the crystals until he touched the smooth skin of her wrist. Her pulse beat in a frantic cadence. “It is hard to decide who will protect and who will continue to destroy.”

“You can trust me.”

Could he? For a moment he warred with her words. He wanted to believe her, and yet… His tribe depended on him. “I cannot.”

She shook her head. “Then there is no hope. Others will come. These people will destroy everything you hold dear.”

Confusion ripped through his mind. She spoke the truth. But with so much at stake, trust held a heavy price. He wanted to understand her, to know why she fought for a people to which she had no connection.

Questions that could not be ignored. As impossible to disregard as the desire she awoke within him. Or the anger.

Yanking her close, he crushed her to his chest. He needed to taste her, feel her body against his. She kept her hand between them, holding her shirt closed, and the simple barrier frustrated him. He wanted to feel her skin against his own. For now he would settle for what she would give.

He crushed his mouth to hers, inhaling her gasp. It could have been pleasure or shock that stilted her breaths, but he pressed on until she opened.

Certain she would pull away if he gave her any opportunity, he delved into her mouth, lingering with easy sweeps until she met his thrusts. Her response, the way she curved closer, pressing her body into his, drove him mad. He wanted her. Wanted to bury himself inside her, wanted to taste every inch of her body. And even through his desire-fogged brain, he knew the truth.

She was not his, nor would she ever be.

The imminent threat from Tinjtol had pushed him to take what he craved, the knowledge that he might not return to her heavy on his mind. He savored the last moment of their kiss before he pulled back from the tempting taste of her lips. He pressed his forehead to hers, glad to recognize her own struggles with the passion that sparked between them. “I can trust no one. Too many depend on my choices.”

Myla pressed her fingertips to her lips. Her entire body had reacted to his kiss, yet he stood, seemingly unmoved. She shuddered at his words. Dark emotions swam in the depths of his haunted eyes. His struggle to keep his people safe moved her. He fought a losing battle, but she respected his will and his intelligence. “What other choice do you have?”

He straightened, his grip tightening around her. “I have only one that gives me hope. But convincing the elders to accept the protection of the government is difficult.”

Those were the last words she ever would have expected, and she shook her head. “Have you been contacted by Peruvian officials?”

“Yes.” His fingers moved in slow circles over her lower back as he spoke. “Several years have passed since this man came. I have not forgotten the hope he created inside me. Hope for my people’s survival.”

She tried to conceal her surprise. What he said made no sense. No documented interactions with his tribe existed. Neither before nor after she’d taken over when John disappeared. “What did this man say?”

He shrugged, and his other hand moved to cup her cheek. It was decidedly distracting, especially when each brush of his skin sent shivers of pleasure racing through her body. His fingers strayed into her hair where they threaded through her unbound curls in slow deliberation.

“He promised land.” He brought her hair to his mouth and ran it over his lips before inhaling deep. “He said the government would move my people to a protected area where we could live as we have. In peace.”

He bent closer, his mouth tracing over the sensitive curve of her neck, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Not that he demanded her acquiescence. Her body flatly refused to fight his powerful allure. It settled deep in her stomach, creating an ache she hadn’t experienced in years. “And—this man—has not returned?”

He shook his head, and the motion brushed his smooth lips over the tender spot beneath her ear. “No,” he whispered.

She pressed her hand against his chest, exhilarated by the thunderous beat of his heart beneath her palm. He felt the intensity between them as well. The knowledge bolstered her desire, and when he tightened his hold, the heat of his bare chest pressed against her own. She tried to close her shirt again but he moved her hand away. “I will help in any way I can, but you cannot fight today. Please.”

His gaze moved over their bodies before meeting her eyes. She reached up to trace the small lines at the corner of his eye. She wanted to take the worry from him, wanted to tell him it would be okay. But she knew better than anyone…

Acknowledging the concern would not alleviate the threat. “Please don’t do this.”

“I must. No man refuses a challenge. Refusal would mean banishment. There is no other option.”

Myla wanted to scream. This couldn’t be happening. Her hand moved of its own will, tracing the strong ridge of his cheekbone down to the line of his jaw. When she brushed her fingers over his lips, he bit the pad gently and ran the tip of his tongue over the same spot. Her breath rushed out with the dizzy spin of her equilibrium. This man was raw, wild, sexual.

A loud shout from outside drew her attention from his mesmerizing hold and she shook her head. What was she doing? She should be fighting for her freedom, planning to escape. He’d stood before her for numerous unguarded moments, and she hadn’t even reached for the small weapon tucked in her bra.

He would fight, and he might die. She had to consider her own life now as well. If he perished—she shuddered at the thought—she would have no protection. There had to be another option, for both of them. “Please, Damon. Let me leave. I don’t want to witness this violence, or your potential death. I don’t want you to die for any reason, but least of all because of me.”

He laughed then and his mouth fused to hers again. This kiss was different, frantic, his hands covering her body in harsh, angry movements that scared her. The gentleness from only a moment before disappeared. In its place, she sensed desperation, primitive instinct and base need. This was the jungle man she’d feared. Immune to, or uncaring of, her futile struggles. This was Maglayo.

What had she said to anger him? When she finally managed to push him away, he stared at her, his chest moving in harsh cadence with his stilted breaths. Then without a word, he left.

Her legs shook violently, weak from the remaining traces of the snake’s bite and the emotions his departure created. She dropped to the cot, exhausted. This was too much for her. For him. Damon, Maglayo. Did he even recognize the difference between the two? Was there a difference? She dropped her head to her hands. “Please be safe.”

“He will be safe when you are gone.”

Myla jumped as Michelle’s voice intruded from the rear of the hut. The older woman moved farther into the shadowed interior, her features drawn and pale.

Myla stood and walked to her. “What can I do? I begged him to let me leave, but he refused.”

Michelle shoved a small leather bag into her hands. “Take this and follow the sun’s direction as it holds now. Even when it shifts in the sky, you must stay close to the direction in which you began. If you do as I say, you will find the freedom you want.”

She glanced at the front entrance. “Go, quickly. I will stop the fight tonight and explain that Damon has killed you. This will make it possible for him to gain Tinjtol’s trust and it will save him from death or banishment.”

“Are you certain this will work?” She understood Damon’s reluctance to trust. In that moment, she grasped his indecision more than ever. “My leaving won’t cause more trouble, will it?”

Anger crinkled Michelle’s eyes. “You stupid girl. Don’t you realize this is beyond you? Tinjtol will try to kill my son, and he will probably succeed. You do more harm in remaining. Go. You must be gone before I can hope to stop what will surely happen.”

Myla bit her lip and slung the bag over her shoulder so it rested on her hip. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Come, this way.” Michelle hurried to the rear of the hut and pulled back a hidden flap. “Hurry.”

Myla stared at the sunlight creasing through the narrow opening. Hesitation could make the difference in her freedom. She could only hope she made the right choice. This was what she’d wanted. Now, she wanted him to be safe as well.

She met Michelle’s gaze. “Tell him I’ve given him another option.”

Chapter Six

Damon stood motionless.

He would not give Tinjtol the satisfaction of witnessing his regret for this confrontation. Still, to fight his brother without attempting to change what would end in one of their deaths was unthinkable. He held his hand up to silence the onlookers. “Brother Tinjtol, we can settle this another way. Withdraw your challenge and we will sit with the elders this night, as brothers, as equals.”

Tinjtol stalked forward, the sheath of his knife strapped to his lean thigh. Dark ceremonial markings crossed his chest and stomach. Every muscle bunched, ready for the fight Damon sensed he had always wanted.

His sadistic laughter filled the clearing. “You would have us sit again, Maglayo? For what?” He waved a hand around to the assembled people. “So you can tell us that the outsiders wish to help? That we should lie down and let the white man walk over our lands?”

Damon clenched his teeth. “There is little option left to us. Already we vie for land even as we are driven farther and farther over the borders. Our rival tribes do the same. How long until we run out of space for all? How long before we not only fight the white man but other tribes as well?”

“You have made us weak.” Tinjtol’s voice rose with unconcealed ire. “We were the strongest tribe while my father sat as
bajluk
. You will not raise your hand to kill, and that is your weakness, not the weakness of our people.”

“You will not see this any other way?” Damon met his steady stare.

Tinjtol shook his head before dropping down to a knee. His eyes flashed with anger. “I give honor for your time as
bajluk
, brother.”

Damon touched his shoulder. There would be no turning back now. His brother had given him the respect due, and when he rose, they would be equal. “Make certain of your decision, Tinjtol.” He turned away, giving Tinjtol the same respect of equality before their people. “Before you rise.”

He did not have to look to know Tinjtol stood. The slight shift in the people around him told him his brother would not concede. When he turned, Tinjtol stood at the other edge of the circle and nodded. The fury deep in his black eyes shocked Damon. When had his brother come to such depths of hate? “I do not wish to kill you, brother.” He said the words quietly, for his brother alone.

Tinjtol ignored his words, and the drums began.

Damon stepped back to walk the perimeter of the circle. He picked up a torch, and Tinjtol did the same at the other side. They walked in opposite directions, lighting the standing torches placed around the circle. Flames surrounded them, the heavy scent of new smoke thick on the air.

The last torch sparked, and Damon passed his to the man closest to him before facing his brother.

He centered his mind. Everything around them disappeared until nothing remained but his opponent. He moved carefully, walking the circle while he looked for the moment to attack, waiting for the indication that Tinjtol would make his first move.

Refusing to acknowledge the fear that accompanied battle, he called on his instincts to guide him. As
bajluk
, he had fought numerous battles to prove his skill. Battle for training and fighting for life were different. Ending the life of a brother would be painful.

Tinjtol lunged forward with a ragged yell. Damon shifted to the side, the knife arcing past his head. Patience. He would have to be patient. It would be his greatest weapon.

He would wait and defend himself against his brother’s next attack. It came sooner than he anticipated, and he ducked. Tinjtol flew past him, nicking the upper portion of his arm. Blood trickled from the cut, and Tinjtol’s eyes widened. His nostrils flared. Like a wild animal hunting its prey.

“I have first blood, brother.”

His laugh rasped harsh when he lunged again, but Damon was more prepared this time. He swung the knife forward and up as Tinjtol dodged to the side. The tip of the knife caught his brother’s cheek.

Tinjtol stumbled, his hand flying up to press against the cut. He stared at his fingers, crimson in the firelight. His eyes darkened, and he tossed his knife from one hand to the other. “We stand even again, Maglayo. Come, show me you deserve the right to be called
bajluk
.”