Love in the Wild: A Tarzan Retelling

by Emma Castle

  “Yes. Stay with me. Here.”

  Her eyes betrayed her as they softened with sorrow. “Thorne, I can’t stay here, not forever. I have a life, a family, a job. These last few days have been incredible, but this world, it isn’t mine.”

  Thorne raised her chin up so their gazes locked. “I want you to stay, be mine. Always.” How could he tell her the truth? That there was no Thorne without Eden. They were two halves of a whole. Why couldn’t she see that? But he didn’t have the words.

  “You have no idea how much that tempts me. It’s beautiful here. But this, it’s a fantasy, a dream. I couldn’t survive here, even with you protecting me.” She leaned into him, pressing her cheek to his chest. “You don’t have to stay here—you can come to my world. It belongs to you too.”

  He wished he could believe her, but he’d spent too many years in the jungle. Too many nights sleeping beneath the stars and hunting in the wild. Bwanbale’s world was strange enough to him, and that was just a small village, seen from a distance. The stories Bwanbale had shared of the larger world had terrified him.

  He would not know how to fit into her world, but if he never left the forest, he would never let her down. The time they had together would remain a beautiful memory, a dream that for a time was real. It would have to be enough for him.

  A memory crept into his mind, one of a vast world of flowers shadowed by twilight.

  His small hands were cupped together, holding something trapped within his palms. Something that glowed. Something he wanted. His mother was there, kneeling in front of him.

  “You should set the lightning bug free, Thorne,” she said.

  “Don’t want to!” he argued. “Mine!”

  His mother smiled sadly at him, and his tiny heart quivered. He didn’t like it when he made her sad.

  “When we love something with all our heart, sometimes we have to let it go. Creatures big and small deserve to be free.” She gently cupped his palms. Her hands were warm. He felt safe and loved whenever she touched him.

  “Set it free?” he asked. He could feel the lightning bug crawling on the insides of his hands. “I don’t want it to go.”

  “But it will be happy if you do. It’s not happy there. See? It’s stopped flashing.” His mother was right—the glowing that peeked out from his fingers had stopped. Thorne spread his palms wide, and the lightning bug on his palm glowed. It buzzed and took flight, vanishing into the night to join the distant winking flashes of the other bugs.

  “See? It’s making happy flashes.”

  Thorne’s heart was burdened with the loss, but he was glad that the lightning bug was happy again.

  Thorne closed his eyes. The memory had been so vivid in his mind. He held on to the image, breathing deeply before he faced Eden again. If he took her to the other humans she would be happy again, and that was all that mattered to him.

  “I will take you to Bwanbale tomorrow. He will help you.”

  Eden bit her bottom lip. “Will you come with me?”

  He placed one of his palms on the soft mossy trunk of the nearest tree and shook his head. “My family is here. I must protect them.”

  Eden was silent a long moment, then nodded. “I understand.”

  Thorne took Eden to the mango grove, where he climbed high into the trees so he could pluck the ripe fruit, and then he dropped them down to her. When he leapt back to the ground, they carried their mangoes to his tree house, where they ate in a quiet but pleasant silence.

  Eden lay back in his arms. Her weight against his chest was a comfort he would miss now that he’d tasted the joy a mate could bring. As the light began to fade outside, Eden turned in his arms, her mouth seeking his.

  He could deny her nothing, this spinner of beloved dreams, this creator of wondrous memories. She removed her skins slowly, letting him take in the sight of her before she lay back on the palm frond and grass nest. He kissed her lips, her chin, the hollow of her throat, and further down. Each time he touched her, he was stunned by the beauty of her feminine form. He caressed her breasts before sucking one nipple into his mouth. She arched her back, pressing herself closer to his exploring mouth. Thorne savored her every sigh and moan as he explored her body. She giggled as he kissed the inside of her thighs and her smooth belly.

  As their bodies joined, he struggled to hold back, to go slow. He wanted to remember everything about her. He took his time, mating with her with exquisite slowness. If this was to be his final time with her, he didn’t want to rush it. As Eden writhed with pleasure in his arms, he followed her, and then they lay quiet a long while after, their bodies still connected.

  Just outside the tree house, the sounds of the wild came to them. Birds, monkeys, insects, even the deep trumpets of elephants and the mating calls of the jaguars.

  He waited for Eden to fall asleep, but she stayed awake, holding on to him. Perhaps she dreaded the goodbye that tomorrow’s sunrise would bring as much as he did.

  “Eden, tell me of your home again.” He wanted to see in his mind’s eye the world that she would be returning to so he might picture her there when he lay awake in the dark jungle, all alone and missing her.

  “Well, in Little Rock the summer heat is almost as hot as this jungle. The cicadas—those are insects—they buzz so loud that you can’t hear anything else in the late summer evenings. Mom is usually on the swing on the front porch, a drink in one hand and a book in the other.” She paused to cuddle closer to him. “Dad is usually out in the shed—sort of a small home to store things in—and he’d be fussing over his newest tools.” She sighed. “I miss them.”

  It was true. He could hear it in her voice, and he knew that letting her go was the right thing to do, even if it broke his heart. She would be happy.

  “Tell me about the jungle,” she said. “About your adventures with Akika and Tembo.”

  Thorne held her close, taking in the scent of her, imprinting it upon his soul. “Every animal has its place, from the mighty Tembo to the smallest insect. I grew up in the trees, swinging among the vines and facing down the dangers of the jungle.”

  She yawned, and he could feel her slip slowly into sleep as he spoke. Eden was asleep before he finished, but he continued to talk, speaking to her of his new hopes and dreams, that perhaps one day she would return to him. But only the creatures of the twilight jungle were witness to his confession of love and hope.

  9

  Eden followed Thorne, careful to step only where he stepped. He had warned her after breakfast that they would be walking toward an area of the jungle that held more danger—which, given what she’d already experienced, was saying something. He’d been insistent that she stay close, step where he stepped, and not touch anything thin and green, referring to the black mamba snakes of the area, which were actually grayish brown, and whose bite was fatal.

  They hiked down the sloping mountain and left the canopy of hagenia trees behind them before they journeyed into the bamboo forests. They reached the village by early evening, but Thorne remained at the edge of the woods. He would not go farther.

  She saw him studying the structures with intense focus, and Eden followed his gaze. He was watching the people who were interacting in the street. She knew he’d never been into the village before.

  He nodded toward the village. “Bwanbale lives there.” None of the villagers could see them, hidden as they were in the foliage.

  “Aren’t you coming with me?” Eden took hold of Thorne’s hand.

  “No. I stay in my world.” He looked back at the dense jungle behind him. “You can go home now.” He stood so still, a tall, breathing wall of muscle. She could feel his heart beating as she placed her other hand on his chest. His blue eyes, with a color so pure and reflective whenever he looked at her, were dark with mystery and pain now. Agony because they had to say goodbye.

  Eden found it hard to breathe. The thought of leaving him, of never seeing him again—it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Eden threw her arms around him, hugg
ing him tight.

  “Come with me. Please, Thorne.” She would have begged on her knees if she thought it would have made a difference. Thorne raised her chin, and she saw a deepening pain glinting in their gentle depths.

  “You must go. Tell Bwanbale you belong to me. The mate of Thorne will be protected.”

  His mate. Eden couldn’t deny that claim. It was primitive. But it was also true. In a few short days, she truly felt as though she had become his mate, his woman in a way she never would be with any other man.

  “Thorne.” She choked on his name, the pain so deep within her that she wasn’t sure she would ever feel joy again.

  He lowered his head to hers and pressed a kiss to her lips. She felt that kiss deep within her soul. It was a kiss of goodbye, a kiss of infinite longing, heartache, and love.

  “Be free, Eden. Go home.”

  He loved her. She could taste its bittersweetness upon her own lips.

  “You gave me great joy,” Thorne said. “I belong to you. Always.”

  Eden’s eyes blurred with tears. She shut them and looked away, trying not to let him see her cry. She felt his hands drop from her body, and by the time she turned back to him, the lost Earl of Somerset and Lord of the Wild was gone.

  She covered her mouth with one hand, desperate to hold back the sobs that came next. Part of her wondered if it hadn’t been some insane dream. But the gold ginkgo leaf necklace lay warm against her neck, a reminder that it had been real.

  It only made the pain of their parting that much worse.

  Eden did not venture into the village right away. Part of her hoped some other option would miraculously present itself. She stayed at the edge of the village until evening came. Only then did the dark jungle lose its comforting presence, and she longed to be surrounded by people again.

  The village was a loose grouping of small family farms known as shambas. They bled into the rolling green hills in the distance that led toward the papyrus-lined shores of a small lake. As Eden came out of the woods, some of the children noticed her and came running. Many wore green-and-blue school uniforms. Several laughed and called out to her in Swahili, but she couldn’t understand most of what they were saying because they were speaking too fast. One girl dashed right up to Eden and clasped her hand, chatting excitedly in Swahili, a bright, beautiful smile on her adorable face.

  “Bwanbale,” Eden said, hoping one of the children would know him. Eden looked to the girl still holding her hand. “Can you take me to Bwanbale?”

  The girl nodded, tugging her ahead of the others, who still clambered around her. They all seemed excited by her intrusion upon their peaceful village, which put her a little more at ease.

  A pair of brown parrots flew overhead and landed on the roof of a nearby home. Some of the children pointed to the parrots and ran off to play. Several adults from the village came out of their houses to see what was going on. So many people had the wrong perception about African communities. They assumed everyone lived in grass huts and beat drums while wearing no clothes. There were still some very tribal communities existing in Africa like that, but much of Africa was advanced, and the villages and cities were perfectly comfortable. Bwanbale’s village was a lovely grouping of well-built homes, small gardens, and farms. The villagers were well dressed, and they had modern cars, trucks, and tools. She understood now how Thorne would have been confused by Bwanbale’s very modern world when the two talked during their times together.

  The air smelled of earth and blossoms, with a hint of woodsmoke from cooking fires. A faint drumbeat and some singing drifted from the direction of the lake where some men and women were gathered. The lake was a deep purple beneath the setting sun, and though the sight was breathtaking, she had a mission and could delay no longer.

  “Papa!” the girl shouted. A door opened from the small home they were now in front of. A tall man in cargo shorts and a faded polo shirt approached them. He was a handsome man in his late forties with kind brown eyes.

  The child giggled and pointed at the man. “Bwanbale!”

  “Are you Mr. Bwanbale?” Eden asked.

  “Mister?” The man chuckled. “I am Bwanbale Apio.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t sure if it was your first or last name.” Eden’s face heated with embarrassment.

  “Do not apologize.” Bwanbale looked her over, and Eden knew her appearance must be a dreadful sight. Her clothes were torn and covered with dried blood.

  “I’m so sorry to intrude, but a mutual friend said you could help me.” Eden felt a sudden urge to cry. God, she was so not a crier, but the memory of watching everyone die around her was catching up with her again. It had been easy to bury those memories while she was with Thorne, but now that she was in civilization again, it all came screaming back to her.

  “A mutual friend?” Bwanbale asked.

  The girl still held Eden’s hand as she watched this exchange, and she squeezed Eden’s hand in silent support.

  “Yes. Thorne.” She said his name quietly, and Bwanbale’s eyes widened.

  “Please, come inside.” He gestured to the house he’d just exited. “Dembe, come.” The girl grinned at Eden, let go of her hand, and rushed on ahead of them.

  Eden followed Bwanbale inside his home. A woman who appeared to be a little older than Eden was in a small kitchen area cooking over a pot. It smelled good, and Eden covered the rumble from her stomach with an embarrassed smile. Bwanbale smiled at her.

  “Afiya, we have a guest. This is . . .” He waited for her answer.

  “Eden Matthews.”

  “Welcome, Eden. This is my wife, Afiya, and this one is Dembe, our daughter.” He nodded at the child, who Eden had guessed was six or seven.

  “It’s lovely to meet you,” she said to Afiya. Dembe was almost bouncing with the excitement and energy that all children seemed to be blessed with at that age.

  “Please sit. We will eat soon.” Bwanbale pointed to a pair of chairs on a red-and-white patterned rug with a small coffee table between them.

  Eden chose the closest chair, and Bwanbale sat across from her. Dembe climbed onto her father’s lap, and he held the girl with a gentleness that made Eden’s heart swell. She could see why Thorne liked this man.

  “I see from your appearance that you have been through much. Please, tell me what happened.” Bwanbale set his daughter down and spoke to her softly in Swahili. She nodded and went to join her mother in the kitchen. Then Bwanbale leaned forward. He seemed to hold a universe of patience within him that gave her some of her own serenity back, and the courage to relive what she wished she could bury away forever. She could see why Thorne had such trust and affection for this man.

  She told him everything. When she was done, he asked, “These men who killed the guides and tourists, what did they look like?”

  “Some were men with English accents—from England, I mean, not America. The others were Ugandan, I believe.” She did her best to describe them in detail. So much of what had happened was still locked in her memory and only emerged as wild flashes.

  “And Thorne killed them all?”

  “Yes, I think so. It’s all still a blur.” Eden’s head was aching now as the panic and fear of those moments came back with the retelling of her story.

  “We must get you to Kampala tomorrow. I can take you. The police must be informed. I can also take you to the embassy there.”

  Eden sagged in relief. “Thank you.” She’d been tense ever since Thorne had left her, and now she felt she could finally relax.

  Afiya came over with two plates in her hands. She gave the first to Eden and the second to Bwanbale. Then she and Dembe gathered their own plates. Dembe sat down on a cushion on the floor, and Afiya collected a third chair from the kitchen to join them.

  “I made muchoma, which is roasted chicken, and matoke, a green plantain,” Afiya explained.

  “Thank you, Afiya.” Eden was never so glad in her life to see meat and cooked food. She had enjoyed eating the c
elery, nuts, and mangoes Thorne had provided, but she’d had too much of that in the last few days.

  Bwanbale explained Eden’s situation to his wife, and Afiya put a protective arm around Dembe as she gaped at her husband.

  “The jungle is dangerous,” Afiya said solemnly. “And not usually because of the animals.”

  “My wife is right. For the last two decades, the forest has been full of men with hearts of greed. Between the deforestation and men hunting gorillas for bushmeat, there has been so much destruction.” He hesitated, and Eden sensed he wanted to mention something else, but perhaps he didn’t know if he could trust her.

  “It’s the gold and diamonds in the cave, isn’t it?” Eden asked after she finished cleaning the plate. She had been starving, and Afiya was an amazing cook. “What do you know about that?”

  “An ancient people once lived deep in the jungle, so long ago that most memory of them has faded away and exists now only in myths and legends. When I met Thorne, I saw the crown upon his brow, and I knew that he had found the old-world treasures. I asked him about the gold and the diamonds, and he told me he had found a cave, a cave that called to him, a cave that held the stars themselves. I never believed in those myths myself—until I saw that crown. Most men would have been tempted to ask where the treasure is, to make Thorne show them, but that day, I saw him and I knew that he was there for a reason. The jungle protects itself, often in the most mysterious of ways. I believe he was chosen by the forest, so I keep the secret of Thorne. The legends of the gold and diamonds have always been here, but the forest has kept most men away. If Thorne found this cave, it’s possible others have as well. Most poachers would not have killed the tourists and the guides—they would have simply fled. I think whoever attacked you were not poachers.”

  “Bwanbale, how did you meet Thorne? He told me only a little about you, but I’m learning that his way of telling stories is very different than what I’m used to.” This was something she’d been desperate to know. Thorne had explained what he knew of Bwanbale, but as a journalist, she knew there were two sides to every story, if not more. Bwanbale glanced at his wife, his embarrassment apparent on his face.