savage 07 - the dark savage

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “Leave me alone!” she yells.

  The slap of flesh on flesh is a tangy ring inside the damp and musky cavern he finds himself stuffed in. Thick gloom. But ambient light seeps from the forward part of his little outdoor coffin.

  His sharp eyes sight everything to the centimeter. There's no escape. Not bound as he is.

  “Where is Jim?”

  His ears tip forward at his name.

  Crack.

  Adira muffles the sob, but Jim's acute hearing easily identifies the pain of being struck. She can hide it, but Jim can hear it regardless.

  His eyes round in the darkened space. Silence fills the breaks in their conversation, and Jim hears a distant drip, drip, drip of water.

  Right here, asshats, Jim answers internally.

  He flexes his powerful hands within the bonds. They hold.

  Why doesn't Adira tell them he's here—in this form? It might save her. Why don't they know? They took him. He considers Simon. The jerkoff who shot him.

  “We tracked him to those woods. Those specific coordinates. Somehow his Pulse disc isn't inside him anymore, but it's in that forest, or we couldn't have located him. We claim our own, little girl—and that's a fact.”

  Simon always was an asshole.

  Jim frowns, trying to scissor his ankles together. They've really got me goat-roped. Dammit.

  Of course his pulse disc isn't around anymore, it probably popped out during the whole changing fun. Or shifting, as Ulric calls it.

  It didn't even occur to Jim that anyone would want him back at his Earth, figured they'd bury his disappearance as one of those things. Pesky geneticist MIA—no problem, we'll pay off whoever gives a shit and voila! Issue closed. Simon shot him for fuck's sake! And Simon had been all about collecting the coveted four and five point paranormals from this world to slave them in Jim's for experimentation within the Helix Complex. The HC had played god long enough, in Jim's opinion.

  Nope, didn't make any sense. But as Jim sees it, better that he holds the element of surprise.

  Simon interrupts his conjecture. “I need to get to that pulse disc.”

  Flesh is slapped again. Jim's limbs tingle with adrenaline.

  He's so going to kick Simon's ass for hurting Adira.

  “Why?” Soft, whimper-soaked.

  Jim fights the restraints, remembering this pulsevision show where the main character got out of zip ties.

  How the hell did he do it?

  “Because Jim can get us back with that disc.”

  What?

  “And we've been tasked with getting a monkey-boy back to our world.”

  Adira says in a low voice, “You don't want a Tree Man in your world.”

  A yelp and a thinly veiled threat, “You don't tell me what we need in our world, or don't need in our world. I've been tasked with getting samples.”

  My job. I hold back an eye roll.

  Dingus.

  “They're people,” Adira defends and gets another smack around for her trouble.

  A new voice. “Boss, maybe lay off—what's she done, man?” Jim hears a scuffle, then, “Okay—fuck, settle.”

  “You listen to me, Connor—I'm in charge. The bitch is going to spill the deets, and we'll find Doctor Toronto and our ticket home.”

  They don't know it's me. They thought they got themselves a tree guy, and they're still trying to weasel the info of where Jim is through Adira. Cue derisive snort.

  This time it's definitely a fist.

  Jim hears a faint gasp and realizes Adira's witnessing someone else getting the beating besides her.

  He suddenly envisions that long-ago program and begins to mime what he remembers.

  Bunching his shoulders, he uses the three foot space above his head and swings his arms above his head. Bringing them down fast.

  Swing up.

  Down.

  Jim snaps his arms apart at the lowest part of the downstroke.

  The zip tie makes a synthetic scream, tearing off his wrists and rubber-banding against the stone.

  It boomerangs back, whacking him in the schnoz. Jim flicks it away.

  Adira screams.

  Every fiber of his being responds, teeth clenching as the tingling of his limbs spike.

  Jim digs the heels of his bound feet into the dirt and tugs himself forward. He envisions Adira, forearms braced in front of her face defensively while Simon beats on her.

  Tell him I'm Jim.

  She doesn't.

  Jim doesn't hear anything from the unlucky Connor either.

  His feet escape the rock tunnel first, and as light hits Jim's skin they smolder lightly.

  Holy shit. Is he going to like, incinerate? The sun touches him and poof! I'm a gorilla shish kabob?

  Jim scowls. That's a goddamned downer.

  Fuck that. He ignores the discomfort, inch-worming his chimp ass out of the hole they stuffed him inside of.

  Adira's screams fade and he steps up the pace.

  Dig.

  Pull.

  The sun fills in the shadows of Jim's body. It sort of feels like being in a sauna. The vapor pours off him now, like a shadow of a cloud riding his skin. When the sun hits Jim's face, one of the men is standing outside the hole.

  “Hi,” he says, raising the butt of a ceramic alloy shotgun high above his shoulder.

  Fucker's going to clock me.

  Jim rolls swiftly as the butt slams the ground beside where his head just was and shatters on impact.

  His feet are bound but the strength of his new apey limbs is awesome, and he swipes his long arm out, grabbing and hooking the asshat who thought braining him would be a good idea.

  Not even a little bit, chump.

  The fool goes down and Jim hops forward, grabbing for the man's windpipe as he opens his mouth to alert the others.

  “Quiet,” Jim soothes, clamping his hands around the man's throat.

  Jim smiles.

  The guy's eyeballs bulge.

  Or it could be his hold. Jim shrugs, squeezing until his fingers meet and blood pools around the man's mouth like lipliner.

  There's horror for what he's doing somewhere in his skull. But there's also a primitive directive that beats within Jim's new persona.

  Kill or be killed.

  There's something thrillingly simple about it all.

  When the next scream comes, Jim has already cut his bindings and makes his way toward the sounds of a female in distress.

  A thing that might not have moved him as fearlessly before.

  Chapter 20

  Ulric

  Ulric wakes as he always does.

  Instantly.

  And just as instantly he knows there is a problem.

  Natasha hovers at the railing, eyes filled with fear. Shining with wetness.

  Ulric rolls off his sleeping platform soundlessly.

  Natasha can roam the forest during the day with no loss of energy or penalty. She is as she was when she first came to them—human.

  Something has occurred while the Men of the Tree rest. Something bad, if he's any judge. Natasha's face tells him. His eyes trace every part of her, finding no injury.

  Something horribly tight in his chest eases.

  “Alpha—”

  “What has occurred?”

  “Adira and the new man—Jim—have been taken.”

  Ulric's face contorts, his mouth dropping open in shock. “What?”

  Natasha's head dips, curly hair falling forward. “The Fragment, Alpha.”

  Ulric is before her in a flash and she cringes. His finger lays a trail like a whisper of tenderness from temple to jaw. “I will never harm you.”

  She nods too quickly.

  “But I must go and find the Fragment who took our people.”

  He moves to leave her in his dwelling but her hand on his arm stays him.

  “What?” he looks down at Natasha, her swimmingly pale brown eyes full of something.

  He does not know what. Fear? Longing?
r />   She says nothing at first, her palms slide to either side of his face.

  Ulric's heartbeat trips from its usual, steady rhythm, picking up like a spike has been driven inside his chest.

  “What?” he asks again but the word is uttered so quietly it's lost when she rolls to her tiptoes and puts her lips to his.

  People are missing.

  Jim.

  Adira.

  The Fragment has infiltrated his forest. He is Alpha. He must protect the clan. He resists.

  With everything he is, Ulric denies Natasha.

  He cannot take from his clan.

  She is too broken to be with an Alpha.

  Her fragrance is heady. The scent invades his nostrils like a fine wine, born of grapes engineered for their sweetness, her body molding along his as though it was never meant to be separated from his side.

  Stoically, he stands against her frail onslaught.

  Fails.

  Natasha begins to pull away and Ulric grabs her back.

  Desperately.

  He groans as he slams his lips on hers, her fingers twining in his sleep-loosened hair.

  “Please,” she lifts her lips from his own, “do not leave me, Alpha.”

  She could ask anything of him, but not this.

  “Ulric,” he says, mashing his lips against hers. He pulls her more deeply against his body with a palm flattened against the small of her back. “I must,” he says, dipping his forehead against hers.

  His brain aches, and he he seeks her eyes. “I must go. Right now. Brom will be the leader of our people until my return.”

  Her pale eyes grow distant, and she rocks back to her heels. Natasha looks at the ground, hiding her gaze from him.

  “Do not,” he tips her chin until she meets his gaze. “It means more than you could ever know that you would be the one,” Ulric hesitates for a fraction of a second, “to initiate contact. But I can never have you. We cannot be together.”

  She steps back as though Ulric struck her.

  His brows come together.

  “I-I,” she buries her head in her hands. “I am mortified.”

  “No.” Ulric comes to her side. Keenly aware of every inch of her.

  Beside every inch of him.

  And the need to get Jim and Adira back into the safety of the Tree. Why the Fragment would venture into the woods was a question Ulric wanted the answer for. Later.

  His hands move to Natasha's shoulders, and she stiffens. His rebuff has harmed her when that was never his intention.

  He draws her against his body. “You are grateful to me—for our protection after your time with the Fragment. Do not let that be confused with other affections.” What Ulric really wants to do, and what he is bound to do, are two separate things.

  He wants to bed her. Lay her down and make her his mate. Take her blood—and Natasha to partake of his.

  Own her.

  Instead, he sets her away from him, thumbing off the wetness of her face.

  “I beg you stay here.”

  Now his heart aches as well.

  Her eyes are closed to him, the translucent clarity—usually a window to her thoughts—has shutters, their precious light dimmed.

  Ulric would rather hurt her feelings, and keep her safe within the clan, than have her running around loose. She could have been the female taken. Adira is bad enough, having Natasha gone would undo him.

  As the thought of another male mating her undoes him.

  Ulric can't read her, defaulting to assurances instead. “Brom will take over. I will return.”

  “But not for me.”

  He inhales deeply, letting it out in a grievous whoosh of regret. Ulric has never lied in his existence. He will not begin now. Not with anyone. Never with Natasha.

  “No.”

  Her head lowers.

  Ulric has never heard the beat of his heart louder than he does in that quiet moment of denial.

  He turns, his hand snaking out and hitting the smooth wood rail circling the perimeter of his tree dwelling as he sails off the edge with the precision of thousands of jumps before that one.

  Acrid smoke is stale in his nostrils as he lands and jumps on the platforms in descending order.

  His desire for Natasha chokes him more than the remains of the fire ever could. The more distance he puts between them, the stronger it becomes.

  Ulric knows she could be changed into a Woman of the Tree. One of the vampiric. Who knows? She might even be as Jim—a daywalker. One of the rare ones who can withstand true sunlight.

  A mother to his young.

  Ulric tears into a sprint, racing for his second—escaping his thoughts.

  Brom hears his approach, and looks up from his weaponry detail. Sharp, flint stones lay in a circle around him.

  “You heard?”

  Brom sets his cutting tools to the side and stands. “Yes.”

  Ulric's teeth set. “Why haven't you been readying for reacquiring them?”

  Brom's eyes slide away. When his gaze finally returns to Ulric's it is resolute. “You know my feelings about Jim. The female is different. No female should be cast out. But Jim, he is... ” Brom shakes his head.

  “I have seen one changed as he,” Tabben says from behind them.

  They turn, Tab's profile lays hidden in the half-shadow cast by a tree trunk thicker than four men standing shoulder to shoulder.

  “Oh?” Ulric folds his arms. “He walks during the day. But does not need to take from the vein?”

  “Do we want that back in our clan?” Brom scoffs.

  Ulric's eyes narrow at his second. “He saved me—and we do not know how Jim will continue to become. While you and Tab were fighting the fires set by Vaughn and his lot, Jim the Traveler sought to spare my life.” Ulric's hand fists, moving to his chest.

  Brom lifts a mighty shoulder. “No one questions his bravery, though he might be more foolish than brave.”

  Ulric's hand drops.

  “The two are much the same,” Tab states.

  Brom concedes, “True.” His eyes flick to Ulric's. “He is still too much of an enigma to warrant our Alpha leaving the protection of the Tree. Beside which, he is with his people of origin.”

  Ulric shakes his head, not bothering to temper his irritation. “He is not. Jim is more of the Tree than Traveler at this juncture. You know this. You saw what it was. What happened when he took of the vein.”

  Brom's gaze lowers.

  He won't fight Ulric's logic. Yet even the promise of a female in the mix is not sufficient to move him to action. This is why Brom is not Alpha. Brom cannot lead the people if he does not see the finer workings of what would be best for all. For the future of the First Species.

  “Tab,” Ulric says, eyes still pinned on Brom.

  “Yes, Alpha.” Tab's face is most likely as expectant-looking as his voice. Ulric isn't certain because he's too busy making rabid eye contact with Brom.

  “I will leave Brom as acting Alpha of the Tree. He will oversee those things that usually claim my attention, and I'll return shortly.” His eyes narrow on Brom. “With Jim and Adira.”

  “With only Tab as company?” Brom asks, hands on hips.

  Tabben slides a look of pure dislike his way.

  Hierarchy is always this way among the higher echelon of the Men of the Tree. Order must be established. Sometimes it's bloody.

  Sometimes it is final.

  “Enough.” Ulric raises his palm. “Tab is from another clan, and on borrowed time.” He hikes an eyebrow in Tab's direction, he nods confirmation.

  “I can use another strong Man of the Tree to see this through. If Jim is forced to use the Pathway—what then?”

  Brom glowers. “He'll go back to where he belongs.” Brom says and spins away from them, striding toward where he had been working the weapons.

  Ulric eyes follow Brom's back as he retreats. Knowing that might be the last calm interaction they have together. Ulric is gravely disappointed in what he might poss
ibly return to.

  Anarchy.

  Chapter 21

  Elise

  Adahy strokes her back. “Adahy should have come.”

  Elise vehemently shakes her head. “No!” Her cheeks burn with thoughts of being unclothed with him in close proximity.

  He tilts her chin up, surely noticing her high color. “They would have hurt you, and taken Natasha and I.” Elise shudders at the thought of being within the Fragment's clutches.

  It was a miracle that she and Natasha had been at the opposite side of the spring. They had simply melded behind a large rock, crouching and watching as the Fragment cornered Jim, springing strange shiny spines from weapons that clearly held a sleeping poison within.

  In the end, when he had not cooperated by falling into artificial rest, they had beaten him into unconsciousness.

  Elise had been paralyzed by guilt for not assisting.

  By fear.

  Adahy senses her anguish and kisses every tear away. “You could do nothing,” he says in Iroquois.

  He is correct. She would have only endangered herself and Natasha. Yet, it was memories of abuse and torture that had kept her body rooted.

  It was a half hour past when they departed before she would release Natasha from the death grip she kept on her arm.

  Natasha had finally peeled away her fingers and nodded silent encouragement.

  “I do not know if I can walk,” she had told the girl she claimed to help. Her legs quaking so badly they refused to cooperate.

  It was Natasha who had guided them back to the base of the great trees. It was she who had whistled for the tree men to fetch them into the canopies.

  Their bodies were not cleansed as they had intended yet, they were safe.

  Natasha had shared a poignant glance with Elise before making her way to Ulric's tree castle in the sky.

  The tree men had melted away as Adahy had come out to greet her from their shared room, striding to her after seeing whatever was etched upon her face.

  Or what was not.

  When the tears finally dried she had brokenly told him that Jim and Adira had been snatched from Fragment who were from Jim's world.

  Jim's time.

  He had been taken by force. And Elise knew that they had been part of the same group as the man she had watched Adahy torture.

  He had been troubled by the information. Adahy still was. “This not our fight,” he says in English.