Primitive Nights

by Candi Wall

  The moment they entered he pulled her close and took her mouth in a hungry kiss. If he was to die today, he would die with her taste on his lips and her touch in his mind.

  Myla pushed against his chest. His lips moved over hers with intoxicating heat, but she was angry. He didn’t deserve her kiss after making fun of her. His tongue played along the inside of her lips, and the caress took her breath away. She shouldn’t want this, but oh, she so did.

  She wound her hands around his waist to knead the muscles of his back. His hands moved over her as well, hungry, seeking her skin. When his mouth broke away to course down the sensitive skin of her neck, she sighed. He nipped at the tender spot at the turn of her shoulder.

  “I’m still mad at you.”

  He nodded against her skin. “I know. But not now. I need you.”

  “Peace?” She whispered the word, unable to do more when his hand curved over her bottom and pulled her hard against the rugged lines of his body.

  “Yes, I need the peace you bring.” He raised his head and framed her face with his hands. “We may not leave here today, Myla.”

  The depth of his despair shown in his eyes and the severity of the situation truly lodged in her stomach. Damon’s laughter and easy banter had fooled her into a false sense of security. “You don’t think he’ll let us leave. Do you? Even when you win.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Hounta cannot be trusted.”

  He could die, for nothing more than a chance. “No, Damon. This can’t happen.” She glanced around. “There must be a way out. We can run, hide.”

  He shook his head and dropped his forehead to hers. “There is no way.” His kiss came again, hungry and hot.

  He devoured her as his hands worked the knot loose on her shirt. The rough calluses on his palms and fingers moved over her skin. The shirt fell from her shoulders, and he crushed her to him. Their skin met. Myla sucked in a breath at the contact. His touch made everything disappear.

  She pressed her lips to his chest, inhaling the scent of his skin. Every hard line begged for her attention, and she tried to touch him everywhere. She was frantic. Her ragged breaths matching his as the thundering of their hearts pounded against each other.

  Need seeped into every pore, and her belly knotted with desire. He was so strong, so controlling, and she felt safe under his power. Even with the world against them, with death hovering outside their door, she wanted him. Wanted the feel of his love, his intensity. If she was going to die, if she might lose him, she wanted the memory of him to be her last.

  She reached up to trace his lower lip. “Make love to me. Then whatever happens, happens. This will be our goodbye.”

  His deep growl echoed through the hut and he pulled her down with him to the earthen floor. The rough ground scratched at her back as he pressed her beneath him. He stripped her clothes away without care or gentleness.

  The ferocity of his touches, his deep, demanding kiss would have scared her if they’d never made love before. Now, she knew the intensity of his fear, matched it with her own, tears burning at her eyes.

  He could die. They both could die.

  He entered her in a swift, deep plunge. Her tears broke free and she clasped him close, crying out at the pleasure of his hard body joined so perfectly with her own. He whispered words she couldn’t understand, soft and filled with emotion.

  Her body arched closer to him without thought, meeting his deep, sinful thrusts with unabashed need. She didn’t care who heard. She didn’t care who witnessed. Their last moments before reality plunged them into the nightmare to come would be their own.

  Her heartbeat drummed in unison with his, their bodies slick with sweat. Each shift and tremor of his muscular chest brushed against her sensitized breasts, sending out spirals of pleasure that matched the desire simmering deep in her belly.

  His kiss deepened until she took his moans inside her. She broke free, panting, begging, wanting his release as much as she needed her own but afraid to find the ultimate pleasure and have this moment end.

  His hands framed her face, and he shifted hard, deep, settling his pulsing shaft at her womb. He held still then, his head bowed, body tense as if he struggled for control. Her body was on fire, ready to explode around him. Ready to receive the last vestiges of his loving. But he remained unmoving.

  “Damon?”

  A heavy breath shuddered free, and he pressed a kiss to her temple. When his dark gaze met hers, she cried out. Pain, anger, torture and despair. So many emotions flickered in the deep green depths. Every emotion she experienced lay open in his steady gaze.

  “My alogu. My peace.” Then he shifted, leaving her body almost completely before plunging back in hard, demanding strokes. “Do not close your eyes.”

  The intense, erotic sharing whisked away control, and the spasms clenched deep in her core. Damon smiled, his eyes hooded, as he pressed on, keeping the rhythm steady. “Your pleasure demands mine.”

  Frantic, desperate strokes stole her breath as the orgasm broke in debilitating waves. She felt him thicken and his seed spilled warm inside her, matching her pulses until they both tensed and cried out.

  Their heavy breathing filled the hut, interrupted by ugly voices and odd sounds. The scent of the strange camp infiltrated the pleasant aroma of their lovemaking.

  The spell broke.

  Chapter Twelve

  Damon stood and drew her into his arms. With a gentle kiss, he handed her the clothes he’d discarded and waited in silence as she dressed. His warm fingers smoothed over the knot she made in her shirt, and she ducked her head against his chest. She wanted to hide her fear, but it was difficult. “This can’t be the end.”

  He turned away. “No. I will defeat Tinjtol.”

  Myla stood behind Damon and squeezed her arms around his waist, more scared than she’d ever been. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  He turned in the circle of her arms and cupped her face, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip. “I know. You must trust me. I will protect you.”

  The conversations of the people outside of the hut became louder, the excitement palpable. “I trust you. Not Hounta, not Tinjtol. And I don’t want you to do this for me. Your brother will do whatever it takes to defeat you this time.”

  His soft chuckle rumbled through her chest. “I have known him my entire life. He is no different today than any other. He has tried to eliminate me since birth.” A soft kiss brushed her temple. “I think my father’s protection is all that saved me from death as a babe.”

  Horrified, she leaned back. “What do you mean?”

  Damon moved away but the intimacy they shared lingered on her skin. “He has hated me from the moment I was born. It became necessary that I learn to defend myself when I was old enough for him to beat me without reason.”

  “Didn’t your parents do anything?”

  He shrugged. “Mother tried, but it was in vain. Her way of raising a child was much different than the tribe’s way. Boys who are of age must grow to be strong, capable men, and in learning to defend themselves, they do so. I became bajluk for my strength. The elders choose by a man’s merit, not by his birthright.”

  To a certain extent, she could understand what he meant, and as odd as it was to have this conversation now, it was the perfect way to keep more sinister thoughts at bay. “Okay, I can accept that. But when it becomes dangerous, I would think something should be done.”

  A broad smile eased the hard lines of his face. “If I had not learned to defend myself, it would not have helped me to become strong.”

  “I guess out here that makes some sense. My mother would have grounded me—taken all of my privileges—for weeks, months even, if I had treated my brother that way.” Her heart ached at the thought of Connor and her mother. Would she ever see them again?

  Damon pulled her close and nuzzled the skin of her neck. “Our worlds are so different. I wonder at the fate that gave you to me.”

  Fear raced through her
. They stood in an enemy hut, where only moments ago they’d made staggering, intense love, and now… She didn’t want to think of what was to come. Her arms tightened. “I do believe in fate.”

  He chuckled before his lips met hers in a gentle kiss. Tears formed in her eyes with the emotions that welled in her heart. This was too much. Walking away when the time came for her to leave would be difficult enough, but she couldn’t bear the thought of his death.

  She broke away, her tears falling freely. “I don’t want you to do this. There has to be another way.”

  His smile was sad and he brushed her cheeks with his knuckles, his gaze settling on the damp remnants on his skin. “Do not cry, alogu. My love. Stay here. I will return to you.”

  The words caused more tears, but he couldn’t have seen them. He’d stepped away and walked from the hut before she could say another word. She rushed forward, refusing to stay hidden, silly and pathetic, while he fought for his life.

  Two warriors grabbed her arms the moment she emerged from the hut, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out under their harsh grasp. Damon had to stay focused, and if he knew she hadn’t listened, knew she watched, it might throw his concentration.

  The men pulled her along, ignoring her silent struggles until they stopped next to a raised platform. The Hounta leader sat there, engulfed by a large wooden chair. His eyes sparkled with excitement. He waved to the men to bring her forward, and she was thrust up the steps to the platform.

  The ancient leader held out a gnarled hand to point at the small animal skin next to his feet. She met his gaze, knowing he wanted her to comply. And God, how she wanted to refuse. Bowing to the will of this despicable man didn’t sit well, but concern for Damon made the choice easier to bear, and she knelt on the spot Hounta indicated. He stared at her before waving a hand to one of the men. Drums pounded around them, the platform rumbling beneath her knees.

  Then Tinjtol and Damon entered the clearing.

  She refused to look at Tinjtol and focused on Damon. His deep bronze skin glistened in the sunlight, drawn taut over the powerful ridges of muscle beneath. The cloth at his hips hugged his trim waist, accentuating the athletic structure of his lean thighs and calves. A thin strip of leather held his hair back from the rugged lines of his face.

  He looked the same, and yet completely different.

  All gentleness had disappeared. This was Maglayo. Not the gentle lover she’d shared a night of passion with. Not the tempting, enigmatic man who’d shown her the flora and animal life of his beautiful world. This was the primitive tribal leader, thrust into a circumstance beyond his control.

  The way he stared, so intent and focused on his brother, made her shiver. He would kill Tinjtol if given the chance. As much as she abhorred violence, she understood the necessity of what was to happen. She didn’t accept it, but she recognized now that Damon and numerous others may have been forced to these measures.

  The drums picked up tempo, and he began to move about the circle. Tinjtol matched his movements. The men were graceful, toned, dangerous. The leader grunted and the tribe erupted with animalistic cries.

  Myla clasped her hands over her ears. She wanted to close her eyes, wanted to block out the horror around her. But she couldn’t. There was no way she could keep herself from watching. If Damon fell, she would be by his side.

  With a steadying breath, she forced herself to straighten. She slashed at the tears still damp on her cheeks and squared her shoulders. He would know she willed him strength. He would understand she was there for him.

  The Hounta leader called out, and his words brought both men to rigid attention. She nodded to Damon when he looked her way. “Be careful.”

  Damon met Myla’s gaze across the clearing. A halo of sunlight framed her in gold and crimson rays. Her lips parted, moving over words he was too far away to understand. Not that it mattered. Her presence alone gave him strength. She was brave, and her simple gesture of support eased his mind. His heartbeat slowed. His alogu watched. His good omen. The woman he did not want to let go.

  This would end well; he would have it no other way. When it was done, he would take the days that remained with Myla and teach her what he felt in his heart. His love.

  He turned to face Tinjtol. Torches were lit around the clearing, and the acrid scent of smoke filled the space. Forcing his mind to focus, he felt the shift of the hair along his arms as the breeze blew across his skin. Every movement of the air intensified.

  His feet sensitized to the grooves and turns of the earth beneath them in preparation for balance. Sound receded, leaving only his heartbeat and the steady rhythm of his breathing. Every muscle tingled in anticipation. The wound at his thigh pulsed dully, reminding him of its weakness.

  Then he met the eyes of his enemy.

  Tinjtol lunged with his knife held out to the side. Damon waited. As before, he would anger his brother. Make him careless with his rage and use that to defeat him. There would be no question this time. Tinjtol would have to die.

  Damon slipped aside before the deadly blade could touch him and laughed. “Come, brother. Victory is only yours if you can take it.”

  Tinjtol’s lips turned in a nasty snarl. “I will take it and cut your heart out for my dinner.”

  “Come then. No more talk.” Damon waved a hand to taunt him forward.

  With a harsh cry, Tinjtol rushed at him, slashing his knife quickly back and forth. Damon tried to deflect the knife’s blade. Several small cuts across his chest and upper arms opened as his brother passed. The sting heightened his awareness.

  “You bleed, Maglayo.”

  Damon attacked while Tinjtol boasted over his small success. He dropped low and slipped past Tinjtol to slice at the back of his knee. Then he pushed up from the ground and stood again to face him. “Now you bleed as well. Let us finish this quickly.”

  Several times Tinjtol faked forward, his lithe movements difficult to track. Damon moved around the clearing with careful precision, shifting his brother’s position until the rays of sun cast over his hard features. Tinjtol’s eyes crinkled slightly at the edges as he squinted against the light and Damon rushed forward the moment he blinked.

  Slipping his knife around as he swept past, Damon notched another cut into the back of his other leg. “More?” He backed away, taunting, “Do you want more, brother?”

  Tinjtol’s furious yell ricocheted through the jungle, and he spun around to lunge at Damon with violent arcs of the knife. The anger and frustration in his attack made his movements clumsy. He slipped the knife into Damon’s arm as he passed but stumbled before he could gain his footing.

  Damon rushed after him, ignoring the pain scorching his arm. The opening he wanted had presented itself. An uneasy pressure squeezed his chest as he pinned his enemy to the ground. The moment of choice weighed heavy.

  His brother’s life or Myla’s.

  Pressing a knee into Tinjtol’s back, he held the blade of his knife firmly against the ridge under his chin and yanked Tinjtol’s head back hard.

  Tinjtol or Myla?

  There was no choice. He pressed the blade hard and closed his eyes. A swift end was what he would choose for himself or any warrior. He would give Tinjtol the same.

  “Stop! This is not necessary, Father.” A woman’s frantic voice sliced through the silence of the camp. Damon searched his mind. That voice. He knew it.

  He glanced at Hounta, but the old man stared past him. “You are well, daughter?”

  “I am,” the woman answered.

  Damon resisted the urge to turn around. Myla shifted forward and he caught the small smile curving her lips. “Gahiiti?”

  The word left her lips with perfect inflection. Damon sensed the tension easing around them. The woman they had saved stepped into his line of vision and tipped her head in respect to Myla. “Tolginga gahiiti.”

  Then she looked at Hounta. “Father, these are my saviors.” The woman eased up next to Damon. She reached out to place her hand over hi
s and tried to shift the knife away from Tinjtol’s neck. “I do not want Tinjtol or anyone else to die. I wish for Maglayo and his woman to be safe in return for saving me.”

  Damon retained his grip on Tinjtol, desperate to calm the instinct that drove him, to control the rage roaring through his body. He looked up, meeting the feral eyes of Hounta. “I want my woman, old man. Your daughter does not want me to take Tinjtol’s life, but you say I must to have what I want.”

  With a sneer, Hounta slid his hand through Myla’s hair. “Finish your enemy, Maglayo.”

  Damon shook his head. “It is not him who has taken what I want.”

  The old man curled his hand tight. Pride welled in Damon when Myla stayed perfectly still, her eyes straight ahead. She refused to show fear. She was beautiful.

  Hounta’s daughter approached her father’s dais. “Will you give them this honor?” When he hesitated, she added, “But for them, I would not be here.”

  Stale silence filled the encampment.

  Hounta’s acquiescence was barely perceptible, but Damon saw the nod.

  He released his hold on Tinjtol slowly. After a moment, he glanced at the Hounta woman with a slight bow. “You are well?”

  “Thanks to you and your woman.” She reached a hand out to Tinjtol and he stepped before the woman. “It is your brother that has saved me?”

  Tinjtol bent down on a knee. “Yes.”

  Her sad smile mirrored what Damon already felt. Fighting between tribes wasted energy they could combine to stand against outside enemies.

  “You will let him leave, as my father has agreed?”

  Tinjtol raised a hand to her. “There will be peace from me.”

  The woman smiled at him and pulled him to his feet. “You are a brave warrior.”

  “No, I would have killed the man who saved you.”

  Shocked by his brother’s admission, Damon remained silent. The emotions on Tinjtol’s features were oddly out of place as he spoke to the Hounta princess. Damon had never witnessed kindness in Tinjtol.

  “Because my daughter requests your freedom, I must give it.” Hounta stood, his brows furrowed in anger. “You will have safe passage across our land for this day only. Go.”