Primitive Nights (24 page)

Myla kept them to the shadows, searching each turn and road before they moved farther. Her lithe movements drew his attention. Her hair fell down her back in a tangled mass. The skin of her arms had traces of grime, several in the shape of the men’s hands where they had held her a short time before. Small bruises and scrapes marred her neck and face, and still, she looked beautiful.

Wild, as though she belonged in his jungle. Nothing near the stiff, scared woman he had first encountered the night she appeared in his village. Even her movements were different. Careful and precise, she moved with the quiet steps of his people under the canopy. If she chose to stay, she would learn his ways.

The thought brought reality crashing in around him. The presence of lights and sounds forced into his mind with a brilliant rush, and for a moment, he was disoriented. There was too much here. So much to see, too busy to take it all in at once. The difference in their worlds suddenly seemed more pronounced than ever before.

A deep sadness ran through him. Neither of them would ever be able to find peace in the other’s world.

“Damon, come on.”

Her hushed voice reached out to him and he looked up to meet her concerned stare. “Too different.”

With a frustrated sigh, she walked back to where he stood. “What’s wrong? What’s too different?”

“Us. This.” He waved at their surroundings. “Everything. Nothing can ever come of what I feel inside.”

“Damon.” His name was nothing more than a whisper past her lips.

He wanted to crush her to him, drag her back to the trees where the illusion of safety remained. But this time, reality would not be denied. Shaking away the remnants of grief, he held his hand out and waited for her to take it. “Come.”

They traveled for several minutes in silence before Myla finally spoke. “I know this must be very overwhelming for you. I know I’m having a hard time processing it all.” She slipped her hand into his again. “What I experience when I’m with you—well, it’s much stronger than anything I ever expected.”

Somehow, her admission did not help. “I wonder if you suffer what I feel inside.”

She leaned into him. “What is it you feel?”

“My chest hurts when I think of you leaving. There is a pressure that constricts my throat and chest until it becomes difficult to breathe. I feel this because I will not be able to touch you, hold you. I will wonder what you are doing and miss your smile.”

And he would. More than anything, he wished to keep her at his side. Never had such a strong force pulled him to one person. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she stopped to curl her arms around his waist. “I will miss you as well, Damon. More than you can ever understand.”

He tightened his arms around her, returning her embrace. He hoped it brought her more comfort than he felt. “We will enjoy this time we have left. We will not think of when we must part.” He tipped her chin up and brushed his lips over hers. “Yes?”

She nodded, swiping at a tear. “Yes. That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Damon smiled, though he had never been less happy. “Let us find the bags.”

Myla couldn’t take her eyes off him. Good Lord, they didn’t make them like Damon back home. Oh, there were plenty of good-looking men in Massachusetts, and even more when she’d gone off to college in Florida. Numerous men there had taken care of themselves, working out regularly, tanned to perfection as they walked the beaches. And at that time, she’d enjoyed the view.

But nothing compared to the perfect sculpture of the man walking before her. Only a physical life, full of hard work could make a person’s body look the way Damon’s did. His height and broad shoulders only made his physique more amazing. Every line of his body moved and tensed as he picked his way through the trees with both bags slung over his shoulders.

Thankful for the moonlight still visible through the trees, she called out to him. “Damon, please let me carry one of those.”

He didn’t slow, calling back over his shoulder. “We are close.”

A surge of relief washed over her when the river came into view. The area they passed through didn’t look the same as when she’d left Seiret hours before, but Damon seemed to know exactly what direction to take. “How did you know where to go?”

Damon dropped the bags near the shore and turned to her. When he stretched his arms over his head and arched his back, her mouth went dry. The urge to run her hands over that body was almost too tempting to resist, and she let her gaze travel his form until she met his eyes. His small, knowing smile made her heart flutter.

He came closer, the scent of his exertion-warmed skin filling her senses like a dizzying intoxicant. “I listen to the jungle. It leads me where I need to go.” His words brushed the small hairs at her temple when he spoke.

She shivered, licking her suddenly dry lips. “That is very—clever.”

His hand slipped over the curve of her waist with light pressure. “Your desire is present in your eyes.”

How was he able to read her so well? And did she really care so long as he kept doing it? “What do you see?”

Subtle pressure drew her forward against the wall of his body and she slipped her hands over his slick skin, pressing her cheek to his heart. “You crave my touch, my kiss…my body within yours.” The deep rumble of his voice echoed in her ears.

“Yes.” Why deny what she couldn’t hide? Though for once they were even. She knew he wanted her as well.

He nodded, even as his mouth met hers, as if he’d come to some decision in his mind. Or maybe he’d read her thoughts. That would explain a lot, considering he seemed to know exactly what she wanted.

There was no gentleness in this kiss, his lips parting, sucking at hers until he claimed her with sensual sweeps of his tongue. His fingers left her hip to move into her hair, holding her pinned for his demands.

Not that she intended to refuse him. She welcomed the heat that poured over her, so different from the warmth of the night around them. The fabric of her shirt, along with the backs of his fingers, brushed her sensitive skin as he slipped the knot under her breasts free. His palm grazed over the upper curve of her breast, settling with exquisite pressure on her aching flesh.

His low groan vibrated through her throat, and he pulled the strap of her bra down harshly, seeking her skin. The rough pad of his thumb grazed her nipple, and her body jolted with the pleasure. Intense shards of need spiraled down to her belly from the simple contact, and when his mouth left hers, scorching a path down her neck, she cried out.

He gave no quarter, his mouth covering her puckered nipple until she laced her hands through his hair, holding on to him for support. He feasted on her, wringing delighted moans and sighs from her lips, his tongue playing in wicked circles to tease and torment before nipping gently.

When he backed her against a tree and pulled one of her legs up, opening her thighs to the hard press of his desire, she bit down on the corded muscles of his neck. Soothing the bite with little kisses, she tried to control her ragged breaths. “Damon.”

He lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Hold on to me.”

She did and the length of his arousal pressed along the center of her need, rocking against her in perfect rhythm. Damning the clothes between them, she met his movements, fire pooling inside her.

When he stopped, his soft words ripped her from the moment. “I would be within you already if you wore less clothing.” He shifted again, his eyes dark. “And if we were alone.”

Myla sucked in a sharp breath. His words painted such an erotic picture she trembled. “Aren’t we alone?”

A whistle split the heavy silence, and he set her to her feet with a quiet laugh. After a swift kiss, he tied her shirt, his fingers lingering over her skin. Then he pulled her toward the river. Whatever bird made that sound should be shot and stuffed for nothing more than interrupting the heated moment they shared.

Damon responded to the noise with a whistle of his own and moments later, Seiret glided the canoe around the river bend with silent strokes of the paddle. He stood in the small boat, his balance never wavering.

When he reached the shore, he stepped from the boat to stand before her. A string of words fell in rapid succession from his mouth, and she stared, waiting for him to finish what she assumed was a scolding.

He finished with a small smile, and she glanced at Damon. “Would you mind telling me what that was all about, or do I really want to know?”

Damon laughed and clapped the man on the back. “He is very humbled by your clever escape. He has decided he will no longer trust you.”

“Really?” Myla eyed him carefully.

Seiret moved past them to pick up the bags. After placing them in the canoe, he waved and jaunted off into the trees. Damon called from the river’s edge. “Myla, it is time to go.”

She walked to the canoe, glancing back over her shoulder. “What is Seiret doing?”

“He will meet us farther up the river.”

“What?” She climbed into the canoe and took the second paddle. “He’s walking back?” She swiveled around on her seat to meet Damon’s gaze. “Why are you making him walk when there’s enough room for him?”

“I am certain he would appreciate your concern.” He pushed them away from shore, using the paddle to steer them nearer the center of the water. “Seiret will check on the Hountas and meet us near the falls where we will have to carry the canoe over the land to pass rough waters. Thanks to your Hounta beads, I was given passage to the Hounta leader. Laylika was happy I came to her people with news of the sickness, and Hounta grudgingly agreed to communicate between or tribes for now.”

With strong strokes of the paddle, Damon moved them up the river.

“
You
took my beads? That wasn’t very nice. I was crushed when I went back to the pool and couldn’t find them.”

“I am sorry.” He could not stop a small laugh. “Would you have let me go willingly to the Hounta had I asked for them?”

“No,” she admitted.

He pulled the oar through the water. “I knew this, and so I chose to steal rather than have your demands to go with me. My mother needed you.”

“It still should have been my choice. But I understand.” She matched his rhythm, and soon they were gliding along the moonlit surface. “Has the illness struck their tribe?”

“Yes.” The strain in that single word scared her. “After you requested I leave my mother’s bedside, I came back to tell you that several more of my people had fallen ill. I knew the sickness would spread, that we could make others sick. But you knew this already, and I needed something to do. You had banished me from my mother’s hut, so I went to the Hounta, to warn them. When I returned—I found you missing.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first. I didn’t mean for you to worry.” She cringed when she thought of his mother, alone. Without her son. “I didn’t mean for you to leave your mother. She was very ill.”

The canoe shifted and she found herself pulled back by his strong arms. When his long legs stretched out next to her thighs, she leaned against his chest. “Death will claim its right, Myla. Whether I was present or not will not change that fact.”

The position she sat in made it impossible to help paddle so she set the oar along the inside of the small boat and turned enough to see his face. As calm as he acted, the taut lines of his lips told her he was very much concerned for his people. For Michelle.

She slipped an arm around to his back and traced the muscles that moved with his oar strokes. “Damon, there is something you should prepare for.” With a deep breath, she said the words she knew would bother him. It was undoubtedly something he’d already considered, but to have her say it might make it more real. “This illness, whatever it may be, could potentially kill everyone.”

“Yes. I am aware of this.”

She tightened her arm. “I will do everything I can.”

“That is all I ask.”

His small smile broke her heart, and when he pressed a kiss to her forehead, her own concern amplified. What would she do if he became sick? Would she have the strength to stand by and watch him waste away?

Chapter Seventeen

“Put the mask back on, Damon. Now.” Myla’s eyes flashed angrily above her blue medical mask. “And don’t take it off again, even for a moment.”

He slipped the protective barrier back over his mouth and nose before he walked the remaining distance into the hut where she knelt. He squeezed her shoulders even though he knew it would bring her little comfort. The muscles were knotted beneath his fingers. “What progress?”

She shook her head and pushed up slowly from the ground. The stiffness of her movements attested to the time she had spent over the last week in her efforts to save as many people as she could. She never wavered, working into the morning hours, sobbing when another died or rejoicing at a recovery.

With a slow stretch, she yawned. The sound was muffled under the mask. “I think the worst may have passed. The remaining have a good chance of surviving.”

“Only due to your efforts.”

She shook her head. “You and the others have done a wonderful job. I couldn’t have done all this alone.”

“You do not give yourself enough credit. Even now the remaining elders sing your praises.” Not only had she worked miracles in saving his people, her kindness and strength had won over the old men.