savage 07 - the dark savage

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Adira moans as his thrusting increases and hanging on for what seems like dear life, she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

  He wraps her tightly against himself and lurches to his feet.

  In what he can only mindlessly describe as a lust-induced fugue, he staggers to the nearest tree and pins her against it. One hand slaps the rough bark and the other spreads at the base of her lower back.

  Jim pounds into her.

  “Harder,” she says breathlessly.

  Jim's forehead tips against hers and he grunts his acquiesce, trying to reach her belly button.

  “More.”

  Jim buries his dick inside her, impaling her so thoroughly, she doesn't need his support.

  His eyes open and she stares at him for a swollen second then bellows as she comes. Her pussy pulses around Jim, strangling his cock and he shouts in surprise.

  Adira brings his own release in a single sucking painful surge like a dog brought to heel.

  Jim barks out his pleasure, leaning against this woman he'd been steaming pissed at only thirty minutes before.

  Can't really claim that now, Jim-bo. No sir-ee. It's only then that he becomes aware of the moaning, grunts and thrusts of everyone else.

  Oh.

  “Don't turn around, let them have their moment,” Adira says in a languid, post-coital fog.

  Jim doesn't think that's possible. He's soft now and slips out of Adira. But he finds he can't let go of her. It's as primal as the urge had been to...

  Yeah.

  “What happened?” Jim asks, scanning the others.

  Fuck not looking. There's no way he's missing this. Everyone who lives is humping.

  He sees that woman, Natasha—with Ulric. And he's not backing off.

  Brom and a couple of other males from Ulric's clan are laying some serious monkey pipe.

  “They're screwing Jim.”

  He frowns at Adira. Though most of the glow hasn't dissipated. In fact, he's not so sure he couldn't go again.

  God. What a mess. Didn't he just have sex with a girl he didn't even like?

  What the blue fuck is wrong with him?

  “I know what they're doing. The bigger question is why?” he says in an indignant whisper.

  The unmistakable sounds of the couplesʼ releases are nearly simultaneous. I bet I could make a billion bucks if I could bottle that little symphony.

  Adira makes to move away from him and it's physically painful.

  He sucks in a breath. “Wait a minute, Adira.”

  She gives him a quizzical look. She's back to human.

  Her eyes rove him and she smiles.

  He gives her a dopey one back. “Don't take off just yet. I guess we killed the bad guys but, I'm feeling a little spent.”

  “I know,” she says and Jim rubs his eyes, thinking he's seeing things. He's pretty sure she just fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  Not that the one need has been satisfied the second rears its head.

  Blood.

  Jim needs blood.

  Adira sways toward him. “Take what I offer, Jim.”

  Jim should question this whole scene. The fight to the death. The post-war screwing.

  Something's wrong.

  But right now he's in the grip of a blood lust so feverish he can barely think.

  When Adira bares her neck, he scoops her gently against him and strikes deep.

  He gets hard again and groans.

  Adira seems to know what he needs and hops on him as his palms lift her by her ass cheeks.

  She moves aside the remnants of whatever she was wearing and shifts down.

  Right on his dick.

  He feeds and moves inside her again.

  Adira does all the work, bouncing on him until he comes again.

  When she strikes in return, he sits on his ass and she lays down on top of him, greedily feeding from his vein as she rides him.

  Jim closes his eyes and everything falls to gray.

  *

  Ulric

  He strikes again, his hips working deeply inside the female beneath him.

  Ulric has never fucked or drunk so deeply in all his years.

  Yet, he has never battled such as he did this day. Warring with one's own species over females will always result in this.

  He does not squander his attention on the other males. His sharp hearing picks up on all who participate in the same thing.

  The Men of the Tree fight, bleed and protect their females.

  Then they mate them and exchange blood.

  The ritual has always been thus.

  Natasha had given her consent, if the slickness of her sex is any indicator or the enthusiasm of her return to each of his thrusts. Ulric has just enough sense to remember her human state. He could be so much more rough with a female of the Tree.

  “Bite me,” he breathes, so close to his second release of seed he shivers with the nearness.

  Natasha's light brown eyes hood and her teeth feel like a tender slap of bone. She sucks hard and he loosens himself inside her. His fingers plow through her dense soft curls and he shouts his release into the once-still forest.

  Ulric feels their bond tighten like a noose, sucking their mutuality into a vortex of oneness.

  His forehead touches hers. Ulric's will is as much a part of the result of their union as anything. His biology wanted to do what occurred—fervently. But Ulric's feelings for this female aided the cause. They are now mated. Whether her vulnerability of being strictly human was considered by his superior genetics, he'll never know.

  But this human woman, defiled and humiliated by her own kind, now calls to him, body and soul.

  Fluid exchange, in every way a Man of the Tree can execute is now finalized.

  He finishes, sating her with a lingering thrust as she cries out softly beneath him, writhing her hips as ripples of her pleasure pulse between them.

  When Natasha grows still, he scoops her against himself, licking her sweet blood from the corners of his lips and cradles her tenderly.

  Ulric has never cried, in either joy or heartache.

  His eyelids burn with the want of it.

  Chapter 38

  Elise

  His touch is hummingbird's wings on her cheek, and Elise turns into his fingertips with a sigh.

  Their party has moved past the event of bloodshed with hardly a murmur.

  However, the gore of the memory clings to Elise. Yet—not for the reason one might think.

  Necessary killing is how Philip had quantified their silent battle with the false tree men. At least, that is how Elise thought of them—for they were not of The Tree—not truly. They had the gaze of insanity when they had cast their eyes upon her. She had seen it, their lunacy flooding gazes that held violent intent for its own sake.

  A Fragment bent. How they had come into being was a mystery. Elise is pleased to not explore it further.

  Adahy caresses her a second time, bringing her eyes open as she searches for his face in the coolness of the predawn light. Bright emerald eyes appear to glow in the ambient light that filters from the high tree canopy.

  She smiles, cupping her small hand around his jaw. It had been broken in the engagement with the Fragment.

  A touch and a thought from her had knitted the bone.

  The wounds on Calia's body had been brought to healing. They now stood as light scars. She had told Elise the wounds were nothing more than the marks of survival. Then she had shown Elise how many others marred her skin.

  They were legion.

  Their eyes had met in understanding. Elise had known where and who had been about those scars of the past.

  No words of explanation were exchanged.

  Adahy draws her nearer to him, his large hand making its way down her back.

  She feels the happiness that he cannot hide between them. Elise does not mind. Not with Adahy.

  “I need to bathe,” Elise says, rolling her lip between her teeth. Not su
re if he understands exactly what she means.

  Their supplies are down to the lowest of all time. The mint leaves used for a sort of crude paste for their teeth is nearly empty, the gritty soap for their hair Calia has maintained from the beginning within her rucksack is half way to empty.

  However, they have traveled a week and near the tribe of Chasing Hawk. Adahy nearly thrums with anticipatory excitement.

  In his heart, he tells her often, Adahy is Iroquois. And her heart belongs to him. Where it leads, she shall follow.

  In this moment, Elise wishes to do more than survive and exist. She wants to know love with this beautiful warrior who pierced her heart so long ago and now commands it.

  Adahy's black eyebrow rises. “You no clean?”

  She gnaws her lip over her small fib. She certainly is clean. They've bathed at every hot springs along the way. However, the place is merely a device of fate—a destiny that Elise wishes for herself. And for Adahy, if he will allow it.

  Elise gives a gentle shake of her head. “No. I am clean.” She ducks her head and he captures the side of her face with his hand.

  Looking deeply into her eyes he says, “You go. Adahy follow.”

  The expression on his face of understanding her innuendo says more than his simple words. Though Adahy speaks simply, and not often—his soul is deep.

  They move quietly, as to not disturb Calia and Philip, who are not too great a distance from their makeshift encampment.

  Hand in hand they make their way to the serene and tiny hot springs.

  If it had not been for Calia, they would have passed this pool by. When asked how she had known the position, Calia had lifted a toned shoulder and said there had once been a rescue this far east.

  Elise did not ask who Calia had rescued. She knew from their prior conversations it had always been women like herself. And for all of Calia's gruff manner, there was no one with a more stout heart of compassion.

  The banks of the small pool lap the mossy sides. Unlike some of the heated pools that are larger, mud does not cling to this shore. Instead, the pool before them is one of the rare few which are bordered by indigenous fieldstone of the area.

  Elise and Adahy toss their shoes on the last of the dry moss and hop onto a large, flat stone, enclosed on all sides by heated water.

  Elise curls her toes against the stone, and the rough surface warms her feet. She tips her head to the sun, reveling in the warmth upon her face.

  A lone tree had died at some juncture and its branches had fallen to the forest floor, allowing a rare, lone sunbeam to slice through the normally dense canopy of trees.

  Elise senses Adahy lean close to her and just as suddenly, those large hands are at her lower back.

  They burn through her clothes, holding the heat of the sun inside his touch.

  “Adahy.” She shivers and his grip tightens.

  He could crush her with his strength. But his tenderness holds steel, not violence, and she breathes in those thoughts of happiness and the feeling of being treasured by this man.

  “Yes?” he inquires softly in Iroquois, nuzzling his nose at her neck, inhaling of her deeply.

  “Undress me,” she says, her heartbeat trying to escape her chest. He might say no.

  She might not be able to complete what she wishes to begin.

  Every sexual encounter she knows has been steeped in violence until Adahy. Elise has no point of reference for anything else.

  He steps away from her, his hands floating to her shoulders. Adahy says nothing. Instead he studies each individual feature of her face. One by one. His perusal is so long Elise is sure of his coming rejection.

  Though his body has told her on numerous occasions that he wants her.

  Not for a night. Forever.

  “No force Elise.” His voice is a growl of temper—restraint. Every transgression against her is held in his gaze.

  Elise steps into the shadow his body casts against the warmth of the sun, yet she remains heated. “Never. I know you would never do anything to harm me.”

  She raises her hand to touch his stern face, the smoothness of his jaw. She glories in the dusky skin exposed in the patch of light. A hint of subtle red undertones ride the line of being mistaken for a blush.

  Adahy is not embarrassed; he is determined.

  Determined to do what is right. What is not easy. What brings Elise happiness.

  Being with him will guarantee her joy.

  Instead of words, Elise trails her fingertips over his strong jaw, over his chin to float over his throat.

  He grasps her fingers with his large hand. Elise takes a shaky inhale to fortify, and places his palm over the top of her right breast.

  His reaction is instantaneous. Adahy's shoulders drop and an exhale of perfect ease slides out. He crushes her to him with his free arm, his hand trapped between them.

  Adahy may hold her breast—it is above her heart as well.

  Her heart beats for him.

  Adahy squeezes her gently and a little sound of want squeezes between her lips.

  His eyes meet hers in the shadows their joined bodies make. “Adahy want this.”

  Elise nods.

  “Adahy not ask. He know what happen to Elise.”

  I shall not cry.

  Her despair of the past brims, but it does not transgress the emotion that overshadows that one: excitement.

  “Make me forget those things which occurred, Adahy. Erase them with this memory of us,” Elise whispers in Iroquois.

  He cups her face. “I will not hurt you. I will not destroy my chances of being with you for our coming together.”

  She understands his words, but his body stands rigid with arousal between them. His will is formidable.

  Elise's will has been honed through misery and pain. She is selfish now. If she were to die in the morrow; let this day be lived.

  “I want this.” Her hand drops and she wraps her fingers around the hard length of him and Adahy jerks.

  “Elise,” he says barely above a whisper, voice raw.

  She squeezes him with a near-painful press of fingers.

  Adahy hisses at the sensation, dipping his head to take her mouth. Where he holds her tenderly, his mouth is anything but.

  His lips ravage hers, sucking and pecking until her flesh tingles from the onslaught. Her hand begins to work him softly, through the light fabric of his sleeping breeches.

  Adahy pants then grasps her wrist. “Stop.” She watches his Adam's apple jump as he gulps. “Let Adahy make Elise—” she watches him struggle for the word, “happy,” he finally says in hesitant English.

  Elise nods.

  Her gasp of surprise brings a smile to his face as Adahy sinks to his knees, the sun making his hair sparkle with blue highlights.

  Her fingers automatically delve through his hair as he grasps her buttocks through the weight of her light skirt and spreads her legs apart as he gently lowers her to the rock.

  Elise closes her eyes, the sun's warmth leaking through from the stone into her body, warming her. Elise is languid.

  Hands that have held her and killed for her move beneath her skirt and she lifts her head, searching for that green gaze.

  Their eyes lock and he stills.

  Elise feels a strange sensation as his hands caress her bare skin.

  She is wet in a place she never thought she would be. She says a word in invitation instead of a plea for mercy.

  “Please,” comes from between her lips.

  Adahy complies.

  Chapter 39

  Jim

  Well isn't this a fat kettle of fish?

  The embarrassment couldn't be more acute if Jim tried. Every event in Jim's life wouldn't be enough to make him feel worse than he feels at this moment.

  “You need to get over yourself.” Adira crosses her arms underneath her breasts, and Jim closes his eyes against the memory of him having his utmost way with her about ten minutes ago.

  At least they're not li
ke—standing in the battlefield. That's so classy. Yes, let's kill everyone then screw with their corpses lying around as decoration.

  Jim feels a sharp pinch on his arm and his eyes snap open. Adira flicks an eyebrow up in a perfect arch.

  God.

  “Wake up, Jim. It's not the worst thing that could happen.”

  This is where shit gets dicey. Of course he can't say the sex was bad. He'd crush Adira's feelings. Jim also can't deny it was the best sex of his life. Hell, his existence. Just thinking about being inside Adira gives him another boner like he's never left adolescence.

  Her eyes drop to his crotch and Jim is seized with a flush that flames over his face like a brushfire. Jesus, Shepard of Judea.

  “Don't be embarrassed,” Adira comments in her dry way.

  Fuck it. “Well aren't you?”

  She tosses her hair over her shoulder and a random twig falls out, spearing the ground below. “No. It's just the way the tree stuff goes.”

  Jim folds his arms, mirroring her stance. “So enlighten me oh, Tree Girl in Hiding.”

  She has the grace to look ashamed. “I'm a Dimensional, from our world.”

  Jim nods. What does that have to do with anything?

  “I've always been really curious about other civilizations, because I knew I might end up in one of them.”

  Jim makes a go on gesture with his hand.

  She blows a stray hair out of her face and Jim can tell she's frustrated with his skepticism. Whatever, so sue me.

  “Anyways, when I first came to Ulric's clan, they allowed me to study their culture. There's this Record Keeper person who told me everything. I mean everything.”

  Oh. “So you knew of this contingency?” Way to be clinical about it Jim.

  Shit.

  It's her turn to cross her arms. Pushing up her tits.

  Jim gets an eyeful and his mouth goes dry. He's having a second go at adolescence. Fantastic.

  Adira ignores his—issue. “I knew of its history. I didn't think we were going to all have a post-war orgy.”

  Jim winces at her words. “Sounds bad when you say it like that.”

  Adira shrugs. “You wouldn't rape me.”

  Jim voice comes out strangled. “Oh my God!” he shouts, burying his fingers in his hair and trying to pull it out by the roots.