by Candi Wall
He pulled her hand from his shoulder. “This way.”
If she hadn’t noticed the slight grimace, his injury would have continued to escape her. As it was, she looked him over, angry when she saw the ugly puncture wound on his thigh. “Damon, you’re hurt! Let me look at it.”
Blood trickled from the wound. He glanced down and swiped at the blood, smearing it across his thigh. “It will heal. You can fuss later.”
She would have argued, but the look in his eyes said he wouldn’t tolerate it. Funny how she could read him so easily. He obviously couldn’t read her as easily.
“We’re not going anywhere until you let me bandage it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet.
A few minutes later, Myla hid a smile as she followed her newly bandaged native into the jungle. Leaves and a portion of her boot lace was less than the first aid she would have liked, but it was something.
Myla held tighter to his arm as they moved slowly over the dilapidated bridge. “Are you sure there isn’t another way?”
If it hadn’t been for the necessary crossing of the ancient rope bridge, she would have loved the beautiful scene before her.
The river had widened into rapids that rushed past at a violent clip. Smooth boulders worn down by erosion dotted the shores, and exotic flowers bloomed to line both sides of the water. Huge roots from the trees arced down to wrap around rocks in fingerlike patterns before they disappeared into the muddy riverbed.
High earthen walls blocked out the sun, but the warmth of the day permeated the ravine. The musical call of hidden birds drifted along the stilted air from every direction. It was enchanting, or would have been, if not for the bridge suspending them nearly a hundred feet over the rapids.
Damon’s throaty laughter drifted back to her. “No, alogu. This is the safest path.”
Safe? “You’ve got to be joking.” She could almost swear she heard him laugh—again. “And what is an Al-oo-goo anyway?” Each step took her several moments since there was no way she would put her weight onto the decrepit boards without testing them first.
“Angel.”
She tried to ignore his small chuckle, certain it was at her butchered attempt at his language. “Why do you call me that?”
He pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Keep moving. One step at a time. You will see it is sturdy, safe.”
It looked and felt anything but. The bridge shifted and groaned with each step, and when she looked across to the other side, she realized they were swaying. There was no way she would look down. The dizzying height would certainly be her undoing. “Safe is relative to what one is used to.”
This time his chuckle rumbled down her side. “You are doing well.”
She concentrated on her steps, placing each foot squarely on a board. Focusing on her footing kept the scenery below in a constant blur. Being deathly afraid of heights made it difficult to fly, but at least in an airplane she couldn’t see her death directly below her feet. “How much farther?”
She glanced up when Damon stopped, and the air left her lungs. Men stood at the other end of the bridge. Painted men with spears and very unfriendly expressions. She turned to look back, fear racing through her body. There were men there too. “Who are they?”
Damon pulled her against his chest. “Hountas.”
Oh, they were so going to die. “What are we going to do?”
He ignored the question and called out in his native language. One of the men yelled back, his response angry, harsh. Damon’s rapid heartbeat drummed against her chest and he uttered a word that sounded remarkably like a curse.
“They want you.”
Once again, he was in trouble because of her. “I don’t belong here.” She said it more to herself, but he ran a hand up her back and curved his hand under her arm to brace on her ribs.
“No, you do not.”
The Hountas on either side of them began calling out. The rope under her hand tightened when the men moved onto the bridge, and Damon drew an audible, deep breath. “This isn’t good, is it?”
He bent his head down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “No, but what is good is that you can swim.”
She only had a second to consider the meaning of those words before her feet left the bridge and she was plummeting over the side. A scream lodged in her throat. The scenery around her slowed. Air rushed by and she was weightless, falling. It was ethereal actually, peaceful. She closed her eyes and held tight to Damon. Let it end without pain.
But the pain came. They slammed into the water with such force that the air was knocked from her lungs. The impact of her flesh against the water stung. Turbulent water sucked her down, tossing her over and against rocks until stars burst at the corners of her vision. Damon slipped from her arms, jerked away by the raging water.
The swirling black depths made it impossible to see anything as she was plunged beneath the surface. She kicked frantically, trying to determine which way was up. Her lungs ached. Panic filled her. Then she broke the surface. Sucking in as much air as water, she struggled against the desperation suffocating her lungs.
Land raced by in rapid, blurry flashes. She caught sight of Damon farther ahead and swam in his direction. He pointed toward the shore. Broad strokes moved him across the current. He’d nearly reached the side when a violent swell pushed him back. He disappeared beneath the water before surging up again.
She swam as close as she could, riding the current until she came within a couple of feet of him. His hand brushed over hers but she wasn’t able to grab hold. “Take my hand, Myla.”
Her legs scraped the rocky riverbed, and she kicked herself forward. This time her hand closed around his and he dragged her close. A large tree lay across half of the river to their right. She pointed to it. “Damon, there!”
They kicked in its direction together. The current pulled them over more, and Myla felt the first surge of relief. They were going to make it. She prayed they’d make it.
The water swelled and churned, and the moment they reached the tree, before excitement could actually form, they were sucked under. Tumbled around. Slammed into piles of hidden rocks beneath the surface, until she couldn’t tell up from down or right from left. Sucking water into her lungs, Myla prayed for a miracle.
Something gouged her leg, sending shards of pain up through her thigh. She sucked in another mouthful of water, her lungs burning. Damon’s hold slackened. She held tight to him, kicking up through the frothy foam to grab the tree. “Grab here, Damon. Here!” she sputtered.
He draped an arm over the tree, but it slipped free a moment later. His eyes were half closed, and a thin ribbon of blood trickled from a deep gash near his temple. She screamed his name, wrapping her legs around him as she held on to the tree, gasping for breath. “Damon, you—have to—help me.”
He nodded and surged forward through the water. Myla tried to pull him along but his weight seemed impossibly heavy. Somehow, they made it to shore, dropping down on the jagged rocks in a heap. He tumbled over her, lethargic, his motions slow and his eyes unfocused. She tugged him out of the water, then dropped to her knees, exhausted.
Each breath she took rushed out as she looked him over, panic beating at her skull. The wound at his temple was deep, oozing with blood. She could manage a bandage of sorts—she just hoped he didn’t lose consciousness. “Damon, please.”
He smiled, his breathing slow and his eyes closed. A warm hand snaked around her waist and pulled her down with him. “I will be fine. Now I need to rest for a bit. You were very brave.”
She didn’t resist when he tucked her head into his shoulder. He needed a break. If he had a concussion, she’d have to wake him from time to time, but for now, she’d let him rest. She ran her hands over his slick skin. “Sleep, Damon.”
Chapter Eight
Pain sliced through his brain with brilliant accuracy to center right behind his eyes. He did not dare open them.
The soft rustle of leaves from behind him
and the rushing waters below told him where he lay. He was dry, or nearly so, and the heat of the day had diminished. He had to keep each movement slow, but he managed to shift into an upright position and opened his eyes slowly.
“Go easy, Damon.”
Had Myla’s voice gained in strength? The way the words ricocheted around in his head made him cringe. Even worse, he wished he had not moved as a wave of nausea rose in his gut. “Explain.”
Myla dropped to her knees before him, her forehead crinkled with concern. “You’ve been out of it for a while.” She looked up at the sky with a small shrug. “An hour, maybe more. I can’t really tell without a watch.”
Her chatter made him want to smile. Every subtle gesture, the inflection of her words, the way she tucked her hair behind her delicate ears. The happiness her presence brought him made no sense, especially when his head was ready to explode and the threat of danger loomed around them. She was special.
He could enjoy spending the day lying in the grass, enjoying every aspect of her spirit. But the Hountas would follow. “We need to move. Now.”
The warning in his voice seemed to take her by surprise. After a moment of silence, she pointed up the embankment. “I couldn’t manage to drag you any farther, but I’ve got food and water packed up there. Do you think you can walk?”
He honestly did not know. Reaching up to touch the sore spot on his head, he encountered a cloth bandage. “What is this?”
“I don’t know very much about head injuries, but I thought it would be best to clean and wrap it.”
He let his gaze wander over her body. One of her pant legs was torn, and her shirt was tied high under her breasts. Reaching out to finger the knot, he smiled. “Did you use your shirt?”
A slight blush crawled up her cheeks. “I didn’t know what else to do. Besides, it was beyond repair.”
His finger drifted over her smooth belly without his consent. Each breath she took became shallow, and her muscles tightened under his touch. She reacted to him as quickly as he did to her. It was heady knowledge.
He pulled his hand away from her temptation reluctantly. His leg was re-bandaged as well. “Thank you.”
She scooted away, her hand covering the flesh he had explored. “I think I should be thanking you. Though I never would have guessed I’d thank a man for jumping off a bridge with me in tow.”
“We had little choice.”
Her hands laced together tight. “I know. I’m glad you were there. I don’t know what I would have done, honestly. I don’t think I would have even considered jumping, let alone been brave enough to do it. I would have been captured.”
A vision of her slain by the Hountas flashed through his mind. The horrid thought made him reach out and pull her close. He ran a hand through her hair. “I will keep you safe.”
Her lips parted but she said nothing. She didn’t fight his hold either. Instead, she lowered her head until their lips were a breath apart. He waited, intrigued by her boldness. There was no doubt she had liked their first kiss, but frustration and concern had dictated that contact. This was different. Her gaze darkened, thick lashes concealing none of the desire he read there.
“Why do you continue to save me?”
Her whispered question moved over his lips. “From the moment I saw you, I knew my life would change. You were an omen.”
Her breath hitched and she ran a finger down his cheek to his jaw. “It was chance, nothing more. I’m not an omen, bad or good.”
Then her lips pressed to his. She was tentative, moving her lips gently at first. When her tongue traveled over his lower lip, he opened without reservation. Fire shot through him when she leaned closer, tipping her head slightly to deepen the kiss.
He slipped his arm around her waist and rolled her back onto the grass, unable to take the subtle, almost teasing cadence of her mouth. He delved deeper to taste the sweet flavor of her and knew he would never forget it.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders to knead the muscles. She pulled him closer even as her hands moved down his back. The soft moans she made stoked his already raging need, and he pulled back, stalling her protest by sucking gently at the soft skin at her neck. This was not the time.
It was agony. He slid his fingers along the smooth skin at her collarbone. “I could spend a full day doing nothing more than touching your body.”
A slight shiver racked her body, the scent of her arousal flaying his senses. Her skin heated as he touched it. Her breaths sharpened as he dipped lower, brushing the curves of her breasts. He tucked close to her ear, whispering, “You will be wild in my arms, under my body, taking me deep inside you.”
She nodded, her eyes closed. “Damon,” she breathed.
“I wish for nothing more.” He pulled her close. “I would have you now were it not for the danger around us. Myla, we must go.”
Her eyes opened and she glanced down at their entwined bodies. Light pink stained her cheeks. She nodded then tried to sit up. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
Damon chuckled but refused to let her move. “I am only sorry we cannot fulfill what we both desire.”
The pink turned to red. He liked it. “I can’t believe the effect you have on me. I-I mean this isn’t like me.” She waved a hand down to indicate their bodies.
Her surprise at her actions was so genuine. “It is the jungle that changes you.” He sat up slowly and looked away to hide a grimace. His head felt near to exploding. But he enjoyed her good mood too much to ruin it by showing weakness. Although her concern for his injuries and the attention he received because of them was tempting to exploit.
“What do you mean?” She stood and placed her hands on her hips. Smooth hips that curved to a perfect fit for his hands.
“The jungle.” He stood as well and waved to indicate the trees. “It becomes part of you. If you stay too long, you will become wild and base. Same as it. Your reaction is response to its allure. To the freedom it represents.”
Her brows wrinkled and she glanced around at their surroundings. With a slight shake of her head, she bit her lip. “It’s not the jungle I find alluring.”
Making a firm decision to say no more, he walked toward the river. Her admission made it difficult to consider anything other than pressing her back onto the grass and spending the rest of the day showing her his desire.
After a moment, the sound of her footsteps followed. “Where do we go from here?”
It took a few minutes to determine where they had washed up. They had traveled a fair distance by foot, but almost double that in the swift currents. There was little choice on a path back. She was not going to like what he had to say.
“Myla, we have crossed Hounta lands twice and I do not plan to test our luck by doing so again. The river claimed my knife, so we no longer have a weapon.” He pointed to the high walls back the way they had come. “If we cross downstream and make our way back across the higher land, we can avoid their tribe.”
Her gaze followed the direction he indicated. “Whatever you say at this point. You’re the boss.”
“The boss?”
Her laughter filled the space around them. “Sorry.” She stooped down to grab her bag and tossed it over her shoulder. “Boss is another word for leader.”
He liked it. “Then you trust me?”
There was a brief pause before she nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. To avoid Hounta land, we will cross into territory that my tribe does not claim. We must travel over the land held by the men who wear that symbol.” He pointed to the mark on her shirt.
Her eyes widened, but surprisingly, she nodded with conviction. “Lead on.”
“I am the boss?”
“Yes.”
Her answer, said with such a lack of sincerity, made him laugh. “You will enjoy what lies ahead.” He reached a hand out, and after a moment, she took it with a tentative smile.
“I’m not sure I’ll find anything enjoyable at this point. Every portion of my body is scream
ing at me right now. Especially my feet. It’s a good bet my calluses have blisters.”
“Calluses?” He searched his memory. For all the hours his mother had required him to spend learning to read and telling him stories about her life, there was still much he had to learn.
“Yeah. It’s tough skin that develops when something rubs against your skin. In my case, my shoes.” He glanced at the contraptions on her feet while she explained. “You can also get them from overuse. Guitar players can even form them on their fingers from strumming the strings.”
Damon pushed aside a low branch and helped her over the uneven ground. “Why would you wear shoes if they cause pain?”
Her laughter scared a pair of maliki birds and they whistled shrilly in protest. She looked up, a soft gasp escaping. “What are those?”
“Maliki. The one near the tree is the male. See the blue and orange colors on his back?” When she nodded, he continued, enjoying her curiosity. “The bright colors are to warn other birds that this is his home. He stays to protect the egg while the female brings back food.”
“They’re beautiful. I’ve never seen such a colorful bird.”
Her enjoyment of the animal was infectious. To see his home through her eyes gave it new beauty. “It is a good omen to see them in pairs. Very rare, and so we will have luck this day.”
Her brows knit together. “You’re superstitious?”
This word he knew. His mother had teased him for his belief in the jungle’s omens. “I am. You do not believe in the signs of nature?”
“I guess. But it’s more concrete instances. Changes in weather, phases of the moon, things like that.” She looked at the birds for a moment longer before he gave her hand a gentle tug. “I don’t know if I believe that birds or berries, or even people can be a marker for things to come.”
“You will. It will take time to learn.”
Sadness entered her eyes, and he wished he had not mentioned time. They both knew her presence in his world was limited. “You will have to show me as much as you can before I leave.”
Damon’s chest tightened. “I will start with this.” He placed a hand over her eyes and pulled her forward through the trees.
