Sanika blinked, trying to focus her eyes as a dark mist swirled around the cat then slowly dissipated.
Outlined by the last rays of the setting sun, a man stood in its place. A long, black tangle of hair cascaded over his broad shoulders to the middle of his back. His waist was trim, his behind firm, his legs long.
Sanika swallowed. A balam. The goddess had sent a balam to save her. Too bad he was too late. Fighting the lethargy attacking her body, Sanika shifted, trying to ease the numbness in her arms and legs and the fiery ache in her bleeding cuts. Fixing her concentration on the naked man, she struggled to remain conscious.
She lost her battle.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, her consciousness fled with it.
* * *
Wiping fresh blood from his chin with the back of his hand, Balam stood in the twilight and stared down at the dead priest. The fool. Did he really believe he would be allowed to continue his blasphemous ways? Torturing children for his own enjoyment in the name of the gods? His blood and death would end the drought.
Flexing his hands, Balam turned to the acolyte who still lived. Bending, he grabbed him by the throat and jerked him to his feet.
The acrid odor of urine surrounded them as the boy closed his eyes and clawed at Balam’s arm. “Please,” he gasped, “don’t -- kill me. Please -- holy one, don’t kill -- me. I told -- them -- the priestess was -- holy, that she -- shouldn’t be the -- sacrifice, -- but they -- wouldn’t listen.”
Wrinkling his nose at the stench emanating from the boy, Balam searched for truth in the acolyte’s words. He shook the boy. “Look at me.”
The quaking boy opened his eyes.
Balam contemplated the acolyte who now hung loosely from his hand. Tears rolled down his cheeks but his gaze didn’t waver. He told the truth.
Disgusted, Balam dropped the acolyte. Why did he ever think he missed spending time with humans? With a muttered curse at his own foolishness, he turned and walked to the altar. Lips thinning, he curled his hands into fists. The woman lay completely still, her torso, thighs, and breasts covered with fine, bloody lines. The pungent odor of oleander drifted in the air. If the priest weren’t already dead, he would have taken great pleasure in disemboweling him again -- far more slowly.
A growl escaped his throat. “Bastard priest, may the god of the underworld fill your eternity with pain and torture for what you inflicted on this woman.”
Grabbing the knife he’d knocked from the priest’s hand, he quickly cut the bonds holding her bloody wrists and ankles. As she slid down the oblique altar, he caught her in his arms and eased her to the ground.
Cotton cloth rubbed against his ankle. Reaching back, he grabbed the discarded loincloth and dipped it in the bowl of water next to the altar and began to wipe her cuts. At least he’d be able to wash some of the poison away. Whether or not she would live was another matter.
When her cuts were as clean as he could make them, Balam finally concentrated on her face. His vision was different when in his jaguar form, but even then, he’d noticed her beauty. Her long black hair covered the ground about her head and shoulders like a cloud of midnight. The line of tiny white and blue flowers tattooed across her face from one ear to the other emphasized her straight nose, full cheeks, and warm, brown skin. A small ball of green jade pierced her left nostril. The two blue lines tattooed vertically up her chin drew attention to her full, red lips. Earlier, when he’d stared down into them, her eyes, though closed now, had been the deep, dark brown of rich chocolate.
He traced the line of flowers from one side of her face to another. “You had the courage to defy a corrupt priest and save a child from a brutal death without thought for your own safety. I wish I could have known you.”
He cupped her cheek then slid a knuckle down the firm column of her throat to her shoulders. Were the rope burns and cuts her only injuries? A cut on her collarbone still bled, and, for a few minutes, he applied pressure with his thumb to stop it. He cupped a breast. Round and firm, it was the perfect size for his hand.
Suddenly, his jaguar soul roared to life. Mine. My mate. The urge to suck on her vibrantly red nipples almost overpowered him -- almost.
Snarling at his own weakness, Balam wrenched his gaze away from her breasts and continued to explore her body for wounds. The myriad of sluggishly bleeding cuts on her rib cage marred her otherwise unblemished skin. Carefully, he stroked the deep, green jade oval in her navel. The smooth stone drew his eyes downward to her flaring hips, and he trailed his fingers lower -- to the junction of her thighs and her hairless mons. He hadn’t had a woman for longer than he cared to remember. And now, when he finally had one in his arms, she was dying.
Balam sighed. Not only was she one of the most physically desirable women he’d ever seen, but the bravery this priestess had displayed had earned his respect and admiration.
The jaguar in his soul fought for control of his body. The urge to mate grew stronger.
Her breathing became more labored.
With some difficulty, he regained complete control of his mind and body, somewhat surprised that his jaguar instincts had fought so hard against him. Normally, the feline part of his soul ignored human women.
Brushing a dark curl from her face, Balam contemplated the woman in his arms. He couldn’t let her lie here until someone found her and tossed her body onto a carrion fire. She deserved better than that. He would take her into the jungle and bury her in a secret place sacred to the goddess. She deserved no less. Lifting her into his arms, he strode down the stairway carved into the side of the hill.
As Balam carried the priestess toward the jungle, she moaned.
He looked down into her flushed face. Fever.
She moaned again and muttered something incomprehensible.
His heart twisted.
Perhaps her will was strong enough for her to survive.
Balam shifted her in his arms again, and her breast rubbed against his chest.
He willed his body not to react. He was an avatar of the gods not a man so desperate for a woman that he would mount one as she lay dying. But if she lived…
Balam clenched his teeth and forced the carnal thoughts from his mind. This woman deserved more of him than that. He’d take her on the journey back to his cave and use what healing skills he had to save her life. If she died on the way, he would honor her with a proper burial. But he would also do all in his power to help her survive.
Chapter 3
Balam measured the distance from the ground to the thick tree limb with a glance. Normally, leaping up to it wouldn’t be a problem. However, the woman in his arms was extra weight, so more strength was required to make the jump. If only he weren’t already so tired. This journey was taking twice as long as usual. He should have been home this morning. Instead, he’d be spending another night in a tree holding the fevered priestess in his arms.
But she still lived.
In the last two days, each time he came to a stream, he forced water down her throat. She fought him, but she did swallow. She hadn’t regained consciousness, which was probably for the best. Trying to explain to her why he hadn’t left her to the care of the villagers was something he’d rather do in his cave.
Taking a deep breath, Balam crouched, then surged upward and landed on the thick, horizontal tree limb. He balanced himself carefully then settled himself into the apex of two branches, his back braced against the tree trunk. With a little luck, he’d get some sleep tonight.
Slivers of moonlight stabbed through the green canopy that arched far above his head when Balam was awakened by low moans. Instantly, his eyes adjusted to the dark gloom. Balam smiled. A human wouldn’t be able to see much more than the hand in front of his face. He didn’t have any trouble seeing at all.
The woman in his arms began to struggle. “Ahhhhhhh. No! Let me go!”
He loosened his grip just enough that she didn’t feel so trapped. She was so weak, her struggles had no effect on his superior stre
ngth anyway.
Heat radiated from her body. She was still fevered, but her eyes were open.
Blinking, Sanika tried to focus on the face above her, but it was too dark to see more than a vague outline. She closed her eyes again.
Swallowing, she tried to talk.
No words left her mouth and she sobbed in her mind. Her entire body ached, and she was so hot!
A single tear rolled down her cheek, and Sanika stopped struggling. She was dying. Why fight it?
Strong arms hugged her to a firm chest. “Shhhh, Priestess. You’re safe now. Go back to sleep.”
Her consciousness slipping away, Sanika dragged her eyes open once more and concentrated on the deep rumbling voice of the man who held her. She licked her lips. This time her voice was faint but audible. “I’m safe?”
“Safer than most in our world, Priestess.”
Relaxing, she let her head fall against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “Sanika. My name is Sanika.”
* * *
Yawning, Balam stretched until he worked every knot out of every muscle. Then he lay down on his side and licked his sore leg. Thank all the gods that he was finally home. Two nights in the branches of downed trees, napping only lightly as Sanika slept restlessly in his arms and constantly on guard against possible predators, had sapped his endurance.
Resting his head on his forepaws, Balam stared down at the woman where she slept among the loose grasses and mats of his bed. Many times during the course of the journey, he’d caught himself admiring her face and body.
She said her name was Sanika, and she was as delicate as the white flower she was named after. Yet her plump breasts and full hips left no doubt she was a woman grown.
His cock twitched, and Balam shifted slightly. He hadn’t made love with a woman since he’d placed himself in the goddess’s service -- service that was finally coming to an end. As soon as the new avatar arrived, he was free to return to his village and find a mate.
Balam stared at Sanika. She was young and beautiful, as beautiful as any woman in his tribe. Her skin was soft and smooth, her breasts full, her hips wide enough to cradle a man comfortably as he lay atop her. Her legs were long, long enough to wrap around his waist as he plunged into her.
As he continued to stare at Sanika, the desire to mount and mate her increased. His tail began to lash as that part of his soul that was jaguar roared. She is female and available. Mate her. Breed cubs on her.
Forcing down his primal urges, Balam shifted to human shape. Sanika was still fevered, sick, and weak. She needed to heal. But after she was well…
Reaching high above his head, he stretched once more then walked across the stone floor. The cave was cool. She was naked and he needed to keep her warm. Besides, he was tired and needed rest. They were safe here. Finally, he could sleep.
After finger-combing his tangled hair out of his face, Balam lay down beside Sanika and pulled her into his arms, her back to his chest. He spooned his body around hers and tucked her head under his chin.
For the first time in three nights, he relaxed and slept deeply.
* * *
Surrounded by masculine warmth, Sanika woke to almost total darkness -- only a dull red glow from the coals of a dying fire provided a dim light. A heavy arm lay across her waist, and a large hand cupped her breast. A hard body curled around hers from behind. Soft, springy hairs tickled her bare behind -- and a hard cock pressed against her ass.
Blinking, she tried to gather her wits. It was so dark, she could barely see the mat beneath her body.
The arm around her waist tightened.
Sanika shifted her hips -- away from the man who held her in his arms. Who was he? Frowning she searched her memory. The priest, the cuts, the poison, the pain -- the green-eyed jaguar. Later, the dark, a shadowy face, and strong arms. She was still alive. Someone, probably this man, had rescued her and nursed her back to health. She owed him her life.
Taking a deep breath, she wiggled out from under the muscular arm. Slowly, she sat up, bracing her hands on the floor at a sudden attack of dizziness. Swaying, she struggled to remain upright. She was so weak.
Before she knew he was awake, the man lying next to her rose. “Stay where you are. I’ll let in some light.”
The voice was deep and rich, almost a low, rumbling growl. Something about it was familiar. Soft footfalls traversed an empty space in front of her. Stone rasped against stone and bright light exploded into the darkness.
Gasping, Sanika covered her eyes, blinking until they adjusted.
He spoke again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you. I didn’t think it would be so late in the day when we awoke.”
Footsteps padded behind her, and she heard the rustle of a woven curtain. Bracing her hands against the floor to steady herself, she glanced back over her shoulder. Dim light crept through a door-sized opening.
“The entrance to the cave is on an angle to this opening so the light from it isn’t strong. That other opening, however, is in a relatively thin section of the cave wall. When the sun begins to set, direct sunlight comes in for a few hours. I usually keep the hole covered. The dim light from the doorway and the fire is enough for me, but your eyes aren’t as good as mine.”
Sanika turned her head, following the man’s voice until she found its origin. A shadowy form stood just off to the right of the doorway. The deep voice jogged her memory. He was the man who had held her in his arms and told her she was safe.
“Who are you?”
“Balam.”
Her strength left her. Shivering, she collapsed. Balam. A balam, a half man half jaguar avatar of the gods, had rescued her. He was the jaguar with the green eyes.
“Why?” Sanika swallowed the dryness in her throat. “Why did you rescue me?”
His voice was a raspy growl. “Tlazolteotl commanded me to do so.”
Sanika’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The goddess herself?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t your time to die.”
Covering her eyes with her arm, she blinked back her tears. She was so weak, so tired, at the mercy of a being not completely human. But she was still alive. No matter what her circumstances, alive was better than dead.
Sanika sensed rather than heard him move.
He knelt beside her, slipped his arm under her shoulders, lifted her, and held a bowl to her lips.
She wrenched her eyes open. “What?”
Settling one foot on the floor behind her, he leaned her back against his thigh and commanded, “Drink. It’s water. You need to replace the fluids your body lost.”
Warmth from his body surrounded her.
Sanika wrinkled her nose as she sipped. His scent was not unpleasant but rather clean and masculine and something more -- musky, like a cat.
She choked.
“Are you all right?” He shifted her and her elbow brushed the tip of his cock.
Sanika froze. What was he going to do with her? “Why am I here? Why didn’t you leave me with the villagers?”
Instead of answering her, he held the bowl to her lips again. “Swallow all of it.”
“No. I need to know…”
“You will drink this now.” His tone brooked no refusal.
Anger welling, Sanika gulped. If she didn’t, he might drown her by dumping it down her throat. After she drank the water, he gently laid her back down. As she watched, he made his way to the fire, dug a hot rock from the center, and dropped it into another wooden bowl.
The hiss of evaporating steam filled the cave. He fished the stone out with two forked sticks and returned to her side.
She tried to push herself away. “What’s that?”
He lifted her back into his arms as if she were a helpless newborn. “Meat broth. You need to regain your strength.”
After tasting it himself, he held the bowl to her lips. “It’s not too hot. Drink it. All of it.”
She gulped and swallowed. Sh
e swallowed a second time and turned her head away.
He used his thigh to turn her head back to the bowl. “You will drink all of it.”
The musky, masculine scent from his crotch surrounded her.
Sanika didn’t have the strength to fight him.
After each sip, he gave her a chance to catch her breath, then poured more broth into her mouth.
Finally, exhausted, she finished the last drop. Carefully, he laid her back down amongst the furs and grass mats. “Sleep now.”
The command in his voice caused her to drag her eyes open. She’d sleep when she was ready, not when he told her to. “Why didn’t you take me back to my temple?”
“The villagers were willing to let you die once. I couldn’t take the chance they’d do so again.” He set the bowl down and brushed a lock of hair from her face.
She was too weak to pull away. “The priest…”
Was that a snarl?
“Is dead.”
“You killed him?”
Balam’s gaze was intense as he nodded. “He deserved to die.”
Sanika’s eyelids drooped. “What… what are you going to do with me?”
The jaguar in Balam’s soul roared. Keep her. Mate her. A surge of heat raced through his veins.
His cock hardened.
He wanted her.
His cock jerked.
Nostrils flaring, Balam struggled against the urge to fall on Sanika and thrust himself into her as deeply as he could. She was still too sick to withstand a wild mating with him. But later… when she was well. A strong sense of possessiveness enveloped Balam as he stared at Sanika. He would keep her for himself.
Rising to his full height, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You are mine. When you’re well, you will return with me to my village as my mate.”
Sanika wrenched her eyes back open. Her chin dropped. His mate! He wasn’t even human! Calling on all her strength, she pushed herself up. “Are you crazy?” Immediately her vision swam. She swayed and fell back among the grasses, lacking the strength to do anything more than lie there. Tears trickled down her cheeks. I’m as much at his mercy as I was at Dloto’s.
Myths and Legends 01 Jaguar Page 2
