“Don’t pull,” he said in a sleepy voice.
Adjusting her body to face him, she planted a kiss on his jaw. “You can spend the night. We won’t talk work or business. I promise.”
He gripped her hand and kissed her fingertips. “If I spend the night, you’ll wake up without your chastity.”
“We’ve spent a night before, and nothing happened.”
He lifted a brow. “I wouldn’t call that nothing.”
“All right. We had oral sex.” She intertwined their fingers. “I meant it when I said I want it to be you.”
“I told you I’d regret it.”
“Why?”
“You deserve better.”
“Better than what?”
“I’m no family man, Sara. I’m not going to love you and make babies with you. I’m not going to build you a house and come home at night to sit by a fire and listen to your day, or tell you my dreams and my hardships. I won’t be anything like that. I’ll take you, and take you again, but you’ll wake up alone. Is that what you really want?”
“No,” she said honestly, “but maybe what I want is not realistic.”
He kissed her and sat up, pushing her from his body. “Don’t settle for second best, angel. You don’t need to.”
He got dressed in silence. When he was done, he picked up her robe and draped it over her body.
“Goodbye, Sara.” He bent over her, his tall frame as imposing as it felt secure, and kissed her once on the mouth. “We’ll find your elephants. Wait for me.”
He walked to the door as if that little magic word of goodbye could break the spell between them, as if it had the power to expel the attraction. Maybe it did, because he opened the door and left, leaving her cold and longing for a man who’d love her, make babies with her, and tell her his hardships.
* * * *
The next morning, she was up at dawn to prepare for the trek into the forest. Going into town for supplies at noon, she parked in the lot of the biggest mall and made her way to the outdoor store. She needed freeze-dried food and a contractible drum. Her step faltered when she spotted Wayne and a group of four men in the store. Clearly foreigners. They were inspecting binoculars. They had to be the hunters. Wayne looked up when she entered. Something in his gaze shifted. For a second, his lips lifted in one corner, but then they pursed into a hard line.
He lifted his hat when she neared. “What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you. Stocking up.”
A pale-skinned man lowered the binoculars and turned to her with interest. “Who is this beautiful young lady?”
A muscle worked on the side of Wayne’s jaw, but he said politely, “This is Sara Graham. She’s National Parks Board. Sara, meet Mr. Manfred.”
Manfred held out a hand, his smile broad. There was no way in hell she was shaking hands with an animal murderer. When she only glared at him, he retracted his hand. The other three men looked on with uncomfortable expressions.
“Are you stationed here in Knysna?” Manfred asked. He had difficulty pronouncing the name.
“Temporarily,” she said coldly.
“For what mission?”
“Protecting the forest.”
“Ah.” His eyes lit up. “You could take us on a guided hike, maybe even show us the elusive Knysna elephants.”
“Why? So that you can shoot them, too?”
He froze at her words, his face turning stony.
Wayne took her arm with a warning in his eyes, steering her toward a sales assistant. “Nice running into you, Sara.”
“I hope you get what you deserve,” she said to the group from over her shoulder. “I hope you get attacked by the very animals you intend to slaughter just so you can brag about it to your friends.”
The whole shop had gone quiet. Everyone was staring at the tense exchange.
“Enough!” Wayne hissed in her ear. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
“I’m not scared to give those assholes a piece of my mind.”
“Yeah, well put a cork in it. If they run to Clive…”
She freed her arm with a jerk. “I’m not scared of Clive, either.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You damn well should be.”
She opened her mouth, but Wayne lifted a hand, his eyes like thunder. “Not another word.” He shoved her in the direction of the baffled shop assistant. “Give this lady some service, will you?” With a last angry look, he turned and stalked back to the men. “Got what you need? Let’s go.”
They filed to the counter and paid for their purchases. Wayne tipped his hat when he passed on his way to the exit, but the others didn’t even glance in her direction. Manfred kept his gaze fixed on the spot in front of him, his chin lifted.
“Idiots,” she mumbled when they were gone.
Bullies like Thinus and Nelis angered her, but nothing infuriated her like violence against defenseless animals. Everyone in the store was staring at her.
“What?” she said, even angrier than before.
People turned away, going back to their own business. She jerked the packaged food she needed from the shelf and marched with her basket to the cashier. It was better to get out of here sooner than later, before she said something she might actually regret.
* * * *
It was cold deep in the forest. Despite what Wayne had asked, she couldn’t wait for him. The trek was always on the cards, without him. It was her job. She wanted desperately to give Odier something so he wouldn’t pull the plug and call her back, believing her too inexperienced or weak to do the job. Once the elephant count was established, she could focus on Dumile and Wayne again, maybe get them around a table for a discussion about the future of the forest and the part they both played in it.
Two days of trekking brought her closer to the heart of the forest. The silence was thick and dense, like the trees and shrubs. Only the occasional bird song or scurrying lizard disturbed the quiet, emphasizing rather than diminishing the secluded solitude. Because of the elephants—if there were any—it would be dangerous to sleep on the ground. These giant, gracious animals moved so quietly she could get trampled before waking. It had happened to some unlucky hikers before. For this reason, she carried the contractible drum–a pliable, heavy-duty cylinder that she buried at a thirty-degree angle in the ground. At night, she crawled inside, safe from any crushing feet.
She pulled the lightweight jacket tighter around her body and took the demi-spade from her backpack to dig a hole for the night. A campfire was prohibited due to the threat of a forest fire. There were positive signs of elephant life like severed branches and bark scraped from the trees. No dung or prints so far, but it meant one or more elephants had trekked through this part. Judging from how wet the broken tree trunks were, it was no longer than a month ago.
She settled her bag against a tree and had a meal of dried fruit mixed with nuts and a protein shake. She had enough provisions to last five days. Water she got from the stream. After dinner, she crawled into her cylinder bed, laying quietly, listening to the sounds of the night. She was all alone, miles and miles into the forest. If she broke a leg or got lost, no one would ever find her. By the time the spoor trekkers would be on her trail, new leaves would’ve covered her prints. As per protocol, she’d informed Odier before she’d ventured into the forest and given him the exact coordinates, but there was no cell phone reception this deep into the wild. She’d never felt more secluded. At least she had Kojak, who had chosen the warmth of her bag as his bed.
* * * *
The group of five men facing Wayne in the predawn was the type he hated. The hunters were fitted out with camo pants, multi-pocket vests, wide-brimmed hats of leather not yet broken in, and the best and latest in telescopic sight rifles and knives. It was the kind with money and no experience, the kind who didn’t understand nature, or that holding the power of an animal life in your hands was a sacred duty, not a sport. He’d never needed a fancy gun or telescope to hit a buck between
the eyes, painless and instant. His father had taught him to hunt for food and only food. These assholes understood nothing about the fragile balance of nature.
The man who’d booked and instigated the trip was also the man who wanted to fly home with a lion head—Manfred.
Wayne considered leading them astray, but Clive had assured him if they didn’t get their kill, he’d get his. Sara.
“We’ll go up the mountain toward the grasslands,” Wayne said. “There are Kudu and Springbok. If you aim, aim for the males. Don’t shoot unless you have a clear shot.”
Manfred popped his gum. “When will I get my lion?”
Wayne’s gut clenched. Clive had given him strict instructions not to tell the men that the lioness would be canned. He wanted the Canadian to walk away believing he’d overpowered the predator. Without canning the feline, there was little chance of the men getting a shot. The lions hid themselves too well, and with the unpredictable weather patterns between the sea and the mountain, you never knew when the wind was going to turn, and the lions would smell you. They couldn’t risk getting one of the hunters attacked by a pack of lions.
“You’ll get your lion,” he said with contempt he could hardly suppress. “Let’s go. We’ll keep upwind. If I show you to be quiet, don’t speak. Just follow my signs. I’ll signal if you have a shot.”
They made their way along the fence on the north side of the property. Soon, the men were sweating in their heavy-duty gear. The fancy brand-name camo outfits were too hot for the South African climate. He took perverse joy from their discomfort, not stopping to give them a break until he thought the youngest of the pack of idiots might faint.
After a short water break, they continued on their way, the dung and spoor telling him there were Kudus up ahead. He lifted a hand, slowing his step. The men halted. He approached the hilltop and sheltered behind the outcrop. Kudu grazed in the grassland below. The wind was behind him, blowing away from the herd. The non-suspecting bucks didn’t even twitch their ears.
Wayne pushed his palm flat, the sign for the men to approach. He felt them filling in behind his back–one, two, four of them, Manfred on his immediate right. His throat closed up as he inspected the animals, looking for a target removed from the rest so they didn’t shoot into the herd. A big male stood a way up the mountain, feeding on its own. He closed his eyes. God, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t point him out, seal his fate. These buck were his to protect. Sweat dripped into his eyes. He shook his head, getting rid of the sting of the drops. He felt Manfred’s questioning gaze on him.
The wind started turning. It was now or never. If he let it go, and Manfred complained to Clive… He had to think about Sara. A man had to do… He lifted his hand and pointed steadily at the bull, giving Manfred the deadly signal.
* * * *
Quiet. The forest was dead quiet. So quiet, it had woken Sara. She kept still in the uncomfortable position in the cylinder, every muscle stiff. Not a bird chirped. No leaf rustled. It was oddly silent, but in a peaceful way. A new energy had dawned on the surroundings. She couldn’t explain it, only that it felt different. Sacred, almost. Magic.
She listened intently. It had to be early, but she couldn’t tell by the sun. This deep into the forest the sun was always obscured. Only the diffused silver glow penetrating the darkness was an indication that the day had broken.
Closing her eyes, she tapped into the life around her, probing for living energy. The vibe that infiltrated her senses was huge but gentle. It felt ancient and wise. It was like nothing she’d experienced before. She lay in wonder, feeling the forest through the eyes of a child. Slowly, ever so slowly, she lifted her head from her hole in the ground.
Her breath caught on a hitch. She froze, mesmerized. A short distance away, stood the biggest elephant she’d ever seen. Long lashes closed in a half-moon over her gentle brown eyes. She lifted her trunk and peeled the leaves from a branch. When she brought them to her mouth, the chewing was a soft sound that dispersed like a ghost of a whisper into the treetops. She turned her head a fraction and fanned her ears. Her movements were eloquent and unrushed.
The Matriarch.
She reached up again, higher this time, breaking a green branch that wouldn’t make noise. Then she lowered her trunk and extended the branch with the succulent young leaves around the tree. The calf took the offering from his mother, eating every morsel before curling his trunk around his mother’s in an embrace.
The calf was alive! A movement caught her eye, a gray mass that emerged from the shadows. A smaller male calf appeared at his sister’s side. Two calves. Their enormous feet fell softly on the thick carpet of moss and leaves.
Aware of her presence, the animals kept a short distance, her gift communicating to them that there was no threat. Sheer joy made her heart expand and lift from her chest to float like a fluff ball of cottonwood seeds to the sky. The bull wasn’t far behind. His ears stood wide, a protective stance. With a quiet that bled into the harmony of the forest, the family of four fed. Seven more filtered into her awareness, and another three. Fourteen. Much more than they’d hoped. She enjoyed their tranquil energy a moment longer, revering in their quiet acceptance, and then she tapped out of their energy. The Matriarch turned and headed back into the darkness of the forest. The female calf curled her trunk around her mother’s tail while her brother curled his around her tail. In a file, trunk to tail, they made their grand exit.
In awe of the privilege to have shared a moment of such tremendous tenderness, Sara didn’t move for a long time. She didn’t exit her hiding place until there was only the sturdy presence of the trees and a lonelier quiet without the sweeping step of the legendary Knysna elephant. How she wished Wayne had been there to share the moment.
* * * *
Manfred took his aim. There was a slight shiver to his hand, reflecting the shiver in Wayne’s heart. His finger tightened on the trigger. The buck twitched their ears, smelling danger. The shot rang out loud, the bullet tearing through the air and over the distance. The herd dispersed in panic. The bull wheezed, bucked, and raced away. Unscathed.
Wayne exhaled in relief. Manfred had missed. The man was a poor shot.
Too absorbed in his thankfulness, he noticed too late that Manfred had reloaded and lifted the barrel again, this time aiming mindlessly into the fleeing herd.
“No!”
The second shot echoed through the valley. Painful chaos erupted, buck scattering into every direction, making for the cover of the trees. A cow tripped, her legs caving in under her. A red circle pooled on the shiny hide under her ribs. She’d been hit in the stomach. It would be a slow and painful death. The wounded animal struggled to her feet, fighting the inevitable. A calf hovered uncertainly at her side. She took a few brave steps before stumbling again. The horrible dance of death continued as she bucked, fell, and pushed up again.
Manfred stared at the grappling animal, his face a ghastly white. Wayne grabbed him by the collar and yanked him to his feet.
“Finish it,” he gritted out.
“Too far.” Manfred’s rifle shook in his hand. “Too far.”
The cow collapsed in the tall grass on her side, next to her calf.
Wayne shoved him forward, pushing him all the way over the field until they stood over the dying deer. The calf had run away, watching from a safe distance. Nostrils flaring in fear, the cow’s wide eye blinked as her legs jerked. Her skin was ripped open, the insides showing.
Manfred turned his head away and said in a thin voice, “I don’t want to see.”
“You will look her in the eye,” Wayne said, giving his collar a shake, “and finish her off.”
“I can’t.” Manfred pulled away. “Can’t do it.”
Wayne let go of him with a push. “She’s suffering. Finish it!”
“N–no.” Manfred’s voice turned hysterical. “I can’t do it!”
Wayne jerked the rifle from Manfred’s hands and aimed it between the deer’s eyes. He stared int
o that huge, wild pool, and pulled the trigger.
Everything inside of him exploded in cold heat. His gut shook but his hand, his stained hand, was steady.
He threw the rifle down in front of Manfred’s feet. “You’re a fucking coward.”
He left the men standing in the field, as quiet as the dead, and stomped back to the open Safari vehicle. During the ride back to Clive’s house, nobody said a word.
At the main house, he left the men outside and stalked to Clive’s office.
“Whazup, West?” Clive asked, not looking up from the paperwork on his desk.
“Manfred missed.” Wayne walked to the desk and towered over the thin man. “He wounded a nursing female Kudu and didn’t have the guts to put her out of her misery.”
Clive lifted his eyes, his bushy eyebrows pulled together. “That’s why you’re there, to finish the job if he can’t.”
“He’s a lousy shot. He shouldn’t be allowed to hunt.”
“I don’t care if he’s William-fucking-Tell or if he doesn’t know the difference between a bullet and his asshole. He pays for a kill, and it’s your job to make sure he gets it. If it means pulling the trigger so he feels a bigger man, then that’s what you’ll do.”
Wayne put his palms on the desk. “You better find yourself another man to pull the trigger, because the next time the fucker wounds a mother with a calf, the only trigger I’ll pull is for the bullet that’ll hit his stomach.”
“Whoa!” a voice said behind him. Thinus entered the office. “What’s this ‘bout killin’ people on our property?”
“Back off,” Wayne said, his voice as thin as his patience.
Clive gave his son a warning look. “Stay out of it, boy.” He turned back to Wayne. “Where are the men?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t give a fuck.”
“Go check on them, Thinus. Pour them a drink and get the fire in the boma going.” When Thinus was gone, he said, “You’ll do well not to threaten anyone on my property. How’s Sara Graham doing? Packin’, yet?”
Scapulimancist (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 7) Page 14
