savage 07 - the dark savage

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Jim slows, turning her to him. “I'm responsible for you now. Nobody's going to hurt you, Adira.” It's the truth. It hurts to say but he does it anyway.

  Her lower lip trembles and she flings her arms around Jim's neck. She's so small her feet clear the ground.

  “I don't deserve you. I've been a queen bitch.”

  “True,” Jim says easily.

  She tips her head back, eyes slitting.

  His eyebrows quirk.

  Adira sighs. “I guess I deserve that.”

  Jim nods, his hand moving to her lower back and the tactile memory of only an hour before hits him like a punch. He bites his lip to keep from groaning and manages. “Let's start fresh.”

  She bobs her head. “Okay.”

  Ulric waits up ahead, giving them some time. Jim appreciates the gesture but can't shake the idea of the other shoe falling when they get back to the clan.

  He hasn't been told there is another shoe to drop.

  Jim just knows it.

  *

  The entire clan is grouped together. Some one-hundred odd souls. Night has fallen and the moon is the thinnest sliver it can be and still shine.

  Jim finds his senses are more than he remembers them being.

  The question of the hour: is he still an ape? Or excuse me, Male of the Tree. First Species.

  Gorillan.

  So many terms. Jim is really wanting to get up to his little house tree in the sky and see if his genetic coding has matured enough for him to reason out what his options are.

  There has to be more that there was.

  Adira squeezes his hand, partially hiding behind him. She's not going to win any popularity contests. Pretty much, she'd be the recipient of the Salem Witch Hunts if it weren't for the directive so inherent within the clan to protect its women.

  But folks are pissed. Yup.

  Ulric begins speaking, and a hush travels the crowd. “Brom has conceded his need for the clan led by the only Alpha.”

  That comment sounds pretty high-handed to Jim but it's not his show, so he'll just keep his yap shut.

  Jim glances at Adira, her eyes are wide—anxious. After all, the slaughter of the false tree dudes was kinda her fault.

  All eyes move to Brom, who stands like a sheep for slaughter.

  The whole tone of the speech seems ritualistic. Each male moves past Brom, as though he's in the reception line as the groom. But no. They punch him as they walk by. No love taps, either—solid hits.

  Jim swallows.

  Brom goes to his knees on the fiftieth hit. That doesn't stop the beating.

  Jim moves forward.

  Ulric shakes his head.

  “This is fucking barbaric,” Jim hisses at Ulric.

  Ulric's eyes meet Jim in a level, cool stare. “Yes,” he says simply.

  “Let me guess,” Jim says slowly as Brom grunts in pain (and Jim didn't think he had it in him to be sympathetic to that swinging dick). Adira tries to hold him by her side. “This is some First Species bullshit.”

  Ulric gives a sage nod. “It is—though there is nothing about the ritual that is false.”

  Jim flings his palm in the direction of Brom, near-soundlessly taking the abuse. “How is this okay?”

  “He denied his clan. Brom turned his back on his people. This is recompense for his decision.”

  “Well—damn. I don't want to cross King Ulric.”

  He frowns and Jim knows he's stepped in a pile of gorilla shit. Or is it scat?

  Maybe that's bears.

  “Jim,” Adira says in a frightened voice.

  Ulric is walking toward them.

  Jim moves in front of Adira, all too aware of his altered form. He isn't even gorillan so he's up a shit creek as far as being any kind of protector.

  But Ulric doesn't beat Jim.

  Jim can't contain his surprise as he leads Jim and a trailing Adira away from Brom's beating by an arm around his shoulders.

  “Jim—let's talk,” Ulric says, smoothly switching to the speech of his earth.

  Jim doesn't resist. Ulric could have done him in twice if he wanted to.

  Maybe there was some brownie points in saving Ulric after all.

  Chapter 43

  Elise

  “What is this?” Elise asks, gripping the thin skin of a pale animal between her fingers.

  Adahy rounds the bend of their temporary encampment and comes to stand beside her.

  That small smile appears like a wink and is gone. “It say words.”

  “Yes-yes it does,” Elise replies, sinking to her rear on the soft and temporary bed of needles and animal skin.

  Calia has penned something from the juice of a berry and a skin of the antelope. The part of the animal that is pale enough for her goodbye to starkly stand out.

  Dearest Elise,

  Philip and I have taken leave of you and Adahy. The danger has passed and we long to reunite with our own people.

  We wish you good fortune in your endeavors.

  If we meet with you again, it will be received with joy.

  Calia

  Elise does not realize she cries until Adahy wipes the wetness from her face.

  “Elise sad?” he asks and her tremulous smile is answer enough.

  She has never been more happy. Yet, the departure of Calia and Philip mark the end of an adventure and the beginning of another.

  Calia, with her gruff exterior and tender interior was her first friend in freedom.

  However, Elise thinks she will not be her last.

  She stands with Adahy's help and sheds her sadness.

  Adahy told her they were close to his tribe. Close to finding Chasing Hawk and the others of his people.

  He believes they rebuild their tribe from the murders of the women. That the spirits watch over his tribe. Elise believes him.

  She leaves the missive where she found it.

  Adahy settles their combined rucksack at his back and takes her hand.

  Together they seek out his home.

  And hers as well.

  Chapter 44

  Ulric

  Ulric leads Jim to the base of his tree, leaving the ritual of redemption behind him.

  The males of the Tree will mete the punishment to Brom in the ancient ways. He will never be Alpha.

  Ulric fears he will always be resentful. He also wonders if there was some wisdom to the ways of his sire. So much could have been avoided with Brom's timely death.

  It is no matter. He has what Jim needs.

  “What's up, Ulric?” Jim asks him, stepping away from their intimate stance.

  With a dark look at Adira, Ulric climbs hand over hand up the vine that leads to his home.

  In the time that it will take the pair to ascend, he will have the foreign device and his thoughts in order.

  Natasha is under heavy guard until he can reconcile this event with Jim, and his new mate, Adira.

  Once that is complete, he can have some unfettered time with Natasha.

  When Jim finally fumbles over the top of the rail, he sees that Adira has shifted into her gorillan form to assist in the climb.

  Jim has not been able to sort that part of his make up and his arms shake with the difficulty of the ascension without the help of gorillan.

  Ulric turns to hide his smile, palming the little disc and sliding it into the shallow pocket of his loose pants of hemp.

  “Okay that sucked. What do you have to share?” Jim gasps, planting his palms on his knees, leaning over while his eyes remain fixed on Ulric.

  “I have something that will allow you to navigate your return to your earth.”

  Jim snaps up straight.

  Ulric brings it from his pocket. A small disc, perfectly circular and as thin as a leaf and the size of his thumbnail glints softly in the weak light penetrating the tree house.

  “My ticket home.” Jim's face is nothing short of awestruck. “Why do you have it?”

  Ulric grunts his reply. Then uses words, remembering
himself. “When you shifted for the first time, I found it and kept it. Not knowing what the device meant. Keeping its existence quiet was easy. Now that you retain your human form, you can travel.”

  Jim realizes he's being given a choice by a clever leader. “I'm not welcome here.”

  Ulric gives Jim steady eyes. “You are not unwelcome.”

  Jim nods and Ulric sees his decision's been made. “Adira and I can sail off into the sunset—she's Dimensional, but only lacked a map of sorts. Now I have it within the disc. It's a homing device.”

  Ulric dips his head in acknowledgment. “I know. And now you may use it.”

  “I can be a geneticist again.”

  “Weren't you always?” Ulric asks, though no reply is necessary.

  Jim's inhale is pronounced, expanding his chest swiftly. He releases hard. “Yes.” He looks Ulric in the eye. “I have one thing I need, and then I'm ready.”

  Ulric can feel the twinkle in his own eye. “No long good-byes, Jim.”

  Jim chuckles, jerking his chin up and with a grin he says, “No offense, but hell no.”

  Adira turns to Jim. “What do you need, Jim?” Then in a low voice she adds, “I want to get out of here.”

  “We will,” he says firmly.

  He leans to her ear and whispers something.

  She nods and jumps off the railing, vines trembling from above with her rapid descent to the jumping platforms.

  Jim turns to Ulric. “She's getting some testing samples I had going. When she gets back, we'll go. But first I have a question.”

  Ulric swings his palm out, urging Jim to speak his piece.

  “Am I really human now—or?”

  “I don't know the answer to that. Yet, if I was to speculate, I would say that once First Species—always First Species.”

  “I haven't tried to turn back.”

  “Shift?” Ulric quizzes in confirmation.

  “Yeah,” Jim replies, sounds sullen. His face changes into an expression of determination. “Do you think, now that I've changed once, I can go back and forth, like Adira?”

  “I will pose this question: are there First Species in your world?”

  Ulric studies Jim as he thinks on this. “Maybe all those Bigfoot tales have a grain of truth.”

  “Big feet?” Ulric asks, confused. He's never heard the moniker.

  Jim waves his palm back and forth. “Nevermind. The short answer is, I'm not sure.”

  Ulric lifts his shoulders. “Then neither am I.” Ulric palms his chin. “Now, if there were Males of the Tree in your world, I would say yes. But without proof of our existence in your plane. I don't know.”

  Adira hops back just as Jim would ask something more. “Here,” she says breathlessly.

  Jim silently takes a small pouch and ties it off on the same pants Ulric wears.

  Adira shifts to her human form, swaying from the rapid shifts.

  Jim steadies her with a hand. “Thanks,” he says and kisses her forehead.

  She wraps her hand around his.

  Ulric is not sure how true that female will be to Jim once they return to their world.

  He does know that they belong in that one more than this one.

  Jim steps forward and Ulric meets him.

  He grips Ulric's hand and does a strange movement of their hands lifting and dropping.

  It is not until long after they have departed in a glittering bubble of otherness that Ulric remembers the salutation.

  Handshake.

  THE END

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  Prologue

  “Listen to my voice.”

  I struggle with calm. My inner rage is so much a part of who I am, they're inseparable. I breathe deeply then respond with more civil words than the ones I was going to say.

  “This is really gay.”

  That counts as benign for me.

  The shrink sighs. Probably sucks and spews more CO² in a day with me as a patient than anyone in his entire career.

  “It's mandated, Mr. Simon, as you're aware.”

  “Yeah, I gotcha, but this whole quack like a bird while I'm under? It blows donkey dicks.”

  I lift my eyelids, arms folded across my chest as I stubbornly blow my millionth session on the couch.

  This is what our world has come to: Coddle Central. Throw poor broken Thorn a bone. His mama just died from a drug overdose, he's still suffering trauma for being falsely incarcerated at a young age. He's deep undercover so he needs stress relief.

  That's all fucking fine.

  What I don't like is this “memory recapture.” That's the new term for it. Some yahoo, too busy jacking himself off, decided it'd be a great idea for me to use hypnosis to come to terms with my childhood.

  Because it was soooo righteous.

  Yeah.

  Couch time is a free service offered to detectives who “they” determine have dubious backgrounds.

  That’s the polite term for shit families. Or as “they” like to coin the phrase: familial hardship.

  The good doc breaks into my thoughts. “Mr. Simon... this regression therapy has been proven to be successful at reintegration.”

  Maybe I like what I don't remember just fine.

  I give a slow blink. “Yeah.”

  “Will you try?”

  I exhale forcefully. I think of Mick and all he's done for me. I think of my anger, a vast well of bottomless rage. It makes me tired. Chasing me like it does. I can't have a relationship without rage.

  I can't have a relationship with trust.

  Every time a woman wants more than my dick in her, I run.

  I don't want to love a woman.

  It's dangerous.

  I can't nail down why, but I believe that down to my marrow.

  “Relax in pieces, Mr. Simon—as we discussed in prior sessions.”

  “Ty,” I correct.

  “If you prefer.”

  I open one eye, pegging Doctor Dillinger.

  “I do.”

  I ignore the compassion I see.

  Thorn doesn't need pity.

  I only need myself.

  I go through the relaxation technique as Dillinger's boring voice drones on.

  It's bullshit.

  This regression crap never works.

  *

  It's dark, and I hear crying. Soft and relentless, it has a familiar quality. I pad through the dark house. Discarded needles glint as the city streetlights spear the dirty glass inside forgotten windows.

  I didn’t listen to Mama about wearing my slippers. They make me look like a baby.

  I avoid the eyes that follow me. That shows disinterest, Mama says.

 
; And I don't want the attention they'll give me.

  I ignore the men and woman wrestling naked on the floor.

  I pass young, greasy people smoking pipes. The disgusting rotten-egg smell is a constant vapor inside my nose.

  I stand outside the door of Mama's room. Mine is behind me and locked. The key is hot in my sweaty palm, my finger restlessly stroking the ridged metal.

  My heartbeat shifts from fear to one of expectant terror. If this goes like always, my mama won't be alone.

  Mama’s door swings in. Grime is piled in corners like dirty snowdrifts. The filth bleeds to the center, where a man stands above Mama.

  He's the one who comes only at night.

  He doesn't look like us.

  His skin is like pale cream.

  He's big... and in my mind, I know he's an Important Man. It's pure instinct that I understand he feels big for reminding us that we're small.

  His lips curl in satisfaction when he sees me. I fight the urge to pop my thumb inside my mouth. I bite the inside of my lip to keep from doing it.

  “He's mine?” the man asks as his hand fists in Mama's hair.

  I walk closer. My eyes skip nervously to his hand in her hair, the size of his fist, that coiled rage.

  “No!” she answers in a hoarse shout. Her eyes meet mine, round with fear.

  Tight with her lies.

  I look at the man.

  “Then he can take the beating I meant for you.” He jerks her up by her hair.

  I run to him, punching him with fists too small to inflict damage.

  He tosses Mama like garbage, and her beauty falls to the floor, long hair spilling around her like a dark fan. Luminous eyes catch mine in belated warning.

  He shoves me on my bottom.

  A pot full of rage that has nowhere to go simmers close to boiling. I feel it swell inside me. Ready.

  “Don't you hurt my baby!” she screams.

  An ember appears in his free hand. It glows like a lost firefly in the darkness, and the air fills with cloying sweetness. “Sorry, Tasha. If you don't pay, someone will.”