Savage Illusions

by Cassie Edwards

  Jolena scar­cely bre­at­hed as Spot­ted Eag­le slowly drew her up the si­de of the cliff. She co­uld he­ar the ro­ar of the wa­ter­fall on one si­de of her, al­most de­afe­ning, and the crash of the wa­ter be­low, whe­re she wo­uld ha­ve su­rely fal­len to her de­ath.

  Tears rus­hed from her eyes aga­in as she ga­zed up at Spot­ted Eag­le who had ris­ked his li­fe to sa­ve hers. She wan­ted to be held in the pro­tec­ti­ve co­co­on of his arms, ne­ver to part from him aga­in!

  She wan­ted to find ways to thank him, for she wo­uld al­ways be in his debt.

  "Soon you will be sa­fe," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, as he wor­ked hard at ke­eping hold of her. Al­t­ho­ugh she was slight in bu­ild, his sho­ul­der and arm mus­c­les we­re stra­ining as he strug­gled to pull her up in this aw­k­ward way.

  Jolena saw that she was al­most ab­le to re­ach up with her kne­es, to help pla­ce her­self on so­lid land. She le­aned aga­inst the si­de of the cliff, the sharp ed­ges of the rocks pi­er­cing her blo­use and cut­ting in­to her bre­asts as she was pul­led up to sa­fety. Her kne­es ga­ve her that last bo­ost she ne­eded as she pus­hed her­self up and fell down limply be­si­de Spot­ted Eag­le.

  He drew her fi­er­cely in­to his arms and held her clo­se, his fa­ce bur­ro­wed in the depths of her black ha­ir. "My wo­man," he whis­pe­red, easing her away from the ed­ge of the cliff as he held her tightly wit­hin his ac­hing arms. "You are sa­fe now, my wo­man." Jole­na sob­bed as she clung to him. "If not for you, I wo­uld ha­ve di­ed," she cri­ed, her te­ars so­aking his buc­k­s­kin shirt as she pres­sed her che­ek hard aga­inst his chest. "Thank you. My dar­ling, thank you."

  So glad to ha­ve his wo­man sa­fe in his arms, Spot­ted Eag­le was spe­ec­h­less. He held on to her, yet lo­oked past her sho­ul­der at Two Rid­ges and Kirk, glo­we­ring at them be­ca­use of the­ir co­war­di­ce. He co­uld un­der­s­tand the whi­te man's fa­ilu­re to sa­ve his wo­man, for he was too lac­king in mus­c­le to ha­ve drag­ged her up to sa­fety.

  But Two Rid­ges? He was a nob­le Blac­k­fo­ot who­se bra­very and co­ura­ge had ne­ver fal­te­red, es­pe­ci­al­ly when a wo­man's li­fe was at sta­ke!

  As Spot­ted Eag­le's eyes loc­ked with Two Rid­ges, he saw so­met­hing mo­re than sha­me. It was as tho­ugh Two Rid­ges was hi­ding a se­et­hing an­ger wit­hin his eyes, and this puz­zled Spot­ted Eag­le.

  Spotted Eag­le was the one who had ca­use to be angry at his brot­her Blac­k­fo­ot! Two Rid­ges sho­uld be ben­ding his he­ad in sha­me, not def­ying his fri­end with a ste­ady, angry sta­re, his jaw tight, his lips pur­sed tightly to­get­her.

  Not un­der­s­tan­ding his fri­end's stran­ge at­ti­tu­de, Spot­ted Eag­le wren­c­hed his eyes away, in­s­te­ad fo­cu­sing his full at­ten­ti­on on his wo­man. Pla­cing his hands on each si­de of her fa­ce, he lif­ted her ga­ze to his.

  "Let us re­turn to the camp," he sa­id. He glan­ced down at her torn clot­hes, win­cing when he saw the blo­od­s­ta­ins on her skirt. His ga­ze mo­ved slowly up­ward, stop­ping whe­re her blo­use was torn, par­ti­al­ly ex­po­sing her bre­asts. He suc­ked in a wild gulp of air when he dis­co­ve­red blo­od oozing from a wo­uld on one of her bre­asts, the blo­od spre­ading along the whi­te fab­ric of her blo­use.

  Without fur­t­her tho­ught, and ig­no­ring Kirk's angry sta­re, Spot­ted Eag­le whis­ked Jole­na qu­ickly up in­to his arms and be­gan car­rying her down the si­de of the hill. He held her ne­ar, his fin­gers grip­ping her as gently as pos­sib­le as she le­aned aga­inst him, her che­ek pres­sed aga­inst his chest.

  ''I lo­ve you," Jole­na sa­id, twi­ning her arm aro­und his neck, pul­ling her­self up so that she co­uld brush a soft kiss ac­ross his lips. "I shall al­ways che­rish you."

  "No mo­re than I, you," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, ga­zing down at her with he­avy eye­lids. "Sho­uld you ha­ve di­ed…"

  Jolena pla­ced a fin­ger softly to his lips, si­len­cing his fur­t­her words. "Dar­ling, I didn't," she mur­mu­red. "But only be­ca­use of you. I don't un­der­s­tand why Kirk and Two Rid­ges…"

  Spotted Eag­le was the one this ti­me to pla­ce fin­ger to lips. He se­aled hers with his fin­ger, not wan­ting her to was­te her bre­ath wor­rying abo­ut things that sho­uld ha­ve be­en.

  This was now. She was ali­ve. She was sa­fely with him. They we­re in lo­ve.

  He did not want to ta­ke the ti­me and ef­fort to cast bla­me.

  He wo­uld now be the­re, al­ways, for her. If ever he we­re cal­led to his vil­la­ge for true re­asons, he wo­uld ta­ke her with him!

  No one wo­uld get the chan­ce to trick him aga­in!

  This ti­me such fo­olis­h­ness had al­most cost his wo­man her li­fe. If he had ven­tu­red on to his vil­la­ge, Jole­na wo­uld most cer­ta­inly ha­ve di­ed!

  The tho­ught ma­de an ac­he cir­c­le his he­art, so he cast the tho­ught asi­de and cen­te­red all of his at­ten­ti­on on ma­king Jole­na com­for­tab­le af­ter her ter­rif­ying ex­pe­ri­en­ce of only mo­ments ago.

  When they ar­ri­ved at the camp and ever­yo­ne cir­c­led aro­und Jole­na and Spot­ted Eag­le with fren­zi­ed qu­es­ti­ons af­ter se­e­ing Jole­na's con­di­ti­on, Spot­ted Eag­le an­s­we­red the­ir qu­es­ti­ons qu­ickly, then pit­c­hed Jole­na's tent and they so­ught re­fu­ge wit­hin, alo­ne, away from ever­yo­ne and ever­y­t­hing but them­sel­ves as night fell in its pur­p­le and black sha­dows over the land.

  "Remove yo­ur blo­use and skirt," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id as he wrung out a cloth in a ba­sin of wa­ter that sat on the flo­or of the tent. "Let me bat­he yo­ur wo­unds whi­le you tell me how you hap­pe­ned to fall over the cliff."

  Feeling no bas­h­ful­ness in Spot­ted Eag­le's pre­sen­ce, Jole­na did not he­si­ta­te as her fin­gers went to the but­tons of her blo­use.

  "I know I was fo­olish," Jole­na sa­id, un­but­to­ning her blo­use, crin­ging then as she eased it off, the dri­ed blo­od pa­in­ful­ly ad­he­ring her blo­use to her sen­si­ti­ve bre­asts. "But it is so stran­ge. The­re was this but­terfly. It se­emed to be te­asing me. It lu­red me on­ward un­til… un­til I lost my fo­oting." She la­id her blo­use asi­de and qu­ickly slip­ped off her skirt, and as the lar­ge cam­p­fi­re out­si­de cast its gol­den dan­cing light along the in­si­de walls, Jole­na gas­ped, shoc­ked to see just how scrat­c­hed up her legs we­re. Blo­od was dri­ed in stre­aks up and down her thighs, and she win­ced as Spot­ted Eag­le be­gan dab­bing the blo­od away with the damp cloth.

  "A but­terfly lu­red you in­to dan­ger?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, gi­ving Jole­na a sha­do­wed glan­ce. "You know but­ter­f­li­es well. What was the na­me of this par­ti­cu­lar one?"

  "I am su­re that you know it well," Jole­na sa­id, tig­h­te­ning her leg mus­c­les as Spot­ted Eag­le con­ti­nu­ed cle­an­sing her of the dri­ed blo­od. "It is cal­led the nympha­lid, and it is a but­terfly ste­eped in In­di­an lo­re."

  When Jole­na des­c­ri­bed the but­terfly's des­tin­c­ti­ve mar­kings, Spot­ted Eag­le sta­red at her with a gu­ar­ded lo­ok. "You call this but­terfly nympha­lid?" he sa­id, his vo­ice drawn. "That is the but­terfly that lu­red you to dan­ger?"

  Jolena's spi­ne stif­fe­ned, he­aring the ca­uti­on in his vo­ice, frig­h­te­ning her. "Yes, I am cer­ta­in it was that but­terfly," she mur­mu­red. "I ha­ve stu­di­ed abo­ut it. I wo­uld not be mis­ta­ken."

  Spotted Eag­le sta­red at her a mo­ment lon­ger, then wrung his cloth out and le­aned clo­ser to her, now softly dab­bing the blo­od from one of her bre­asts. He ac­hed to cup the bre­ast and kiss its nip­ple, but in­s­te­ad he simply con­ti­nu­ed cle­an­sing her wo­und.

  "If you stu­di­ed the but­terfly of In­di­an lo­re well eno­ugh, you wo­uld know that it is a but­terf
ly that In­di­ans shun," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id in a scol­ding fas­hi­on. "In yo­ur stu­di­es, you wo­uld ha­ve le­ar­ned that the nympha­lid ca­uses bad luck. It ma­kes pe­op­le af­ra­id. When it fli­es out of its pu­pa, it drops a red li­qu­id li­ke blo­od from the air. It is a sign of de­ath."

  "Yes, in my stu­di­es I le­ar­ned the­se things," Jole­na sa­id softly. "But I don't ta­ke things li­ke that se­ri­o­usly. Dar­ling, su­rely you know myth from fact. The myth that the nympha­lid ca­uses bad luck, or is a sign of de­ath, is only that. A myth. I can't al­low myself to think that the but­terfly ca­used me to plun­ge over the ed­ge of the cliff."

  As she tri­ed to con­vin­ce Spot­ted Eag­le, Jole­na be­gan to re­mem­ber how the but­terfly had se­emed to te­ase her, not on­ce but over and over aga­in.

  A chill ro­de up and down her spi­ne, as she tho­ught that per­haps she was wrong and that Spot­ted Eag­le was right to fe­ar the nympha­lid.

  "You will ig­no­re the bec­ko­ning of the nympha­lid sho­uld it try to lu­re you aga­in in­to dan­ger?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id as he drop­ped his cloth in­to the ba­sin of wa­ter, then clut­c­hed his fin­gers gently to Jole­na's sho­ul­ders.

  "Yes, I will," she sa­id, then flung her­self in­to his arms, for­get­ting the so­re­ness of the scrat­c­hes on her bre­asts. His fin­gers now on them, softly kne­ading, cre­ating fi­res wit­hin her, me­ant mo­re to her than an­y­t­hing el­se at this mo­ment.

  As he crus­hed his mo­uth to her lips and kis­sed her wildly, al­most sa­va­gely in the way he mo­ved his mo­uth over hers, Jole­na cri­ed out aga­inst his lips and wrap­ped him wit­hin her arms and pul­led him down over her.

  Frantically, al­most des­pe­ra­tely, she tri­ed to sho­ve his bre­ec­hes down ac­ross his hips. His ne­ed ri­sing for her, Spot­ted Eag­le hel­ped her, kic­king them to the si­de.

  Then his hand cup­ped her mo­und at the jun­c­tu­re of her thighs, thrus­ting a hungry fin­ger in­si­de her.

  Jolena clo­sed her eyes and sig­hed as he ple­asu­red her in this sim­p­le way, then suc­ked in a wild bre­ath of rap­tu­re when she felt so­met­hing much bet­ter as he plun­ged his thick shaft de­eply wit­hin her, mag­ni­fi­cently fil­ling her.

  Spotted Eag­le bra­ced him­self abo­ve her with his arms, his hands cat­c­hing Jole­na's and hol­ding them slightly abo­ve her he­ad as he star­ted his rhythmic stro­kes wit­hin her. He kis­sed her eyes, her no­se, and then her mo­uth, pres­sing his ton­gue thro­ugh her trem­b­ling lips.

  Jolena shud­de­red sen­su­al­ly when the­ir ton­gu­es to­uc­hed and dan­ced aga­inst the ot­her, in ti­me, it se­emed, with Spot­ted Eag­le's con­ti­nu­ed stro­kes, his hips mo­ving, hers ri­sing, me­eting him.

  Spotted Eag­le pa­used mo­men­ta­rily. He le­aned up away from her and ga­zed with an in­ten­se lon­ging in­to her eyes. "Am I hur­ting you?" he qu­es­ti­oned softly. "Are yo­ur wo­unds too se­ve­re for my body to be aga­inst them?"

  "They are me­re scrat­c­hes," Jole­na whis­pe­red, le­aning up, flic­king her ton­gue ac­ross his lips. "What you are gi­ving me is ec­s­tasy." He res­pon­ded to her as she thrust her pel­vis to­ward him, re­su­ming the stro­kes that ma­de his who­le world se­em to be sud­denly spin­ning aro­und him as the pas­si­on bu­ilt li­ke he­ated stri­kes of whi­te lig­h­t­ning thro­ugh him. He held his he­ad back and gro­aned as she clam­ped her legs aro­und his wa­ist, dra­wing him mo­re tightly and de­eply in­to her. He pres­sed down aga­inst her, his hips thrus­ting hard.

  Jolena writ­hed ple­asu­rably be­ne­ath him, scar­cely awa­re of her own soft whim­pe­ring so­unds as Spot­ted Eag­le's lips clo­sed over a nip­ple, suc­king, bi­ting, lic­king.

  Jolena spla­yed her fin­gers ac­ross his tight but­tocks, he­aring him mo­an as her fin­gers tig­h­te­ned aro­und him, her fin­ger­na­ils sin­king in, mi­xing pa­in with ple­asu­re.

  Suddenly Spot­ted Eag­le pla­ced his hands at Jole­na's wa­ist and rol­led with her un­til he had her sit­ting as­t­ri­de him, her eyes fil­led with wan­ton ple­asu­re as he en­te­red her and be­gan buc­king wildly up in­to her.

  Heated wa­ves of ple­asu­re spre­ad over Jole­na. She held her he­ad back, her ha­ir bil­lo­wing lu­xu­ri­o­usly ac­ross her sho­ul­ders. As Spot­ted Eag­le's hands cup­ped and kne­aded her bre­asts, her sho­ul­ders swa­yed in the in­c­re­dib­le be­a­uty of her pas­si­on, fe­eling her­self dra­wing ne­ar to that joyo­us bliss of re­le­ase.

  When Spot­ted Eag­le ma­de anot­her de­ep plun­ge in­si­de her, and then ma­de many mo­re qu­ickly re­pe­ated thrusts as he gro­aned and held on to her bre­asts, she re­la­xed and clo­sed her eyes as the flo­od of ple­asu­re swept rag­gedly thro­ugh them both as he cri­ed out his ful­fil­lment…

  Her he­art po­un­ding so hard it ma­de her dizzy, Jole­na slip­ped away from Spot­ted Eag­le and lay down at his si­de. Ta­king se­ve­ral rag­ged bre­aths, she la­id her hand over that part of him that still se­emed ali­ve as it throb­bed aga­inst her flesh. Cir­c­ling her fin­gers aro­und him, she slowly mo­ved them, his gasp of ple­asu­re pro­ving that he wan­ted it.

  Soon he spil­led his se­ed in­to her hand, then drew her aga­inst him on­ce aga­in, hol­ding her tight. "My wo­man," he whis­pe­red hus­kily. "My be­a­uti­ful, be­a­uti­ful wo­man. Oh, how you ma­ke me ali­ve when for so long I did not even know that I was de­ad."

  Jolena knew that this was the per­fect ti­me to qu­es­ti­on him abo­ut so many things, but she did not want to ru­in the in­ti­macy of the mo­ment with qu­es­ti­ons. The­re wo­uld be a mo­re per­fect ti­me and pla­ce for such con­ver­sa­ti­on. At this mo­ment, she just wan­ted to che­rish be­ing with Spot­ted Eag­le­and be­ing ali­ve.

  She wo­uld not al­low her­self to re­mem­ber that her brot­her had be­en too co­wardly to sa­ve her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Traveling in the back of the wa­gon in­s­te­ad of on the se­at be­si­de Kirk, Jole­na spre­ad her jo­ur­nals aro­und her, her fin­gers gin­gerly pin­ning first one spe­ci­men of but­terfly on­to a bo­ard, then anot­her.

  She stop­ped, and with a mag­nif­ying glass stu­di­ed one of the most co­lor­ful and be­a­uti­ful but­ter­f­li­es she had ever se­en. Its wings we­re co­ve­red with over­lap­ping sca­les, tho­usands of the­se tiny sca­les gi­ving the in­sect its bril­li­ant co­lors.

  Jolena was scar­cely awa­re of the thun­der that was rum­b­ling out­si­de the wa­gon, muf­fled so­mew­hat by the tre­es of the fo­rest. Only mo­ments ago, she had be­en sit­ting out­si­de be­si­de her brot­her, ad­mi­ring the bril­li­ant oran­ge flo­wers sta­ring out boldly from vi­nes on the si­des of the tre­es, the­ir scent trap­ped in the ste­ady air. She had be­en in awe of a co­lor­ful li­zard as it bas­ked on a rock in the rib­bons of sun that bro­ke thro­ugh the thick fo­li­age over­he­ad.

  She was not even awa­re of the strug­gling ef­forts of tho­se who we­re le­ading the te­ams of mu­les thro­ugh the thick fo­rest in an ef­fort to enab­le ever­yo­ne to con­ti­nue tra­ve­ling along the nar­row path that had be­en cut thro­ugh the fo­rest by ear­li­er tra­ve­lers, in­s­te­ad of be­ing for­ced to tra­vel on the mu­les or on fo­ot.

  Jolena bu­si­ed her fin­gers to get to­get­her the col­lec­ti­on of but­ter­f­li­es for her fat­her, whi­le her mind was busy el­sew­he­re.

  "Spotted Eag­le," she whis­pe­red, thril­ling at the me­re so­und of his na­me as it bre­at­hed ac­ross her lips.

  She had ne­ver tho­ught that be­ing in lo­ve co­uld ma­ke one fe­el so much mo­re ali­ve. It was as tho­ugh all of her fe­elings we­re in­ten­si­fi­ed now that she had fal­len in lo­ve. She felt as tho­ugh her very he­art was sin­ging!

  A lu­rid flash of lig­h­t­ning clo­se by out­si­de
the wa­gon and an en­su­ing crash of thun­der ca­used Jole­na's fin­gers to slip so that the pin she was re­ad­ying to stick in­to the bo­ard pric­ked her fin­ger in­s­te­ad.

  "Ouch!" she whis­pe­red harshly, win­cing even mo­re as blo­od be­gan tric­k­ling down her fin­ger.

  Reaching for a cle­an, dry pi­ece of cot­ton, she pla­ced it over the tiny wo­und. She then jum­ped with alarm when lig­h­t­ning flas­hed aga­in, sen­ding its lu­rid light thro­ugh the can­vas of the wa­gon, fol­lo­wed by an even lo­uder crash of thun­der.

  As a small child, Jole­na had al­ways co­ve­red her he­ad with a blan­ket if it stor­med in the mid­dle of the night whi­le she was alo­ne in her bed­ro­om. Now she craw­led to the front of the wa­gon and ga­zed up­ward, gas­ping. Black, bil­lo­wing clo­uds we­re vi­sib­le thro­ugh the bre­ak in the tre­es over­he­ad. She grab­bed for Kirk's arm when lig­h­t­ning flo­oded the fo­rest with anot­her se­ri­es of blue-whi­te flas­hes, thun­der bo­oming only se­conds la­ter.