On the Move (3 page)

Chapter Five

Daphne had left the hut, leaving Addison to take her bath alone. Addison thought the girl wanted privacy more than anything.

She sat in the fragrant water a long time, even though it wasn’t heated. The air was warm and soft, and the birds had come back, and she watched them fly over the hut through a hole in the roof, their bright feathers flashing in the sun.

Griffin would be there, fighting for her. She closed her eyes, hoping against hope that their plan would work as Ramos had said. It was a gamble, but if Griffin believed it would work, she would have to as well.

Daphne returned, and had helped her into the dress she was given to wear. It was simply a piece of cloth, brilliantly colored, that wrapped and tied around her, held in place with a polished shaft of branch through a circle of wood.

“Rather like the kilts my great-grandfather wore.” Daphne stood back, admiring her handiwork. “He was the black sheep of the family, never talked about at family dinners, only whispered stories about his exploits on the back stairs.”

“It’s not all that uncomfortable. Except for the lack of underwear.” Addison pulled and tugged at the top of the dress. “It’s not really all that supportive.”

Daphne threw back her head, her laugh startling the birds above them. “Ramos told me he had never been so confused, as when he tried to get me out of my clothes after the attack. I was out cold, and wasn’t any help. He said he was afraid I’d die before he got me out of my bra.” She giggled, flashing dimples. “I’d have given anything to have seen that.”

“It seems to run in the clans. Griffin told me the same thing. It was all I could do to keep him from ripping it off me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind it being ripped off, if there was a reason for it being ripped off.” Daphne winked. “I had a feeling Griffin was more than just your travel guide.”

“Is this all I get to wear? It seems lacking for such an important ceremony.”

“Oh, there’s more. Come with me.” They ducked out the doorway and Addison saw it, a gorgeous headdress resting on the ground. The feathers shimmered and danced in the wind.

“My god, it’s huge. And beautiful.” Addison stared at the headdress. Daphne picked up the thing, holding it with both hands.

“It’s a bit heavy, but if you get it set on straight, it’s not so bad. I felt like the Queen for a bit, until I remembered where I was.”

Addison sat on the ground and Daphne set the headdress on her head. It was heavy, but, as Daphne said, once it settled on her head, it was perfectly balanced. Daphne helped her stand and she took a few steps, then turned.

“It’s not so bad. I do feel a bit regal.”

“There’s a cape as well.” Daphne picked up a folded piece of cloth, shook it out and held it for Addison. Once adjusted it fell behind her in a colorful cascade.

“Do you know what the markings mean?” Daphne glanced at Addison. “I didn’t have a chance to study them, obviously. One of the men helped me dress, and it was a pretty rushed affair.”

Addison looked over the twisting figures, the symbols along the edge. She shook her head. “I’d say it’s a fertility ritual, with the figures there, intertwined.”

Daphne led her through the jungle, back to the clearing, and the platform. Xavier was there, flanked by two fierce looking guards. Behind him in the jungle, there was movement.

“Those are the clan leaders, probably two dozen.” Daphne leaned close, whispering in Addison’s ear. “You’ll be anointed now, and blessed.”

As if hearing her words, Xavier stepped aside, and a tiny, wizened old man hobbled from behind him, leaning heavily on a cane. His shaved head glistened in the morning sun, and he was unadorned, except for a scarlet loin cloth. Behind him, a solitary boy walked, carrying a wooden box. The boy walked with care, eyes focused on the box, as if he was carrying a live and very dangerous animal inside.

“That’s the priest, and his acolyte, for lack of a better term. He carries the oils and the anointing wand.” Daphne placed a hand on Addison’s back. “Don’t be afraid. Like I said, they revere women, provided they believe you are worthy of the battle.”

“Silence!” Xavier’s voice rang out. The entire jungle went still; even the birds above stopped their chatter. He pointed a long finger at Daphne.

“Leave this circle, woman.”

Daphne gave a differential bow, then retreated to the far side of the clearing. She turned, gave a small wave to Addison, and disappeared into the jungle. For a moment Addison’s heart sank. Somehow she thought Daphne would be there with her.

“Come forward.” Xavier’s eyes were steely and cold, and they locked with hers. She took a faltering step forward, then another, her knees threatening to buckle. Above her she felt the headdress dip and shake, throwing off her balance. Behind Xavier she caught sight of men emerging from the jungle and she stopped. It was the clan leaders, and among them was Griffin. She stopped in her tracks.

She would not show weakness in front of this tyrant. If Griffin was willing to risk his life for her, she would stand tall and proud. She would be the mate Griffin needed. She would put a professional distance between her and Xavier, view him dispassionately, as if he were just a specimen under her microscope. With her head held high, she crossed the clearing toward Xavier with a steady gate.

“Stand there.” Xavier pointed to the platform. Addison did as she was told, climbing onto the platform. The priest was being helped onto the platform by the boy, who supported the old man’s weight, his arm under the man’s elbow. The boy and priest were still struggling to gain the platform, and she reached out, taking the old man’s arm. His skin felt like parchment and he weighed no more than a small child. She pulled him onto the platform beside her.

The old man shrieked as if he’d been burned. The boy pulled him violently away from Addison, almost toppling the old man in the process. Addison let go of the man as Xavier rushed toward the platform.

“Do not touch the priest!”

Addison held up her hands, stepping back. “I’m not. I’m not.” She expected Xavier to climb the platform, to pull her away, but he stopped at the edge, the guards a few steps behind him.

Xavier glared at her, before turning his eyes to the priest. He looked past the man to the boy.

“Is he unharmed?”

“He is fine.” The boy’s voice quavered and he kept his eyes lowered.

“Can the ritual continue? Has she defiled the priest with her touch?”

There was a whispered conversation between the boy and the priest in the language she didn’t understand. After many minutes the priest pulled himself upright, apparently coming to a decision, glaring briefly at Addison before turning back to the boy. He spoke rapidly and the boy nodded, straightening to look at Xavier.

“The ritual may continue.”

Xavier heaved a palpable sigh. “Then do so.”

The boy stepped forward, and with gestures, directed Addison where to stand. “Do not touch anyone or anything, especially the priest.” His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “If the ritual is not followed exactly, it will not work. Do you understand? It will result in death, all our deaths.” He shot a glance at Xavier, and she understood the boy’s meaning.

Addison nodded, not trusting her voice. Xavier had a way of rattling her, no matter how hard her resolve, no matter how dispassionate she tried to be. The boy nodded to the priest, who nodded at Xavier.

“Then proceed.”

The priest stepped forward and the boy hurried to his side, carrying the box. The old man stopped abruptly and the boy slid to a halt beside Addison. He opened the box, turning his head as if he half-expected something to jump out and bite him. He set it gently on the floor, stepping away with obvious relief.

From lowered brows, the priest shot him a fierce look, before reaching into the box and withdrawing a small glass bottle, which was almost hidden in his gnarled hand.

The bottle caught Addison’s attention. Clearly it wasn’t made by the clan. It might have come from the villages, but when the man pulled off a metal cap attached by a chain, Addison gasped. It looked like cut crystal, and was clearly antique. She leaned forward for a closer look. In doing so, she caught a whiff of the old man. He smelled of incense and old blood, a disagreeable smell, and she made a face.

“Stand back! Can you not listen, woman?” Xavier rushed to the edge of the platform and she took a step back, expecting him to leap up and strike her. But he came to an abrupt stop, just short of the platform.

He didn’t touch the platform. Neither did the guards. The anthropologist in her rose again, and she thought the platform must be sacred, and Xavier’s touch would contaminate the ritual. So as long as she remained here, she was relatively safe. Ramos’ comments from earlier made sense now, that once the ritual started, Xavier would be unable to attack Griffin.

That would account for Daphne’s assertion she felt revered. She was, and Addison would be, as long as they were on the platform. They were put on the proverbial pedestal.

Addison couldn’t help herself from breathing in sharply, which garnered a glare from the priest. He’d opened several glass vials, setting them in the recesses of the box. Addison thought the box and glass vials might have belonged to a ship’s surgeon, holding tinctures or herbs. Wherever they came from, they were beautiful.

The priest had now withdrawn a brilliant red feather. He dipped it into one of the vials, the tip of the feather holding a single drop of oil. He motioned to the boy, who stepped forward.

“Please.” He held out one hand and she stepped forward. “Like this.” He took her hands, turning them palm up. The priest swooped in with his feather, tracing a line of oil across her palms.

She let the boy manipulate her, turning her as the priest continued dipping his feather into the oils, brushing it across various parts of her body, her head, and across her face, the tops of her breasts. Daphne had been right; the oils were intoxicating, the scents lush and deep. In a distant part of her mind she wondered if there was an aphrodisiac quality to the scent, not for her, but for the shifters.

The boy finally turned her back to the front of the platform, picked up the box as if it were a live snake, and stepped away. The priest withdrew a small rattle from his loincloth and began shaking it, shuffling around her as he did. He began a chant, a low mumble of words she didn’t understand.

As he circled her, the clan leaders began emerging from the jungle, moving gracefully around the edge of the circle. Ramos had mentioned masks, but he hadn’t mentioned the rest of their costumes.

Each man wore an elaborate headdress, tall feathers shimmering and shaking in the sun. resembling hers, but far more resplendent. The masks were made of smaller black feathers, covering their eyes, coming to a peak over their noses. They wore scarlet loincloths, and nothing else. They started moving in a circle around the platform, slowly at first, all eyes focused on her.

The priest turned away from her, shaking his rattle over the men as they passed in front of him. Addison noted that Xavier was outside the circle, and as the priest’s voice rose, and he shook the rattle with more force, Xavier stepped back even further, until he was almost hidden in shadows of the jungle.

The rattling came to an abrupt halt, the old man’s words trailing off to a deep mumble. Then the boy helped him down, and he disappeared from her view and her thoughts.

The men were still circling the platform, and now that the priest had left, their pace picked up, their feet stamping the ground in a slow rhythmic cadence. It was hypnotic, and she found herself lost in the colors of the feathers, the flash of dark eyes behind the masks, their skin already slicked with sweat beneath the midday sun.

Addison realized her heart was beating in time with the sound of the men’s feet hitting the ground. It wasn’t an accident, she was certain. It was becoming harder and harder to control her emotions, knowing that these men were there because of her, and what this ritual symbolized.

Belatedly, she thought of Griffin. He was one of those men now dancing in front of her. She shook her head. There was something in the oils; it was making her fuzzy-headed and that was the last thing she wanted.

She focused on each man as he passed in front of her. They were moving faster now, spinning as they danced, moving with a fluid intensity, muscles flexing, skin shining in the sun. Their headdresses shook, the feathers dipping and dancing, catching the light. It was a show of strength, of endurance, of keeping pace with the next man.

The men were breathing faster, and she could hear them. Then the wind shifted and she caught their rich, powerful, and deeply masculine scent, and whether it was the oils or not, she was suddenly and completely aroused.

She realized the men were changing their dance, their moves becoming more deliberate, footfalls slowing. The dance was becoming something else, not a show of strength, but a show for her. For an insane moment, she remembered her cousin’s bachelorette party and the male stripper who had been hired. Daphne was right; rubbish did pop into your head at the oddest times.

The men were moving in a slow circle now, knees bent, thigh muscles taut, hips rocking in a not-so-subtle way. It was arousing and it was having the desired effect on her. And, she thought, on the men.