Until now.
He released the breath he’d been holding. His large frame rippled with acute awareness. The woman seemed small, unusually so, but still…there was something about her that stirred him.
Her brown curly hair hung low across the womanly flair of her hips. He wondered what it would feel like to have that hair wrapped around his fist while he buried himself deep inside her.
Eros followed her movements, insatiable hunger searing through him. Her nimble fingers grasped the mass of curls, tying them quickly, exposing more of her ripe heart-shaped bottom to his seeking eyes. Would her feminine musk surround him tauntingly, enveloping his senses until his lust was uncontrollable?
His mouth went dry and his cock bucked beneath his loincloth, hardening instantly. Breathing became difficult. The need to possess, claim, conquer, overwhelmed him. Ariel, the seer, hadn’t mentioned these turbulent emotions when she told him about her vision.
Confusion swamped him.
The woman stopped midway and looked in his direction. Her full lips pursed and her pale complexion glowed against the sunlight as she searched the jungle.
She sensed his presence.
Eros smiled. He liked the fact she felt him, knew he watched her from the shadows. He stepped back, even though she wouldn’t be able to spot him in his hiding place amongst the trees.
He would take no chances when it came to this woman. She was too important to his people.
To him.
* * * * *
Men bustled from tent to tent. Temporary housing had been set up, covered wagon style, with the center being the main gathering area. A fire crackled near a couple of crude tables, despite the heat. All flaps opened in, which seemed strange, but then again Rachel didn’t know much about camping, and this was the jungle.
Rachel reached the tent where most of the activity seemed to be occurring. She stopped outside the open flap, trying to shore up her courage to face Dr. Donald Rumsinger, or Professor as he liked to be called, even though he’d never taught a day in his life. Her boss, her nemesis, the biggest pain in the ass she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting, held court in the center of the tent. He’d been jealous of her popularity at the museum since day one. Rachel had never considered herself a threat, but to Dr. Rumsinger she was. He remained convinced that despite her lack of seniority, when an upper level position opened, she would get it. Rachel shook her head and rolled her eyes. She’d be happy with the promotion Donald dangled over her head.
Like it was yesterday, she remembered the day she’d learned what a truly vile human being he could be. Donald had requested she meet him at his office to discuss a new find. When she’d arrived there had been a note taped to the door, saying he’d be right back and could she please retrieve the broom from the janitor’s closet and clean up the mess on the floor.
He’d shattered a glass.
She’d been aggravated that he considered her nothing more than a glorified cleanup girl, but decided it wasn’t worth arguing. So like a sap, Rachel went to the closet door and pulled it open…
Catching the Professor in the act of having sex with another man, Dr. Todd.
Randall Todd had taken her under his wing on her first day of work. They would usually have lunch together and had discussed problems the museum faced with future funding. On occasion they’d chatted about their personal lives or lack thereof.
She’d actually had a sort of schoolgirl crush on him, when she’d first hired on. Rachel hadn’t done a good job of hiding that from him or anyone else. He was gorgeous and all the women at the museum wanted him. Now she understood why their relationship hadn’t progressed.
After she’d discovered him in the closet with Donald, her dear friend Dr. Todd had been unable to look her in the eye.
She grimaced.
When she’d opened the closet door, the Professor had leered at her, his evil eyes glittering with amusement—while Dr. Todd looked mortified, scrambling to cover himself. He resigned from the museum shortly thereafter, even though Rachel had never said a word.
Donald did everything for his own entertainment and didn’t care who he hurt in the process.
The mean-spirited bastard.
She didn’t give one flip if Dr. Todd was gay. She missed his friendship. She missed him.
Rachel blew out a breath. It was now or never. She pulled back the flaps and entered the canvas tent. Dr. Donald Rumsinger stood next to the satellite tracking equipment, his hands full of tangled cables.
He studied topographical images. His orange-red hair lay slicked back with a goopy gel, and thick black glasses, suspended on a bulbous nose, enlarged his mud brown eyes to inhuman proportions. A long walrus tusk shaped mustache hung low, covering his abundant jowls. His potbelly strained the buttons of his soiled shirt. The Professor’s bushy brows were furrowed and his face creased with concern.
As if realizing someone was staring, he looked up. His expression changed instantly to one of disgust. “Dr. Evans, how good of you to finally join us.” His voice was contemptuous, but he smiled for the benefit of the others in the tent.
Rachel swallowed her automatic retort, asshole.
Play nice, Rachel.
She wished she had the nerve to wipe that smirk right off his rotund face. But even several thousand miles away from home, he was still her boss. Rachel wouldn’t let the ”talking walrus” get to her. She was too close to obtaining her dream promotion to let petty differences get in the way. She managed a smile. “Hello Professor. How nice to see you again.” She didn’t have to add with your clothes on for him to get the picture.
His face colored at the emphasis.
She tried not to gag as she pictured Donald’s flaccid red prick dripping with semen as he pulled it out of Dr. Todd’s ass. Donald hadn’t even had sense enough to use a condom.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, well...” Donald expelled a frustrated breath. “We’ll get started tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn. I just need to fix some of the equipment damaged last night.”
“Did you have a storm?” she asked.
“No,” he said impatiently.
Rachel had been so nervous that she hadn’t noticed the disarray. She looked around the tent. Monitors and radio equipment lay scattered on the ground. Some had been smashed. Others just knocked over. The entrails of wires were ripped and tied into thick knots. “What happened?”
“Seems someone tried to sabotage our expedition by slicing through the back of the tent and cutting random wires. But,” he waved his meaty hand dismissively, “don’t worry, they didn’t succeed.”
“But who—what? Why?”
“One of the native guides, most likely. Superstitious bastards. They are set on keeping us from finding the lost tribe. I’ve told them if anymore accidents occur I’ll dock their pay.” He smiled, obviously pleased with the power he held over the poor indigenous peoples’ heads.
Rachel planted her hands on her hips. “Just how many accidents have there been?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t heard her voice crack.
“A couple, counting this mess.” He shrugged his heavy shoulders. “One of the guides died down by the stream. No great loss.”
Rachel’s face flushed and she brought her palm to her forehead, rubbing it back and forth, trying to cool the area, as she considered the situation. “How?”
“Some sort of jungle creature. Probably anaconda or perhaps a black caiman.” Donald paused, pulling on his whiskers. “I suppose it could have been a cat.” He laughed. “Just one of the many risks that comes with the job. There’s always time to reconsider coming on this expedition.”
The hopeful note in his voice made Rachel’s stomach flip. He was already trying to get rid of her. Maybe he was exaggerating the situation to scare her. Rachel wouldn’t put it past him.
Asshole.
She took a ragged breath and considered what he’d actually told her. Rachel’s fingers trembled as she fought back the same cold fear she’d felt yesterday. “I
didn’t think there were large cats in the area and this isn’t caiman territory. They both would’ve left signs near the water.”
Donald shrugged. “There were no signs, but I had to tell them something to calm the group down. We can’t have the guides panicking, now can we? They must be willing to go deep into the rainforest.”
The man was truly a heartless bastard. Someone had died and all he cared about was manipulating people to do what he wanted. If he weren’t in charge of the expedition, Rachel would tell him exactly where he could stick his attitude.
But she couldn’t and wouldn’t, because like the poor natives, he could have her bounced out of here in a heartbeat. Rachel left before she said something that she’d regret. She found a guide sitting near the fire, who helpfully pointed out where her tent was located, then phoned Jac. Static popped and whistled in her ear, then the phone rang twice before going straight to voice mail. The woman was never home. Rachel left a message letting her know that the flight arrived more or less on time and everything appeared to be on schedule. She hung up after saying she’d call her in a week, purposely omitting the fact that the expedition had already encountered problems. Rachel didn’t want to give Jac a reason to come here.
* * * * *
Night fell quickly in the jungle. The air in the tent grew smothering as Rachel unpacked only essentials. The cot, on the other hand, was actually quite comfortable once she put the sleeping bag down and mosquito netting up.
She peeked out the door. A fire blazed in the center of the group of tents. Some of the men gathered away from the flames, sitting in a circle and swapping what appeared to be fishing stories.
Rachel tied the flap of the tent up in hopes of catching a breeze, any kind of relief from the stifling conditions. She walked into the clearing; near the log stumps positioned around the fire and took a seat on one of the logs, furthest from the flames. It was unbearably hot, the air so thick that it hung in low, shadowy clouds just above the treetops, pressing down on the creatures below in a smothering embrace. A cacophony of insects swirled in the night sky, their buzzing surprisingly soothing.
Winged creatures, probably bats, dove close to the fire, pulling up at the last minute in amazing aerial acrobatic feats. Monkeys squealed, their haunting cries so human-like she found it disconcerting.
In the distance she could just barely make out the sound of rushing water through the wall of trees. A stream definitely ran nearby, probably the one the Professor had mentioned. Rachel squinted, trying to pierce the darkness. She couldn’t see any sign of the stream or the three-quarter moon’s reflection on anything resembling the tempting liquid.
A cool dip in running water would feel like heaven right about now. Anything to get the sweat off her body. But it was dangerous to go near the stream. Predators came out to hunt, and the most vulnerable prey was found near water.
Perspiration dripped between her breasts, saturating the bottom of her bra. Loose tendrils of hair clung to her temples. The back of her shirt was soaked down the center, and sticking to her like a second skin.
She walked back to her tent and pulled out the zoological guidebook from the case containing her work papers. It had arrived yesterday with Donald’s supply shipment and had been placed inside her tent. As she flipped through the pages in the glow of the kerosene lantern, she read up on what little was known about the local predators.
The waters in this area weren’t supposed to be home to piranha. Only the occasional anaconda and crocodile lived in these parts, but were mainly found deeper in the jungle. According to the book, the animals had been pushed further in due to mans’ encroachment.
An anaconda would make a meal out of her in seconds, probably before she could even scream. Fortunately, the snakes didn’t eat every day because of their slow metabolism. It was lucky for her that the efficient predators tended to avoid running water, preferring instead to use calm pools to drown their victims.
Lovely image. That made death by snake so much more pleasing.
Sweat dripped from her chin onto her book. She slammed it closed, her decision made. Rachel wasn’t stupid, but she’d rather take on an anaconda than turn into a puddle. She dropped the book on the cot and grabbed a towel from her pack, along with a change of clothes. Her hand dug deep trying to arrange the items into some semblance of neatness. Satisfied, Rachel reached for the zoological guide to return it to her work case. She was pushing papers aside when her hand struck something hard. Rachel pulled the item from the case. A semi-automatic Glock dangled from her fingertips with a note taped to it from Jac.
You didn’t think I’d let you go down there without taking one of my little friends with you, did you? Love, Jac.
Rachel glanced over at her cot. A pistol had been placed in her tent by one of the workers. Her lips twisted into a smile as she reread Jac’s note. She laughed, then tucked the present into the bottom of her tote for safekeeping. It was far too visible in her work case. Anyone could find it. Rachel didn’t even question how Jac had managed to get it in there. Some things were best left unknown. She picked up the guide-supplied pistol, taking a few minutes to get used to its unusual weight in her hand. She didn’t like guns, never had, but there was no way she was going into the jungle without a weapon.
She gathered a flashlight and tucked all the items into her safari shirt pockets. When she looked out of the tent, her eyes were drawn to a young native nearby. With a wave of her hand, she signaled for him to come over.
Shy brown eyes looked warily at her beneath long black lashes. His face was a flawless brown coffee color. She decided to speak to the young man in his local dialect, as opposed to English. His face brightened instantly and dimples appeared on his cheeks.
She asked where the path to the water was located. He shook his head and looked around, his eyes darting nervously from shadow to shadow. Rachel reassured him that he wouldn’t get into trouble if he just pointed her in the right direction.
He hesitated.
Rachel gave him an encouraging look and he acquiesced. She took out a few dollars and pressed them in his small hand. He flashed her a quick smile and then bolted. Rachel watched his retreating form until he disappeared out of sight, before turning to gaze into the darkness. She shivered, despite the heat. She hadn’t spotted anything in the inky blackness that would explain her sudden unease. Sweat continued to drip from her skin. Rachel shored up her courage and shook off the unwanted feeling.
* * * * *
From the darkness, sharp eyes watched the woman leave her tent. She made a right and headed down the trail in the direction of the water. Eros smiled.
Come to me, my Queen.
* * * * *
Chapter Three
Rachel made her way, flashlight in hand, down a trail she hadn’t seen earlier in the day. Ferns were thick around her ankles and vines hung haphazardly across the path. She picked her way carefully, not wanting to end up with a twisted ankle. The sound of crashing water grew louder. Darkness swallowed up all trace of the camp behind her. Already the air had cooled. She could almost feel the refreshing spray upon her heated skin.
Several minutes passed, the trail widened a bit and the water roared. Orchids clung to the sides of trees like babes to teats, their blooms sweetening the air. Rachel pushed a vine out of the way and stepped into a tiny clearing. A waterfall tumbled from a small outcropping of rocks, plunging into a churning pool. Ten feet further the frothy water turned placid, the current gentle, as it meandered out of sight. Anaconda territory.
The swirling liquid looked amazingly black, even with the reflection of the three- quarter moon shining upon its surface, casting an ethereal glow. She glanced up. Never in all the years of living in New York had Rachel ever seen a sky as wondrous as this star-spattered blanket of ebony.
A breeze caught spray from the waterfall, gently misting her face. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sudden refreshment. Leaves crunched nearby.
Rachel’s eyes flew open and she whirled around, f
lashlight in one hand, gun in the other, frantically trying to catch any sign of movement. Which was nearly impossible with her fingers trembling like she’d polished off five pots of coffee. The light swung wildly, leaving shadows in its wake as she searched the jungle.
Her beam passed quickly over a set of glowing red eyes.
She jerked the light back, but the glowing orbs were gone. Rachel’s brow furrowed and she shook her head. The red specks had been the wrong shape and color to be anything other than her imagination. Nonetheless, she scrutinized the area again, shining the beam on the tree branches and the jungle floor—
Nothing.
Anacondas do not have big round eyes and there are no jaguars in this part of the world. It must have been a trick of the light.
She pictured Dr. Rumsinger’s bespectacled orbs and laughed. She was pretty sure no one would feel more repulsed by her nakedness than Donald, if he were lurking in the shadows. It would serve him right to be disgusted considering the stunts he’d pulled on her.
Rachel set the light down and began to undress. The pistol fell out of her hand and landed with a muted clunk.
Smooth move, Rachel. If you shoot yourself in the foot you’ll never be able to go back to the museum and face your co-workers. You’ve checked the area. There’s nothing here, so relax.
She reached down and scooted the weapon away from the water’s edge, but still within easy reach if she needed to get to it. Rachel expelled a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, and pulled her clinging shirt from her body. It made a disgusting, sucking noise. Rachel cringed and decided unless she wore rubber, clothes should never make those kinds of sounds. She removed her bra and her nipples sprang to life, beading instantly in the hot humid air. She placed her clothes next to the gun.
Rachel smiled and stretched her arms slowly, luxuriously above her head. “Ah…that’s better.”
Atlantean's Quest Volume 1 Page 3
