Jungle Freakn' Bride (11 page)

“Take that
,
you bas-s-s-tard,” she slurred before she slumped
back
into darkness.

*

Chaob stared in consternation at the vomit covering his groin. “
She puked on me.”

“That she did.”

“That’s not supposed to happen
,
is it
?
”

Acat shrugged
, his casual expression belied by the concern in his eyes as he checked over their bride.
“Grandfather said the potion makes the females ill. I guess vomiting is to be expected.”

“Aren’t you just a fount of helpfulness,” Chaob snarled. “
Hand me something to wipe it with.”

Continuing to dab at her face with a damp towel,
Acat
used his free hand to
toss him a
cloth
. “I think she’s mad at you.”

“I hadn’t noticed. Can you blame her
,
though?”

“Not really.
Hundreds
of years
we’ve done this ritual
and the
shaman
still haven’t found a better method of transmission. You’d think with today’s technology and painkillers
,
we could make the experience a better one.”

Rinsed clean, with a fresh
loin
cloth around his
hips
, Chaob rejoined Acat who
still
wiped a
wet
cloth across their woman’s face.
“Or at least give her a choice,” Chaob grumbled. The subterfuge, no matter its origin, bothered him. “You know, I never thought much
before
of how frightening it must be for our brides to not have us speak or explain things.”
Taking his turn at Carlie’s side,
Chaob cradled h
is bride’s
limp body, his heart heavier than her
, and pulled her hair to the side that he might bind it with a clasp to keep it out of the way
in case she threw up again
.
H
ow he
hated this part of the ritual.
“She’s going to
despise
us
when she finds out
we
deliberately misled her
,” he remarked
,
plac
ing
her limp body gently on the bed.

“She’ll be mad,” Acat agreed. “But as the westerners say, it is easier to beg for forgiveness –
”

“
–
t
han it is to ask for permission. I know. But, still, it seems like a piss poor way to start a new life.
”

“And yet it
has
work
ed
for hundreds of years.”
A heavy sigh left Acat
. “I like it no better than you. If I did not fear the repercussions of not following the ritual to the letter, I would do things differently, but –
”

“But what? How can warning her be worse?”

“The choice must be not be tainted or it
not
might
work.”

“So they claim.”

“So the facts state. Or have you forgotten Naum and Zotz?”

Nobody would ever forget the happy boys they grew up with. Once they reached manhood, Naum and Zotz stole their bride from a small Mexican village
,
l
eft the dowry in her place,
and
followed all the rules of the ritual except one. The pair, feeling bad for
t
he
i
r
chosen bride’s
obvious fright, spoke to her, reassured her
,
and explained what would happen. What she would go through. What she would become.

The girl
, terrified at the fate the gods chose,
escaped them and jumped to her
death
. Her demise was
followed shortly thereafter by a dual suicide
,
as bereft with grief
– and guilt
–
two men in the prime of their lives, threw themselves off a cliff.

Their story was a sobering reminder of why ritual was so important. Magic didn’t care about logic or feelings. Old magic, ancient magic such as their tribe wielded
,
thrived on habit.

Not willing to take the same chance, Acat and Chaob didn’t dare do anything to mess things up. So
,
no matter how much they wished to respond to their mate’s pleas, or console her, they needed to wait. Wait until they’d claimed her, mind
,
body
,
and
soul
. Then, they’d probably hear an earful.

Chaob, sadistically enough, couldn’t wait. He tired of the subterfuge and looked forward t
o
engaging his mate not just physically but verbally.
If she survived.
She’s too strong not to.

Or so he hoped.

Pale, even paler than before, her lips colorless and her body covered in a sheen of sweat, she
appeared
so fragile.
He didn’t like seeing her so still. So lifeless.
D
uring their journey
,
h
e’d gotten used
to her fiery temper and outbursts
,
h
er lively antics
,
h
er seductive scent and body.

Would she emerge from the ritual the same person? Or would it change her?
Did they do the right thing in choosing to make her
become
?

They’d know in two moonrises. In the meantime, they could only pray.

“Do you think she will keep her golden hair color?” he asked, letting his fingers stroke the curly, golden mass.

“It would be unusual,” Acat observed. “I don’t think I recall a bride ever having either her coloring or such waves. Wouldn’t my father have an
apoplectic
fit if she was the first curly
-
haired member of our tribe?”

Despite the gravity of the moment, Chaob couldn’t help a grin.
The alpha of their
group
tried so hard to cling to the unwritten rules passed down to him, but more and more, he had to give some up as the modern world encroached.
Acat, Chaob
,
and several others of their age were the
third
generation to leave the tribe to be educated in the outside world. Their shaman, Acat’s grandfather, claimed the gods decreed it
,
saying they needed to know what happened around them lest they get caught unaware by technology and the ever
-
encroaching tendrils of civilization. They also needed money. Trade, while good for the smaller things among villages, didn’t go far anymore.
In order to keep up with the world, they needed to stay abreast of technology and to stay in the information loop. Satellite phones and other devices they needed for security didn’t come cheap.

And that’s where Acat and Chaob did their part.

Chaob
never completed his thought as the first of many convulsions wracked their female.
N
ow the true test began in earnest.
May t
he gods give him the fortitude and strength to help h
is bride
through this most trying of times. While no one spoke much of what happened once the potion was
ingested
, despite the distance between huts, only the deaf could ignore the screams.

Was it wrong to be proud that their mate, most beautiful and strong of them all, screamed loudest?

He couldn’t wait until they’d completed this portion of the ritual and got to the part he’d waited for most anxiously. The part where they made her yell – in pleasure.

If she d
oesn’t
kill
us
first.

I’m going to kill them for this.

How many hours had Carlie already screamed?
Was it days since she’d last enjoyed a pain free existence?
C
ould
n’t
she just hurry up and die already
?
Anything to stop the agony
,
a
n agony caused by a poisoning she still didn’t understand even as she’d used the act to distract herself from the worst moment
s
of her life
.

Why keep her alive, feed her, bathe her, and arouse her to the point she would have begged them for their touch
only to kill her slowly with some jungle potion? When none of her
screamed curses
to that query
earned her answers or oblivion,
she dreamt up ways of killing the
two bastards who betrayed her
. For some reason
,
though, those violent fantasies
tended to always end up devolving into some erotic orgy where she
bit
and rode
them like a cowgirl out of control. Some punishment.

Sweating, her body on fire, she hissed at the cool cloth on her brow, one of her captors once again contradicting everything she thought she knew by caring for her. Why did they take turns tending her?
Why bother w
iping her down and cleaning up the vomit she spewed their way
?
What point was there in massaging her limbs and letting her see chagrin
-
filled eyes? Bully for them, they felt bad about torturing her. She harbored no qualms about
chomp
ing anything that came too close, or aiming her vomit to inflict the most
disgusting
damage possible.

“Kill me,” she moaned
at one point
.

Instead, they poured cool, fresh water in to her mouth and she gulped, so thirsty. So hungry. So…relaxed? The fire in her body subsided
suddenly
,
leaving her limp. The pain receded
, like a wave sucked back out to sea,
until only the flinching memory remained.

What happened? Did the end approach? Had her body finally given up?
Not while I still breath
e
,
it won’t.

She wiggled fingers and toes. No pain. No paralysis. She opened an eyelid with the wariness of a skittish
cat
. She could see the thatched roof above her clearly.
Too clearly. She shut her eyes against the dizziness threatening. Taking a few deep breaths, she opened them again, the sharpness of her vision still startling
,
but not as overwhelming now that she expected it.

She
lick
ed
her lips, not chapped as expected
,
and
a sweet
-
tasting balm flavor
ed
the tip of her tongue. A rustle of motion
caught her attention
and she turned her head.

A blue and golden eye stared back.
Mr. Kitty, still alive and well. For now.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
Haggard in appearance, his usually knife
-
shaven jaw sported thick bristles, his usually poised look marred by his messy braid and bloodshot eyes.

Rough time? Too bad.
He opened his mouth as if to speak,
but under her glare,
clamped it shut. She felt he
r
arm on her other side lift, and she tilted her view to see Golden Grin holding her by the hand.
Almost as ragged in appearance, he flashed her a wan smile that wilted as she
blast
ed him with her gaze.

He’d better not!
He did.
H
is lids got droopy, his lips turned down in a sad pout. She would resist, damn him. He would not get her to melt even if he did remind her of that stupid pussy
cat
in that ogre movie
, the ridiculously cute one
.
Then he upped the unfairness factor.
He rubbed his cheek against her palm and digits, almost
feline
like, his eyes hooded and glowing.

Shit
,
they’re
glowing!
She turned to look back at Mr. Kitty and found his eyes just as Halloween freakish.
Not human!
Her mind threw off the last of her haze and screamed at her to get out.
Before she could sit up, she found her wrists caught in a pair of tight vises as her captors grabbed hold.