Revealing Eden (25 page)

He arched an eyebrow. “Well?”

“No,” she said, evenly. “But that doesn’t mean something couldn’t have attacked.”

Bramford took a frustrated swipe at the sand, spraying the edge of her leafy pad.

“Why can’t you understand?” he said. “The jungle isn’t chaotic. Order exists here. You just don’t recognize it. Don’t you realize that I marked you with my scent when we laid together so that nothing would attack you?”

The tender closeness—a survival technique. Nothing more?
An icy feeling stabbed her heart. She’d never let him see the Real Eden again. Never.

“I see,” she said, quietly.

Bramford frowned. “You sound different.”

“Do I?’

“If you trusted me you would understand.”

Eden laughed bitterly.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”
Just that I’d never trust someone so cruel
.

She watched the scribbled line of shade slide over the opposite embankment, for once, dreading the coming night. She wished she were anywhere else in the world other than stuck here with him. Bramford grumbled, and she guessed he felt the same.

He waded into the river and plucked out a giant Amazon water lily. Eden noticed that the enormous, foot-long white flowers, which during the day lay huddled like baby Pearls, began opening to the night. She winced as Bramford tore off the flower and tossed it over his shoulder. He probably wished he could be just as easily rid of her.

He gathered the nuts and berries he’d dropped, placing them onto the large, flat lily pad.

“Eat,” he said, setting it down in front of her.

Eden kicked away the pad. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

His hand snaked out and caught her ankle. Hot, burning signals traveled up her legs, exploding in her brain. Furious, she threw sand at him. A satisfied smile spread across his arrogant face.

She simply hated him.

“Good, you’re angry,” Bramford said. “You can’t survive in the jungle without anger.”

“I don’t want to be in the jungle,” Eden hissed.

“You want to survive, don’t you?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Is it? As far as I can tell you invite danger. You don’t eat, you walk alone in the jungle.” He narrowed his gaze at her and spoke pointedly. “And you take up with dangerous men.”

Eden’s hand shot out, and she slapped him before she could stop herself. His emerald eyes grew cold and, beneath the blank façade, she detected simmering rage. He drew the back of his hand across his cheek.

“Don’t push me, Eden.”

“It was one man,” she protested. “And I told you I didn’t know about Jamal’s plans.”

“Didn’t you?”

Eden hesitated, recalling her ex-boyfriend’s wicked grin. His treachery was plain to see, if only she’d dared to look.

“I thought so,” Bramford said.

“You thought wrong,” she said. “You don’t understand anything.”

“When you get to where I am you’ll understand a lot more than you could ever imagine.”

“Why on Holy Earth would I want to be like you?”

Bramford’s face went blank. Eden saw that she had hurt him. Well, he deserved it. Still, she felt a lump in her chest.

Cold as stone, he moved away. She pretended great interest in a Brazil nut while stealing glances at him. He piled branches and twigs a few feet in front of the leafy pads. Then he started to rub a stick against a small rock with blinding speed. To her surprise, a small flame sparked. Building a fire, she realized with delight.

Bramford looked at her, beaming. Eden smiled back. Then, as if he remembered who she was, his enthusiasm quickly waned.

Why was he so difficult?

She wondered if the scene had looked similar eons ago when the first clever creature had discovered fire. Perhaps he also had showed off for his mate.
Look what I’ve done
. And had that girl fluttered with amazement? Maybe she, too, had regretted a thoughtless remark.

Of course that trailblazing pair had been two of a kind. While she and Bramford could never mate.

He hunkered over the woodpile, fanning the growing fire. The flickering light played over his feline cheekbones and rugged chin. Eden told herself to look away. Unable to resist, she traced the lines of his glowing body. And felt her heart do a little flip.

“You’ll have to tend the fire when I’m gone,” Bramford said, rigging a trestle over the fire.

“Where are you going now,” she said worriedly.

“The
bejuco de oro
will carry me far away. Don’t worry. I’ll be right here—at least, my body will be. But my spirit will
depart. It’s the only way to tolerate the pain. The herbs have to be strong to clean out the poison.”

He hung a gourd on the trestle. Piece by piece, he added bits of the woody vine as well as the leaves he’d foraged.

Eden recalled Maria’s prophetic words as he continued speaking. “Only the shaman drank the
bejuco de oro
in special ceremonies long ago. It allowed him to see far ahead so he could protect the people. They called him
El Tigre
because his spirit flew with the speed of a jaguar.” Already, Bramford sounded far away as he added, “It’s the next step for me.”

He stared into the gourd, his expression growing anxious. Had he seen something ominous in the future? Of course, that was impossible.

Again, his mood abruptly changed. He looked at her, almost grinning.

“You’ll have to hold the fort, partner,” he said with a cowboy drawl.

Partner?
Like a mate. Even if it wasn’t possible, Eden liked the sound of it.

“But what can I do?” she said.

“A lot more than you think.”

“When will you—your spirit—return?”

A ribbon of moonlight fell across Bramford’s face, as he searched the starry sky. He looked devilish, she thought, and achingly handsome.

“By dawn, I’ll be back,” he said, though he sounded hesitant. “No matter what happens to me, don’t be afraid.”

Dear Earth
. Eden realized she’d be left alone all night with his lifeless body. How would she ever hold the fort against snapping, hungry creatures? Even if he had marked
her with his scent, predators certainly would sense his helplessness—and hers.

“You can’t do this, Bramford.”

“If I don’t, I’ll die. Is that what you want?”

Her heart protested,
never
. Why couldn’t she just say it?

Instead, she stammered. “But, don’t you see? What if it’s dangerous?”

Bramford looked her dead in the eye. “Oh, it’ll be dangerous, Eden. You can count on that.”

W
ITH DREAMY eyes Eden watched Bramford stir his herbal concoction over the fire. She breathed in the pleasing smell of wood smoke that mingled in the night air with the heady perfume of the water lilies. Moonlight trickled down from an ebony sky, casting a mellow glow upon their little camp. Twinkling stars, aligned in ancient patterns, reminded her of the cool indifference of time.

Her old life in the tunnels with the ever-present voice in her head and the dark coating that fit like a second skin seemed nothing more than a bad dream. Had it really happened? Only the present felt real, and comforting. Somehow, Eden believed she and Bramford always had been together in the jungle—how had he put it—as partners.

Attuned to him, she sensed the anxiety hunkering behind his impassive face. Soon he would head into battle again.
No matter what happens to me, don’t be afraid
. Was he kidding?

Bramford leaned the stirring stick against the trestle and walked over to her. Angry red streaks zigzagged down his swollen arm, like just accusations of her stupidity. Eden held still, her nerves on fire, as he kneeled beside her.

His touch electrified her, as he slid one arm around her. Perhaps it was simply easier to hold her since he only had one
good hand to retie the knot at her side. In any case, she was happy for an excuse to lean against his warm, bare chest.

“How’s the pain?” he said.

She put on a brave face. “It only hurts when I breathe.”

“Take shallow breaths.”

“I am.”
Except when you look right through me
.

He’d finished with the bindings and yet, he lingered. A soft but powerful sound like a babbling brook rolled out of him. It both excited her and swept her into a place of deep contentment. Why couldn’t it always be like this?

She was on the verge of asking Bramford that very question when he pulled away.

There was a hitch in his voice as he said, “The
bejuco de oro
is calling me. Are you ready, Eden?”

“Do I look like I’m ready?”

“Yes, you are. Even if you don’t know it.”

She shrugged. “It’s up to you, anyway.”

“Only if you choose to give away your power. If you know your place here then your strength will equal mine.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Listen carefully to what I tell you,” Bramford said, his tone emphatic. “Even now, the herbs may speak through me. The
bejuco de oro
will say things to test me. And you.”

“But I’m not part of this.”

“You’re here for a reason. Try to understand.”

“I’m only here because you kidnapped me.” It was a fact, though for once Eden presented it without malice.

“But you came along, didn’t you?” he said, with equal matter-of-factness.

“I had no choice,” she said softly.

He looked off into the distance as he spoke. “In everything we do there’s always a choice. We can choose to see ourselves as victims of circumstance. But when we act beyond our personal needs we become part of something greater. The choice is ours.”

Eden gave him a blank stare. Riddles, she thought. As mystifying as love.

Bramford shook his head, as if to say,
I tried
.

Her pulse raced, as she watched him lift the gourd from the trestle.
Here we go
.

He returned to her side, his hold on the medicine reverential. When he set the gourd on the ground between them, Eden peered inside at an unappetizing dark brown watery soup, surprisingly odorless.

Bramford settled onto the other giant banana leaf, his wounded arm away from her, so that their injuries were like damaged bookends. He closed his eyes and blew out a slow, deep breath that rattled the air. Without a single word of encouragement or even so much as, “see you in the morning,” he took one long swallow.

Immediately, he began to shake. The empty gourd slipped from his grasp. Eden gasped, as he doubled over with an agonizing moan. Then he lurched like a drunkard to the bushes, where she heard him retching.

Good Earth
.

She snapped as soon as Bramford wobbled back into view. “What kind of medicine is this?”

Swaying, he collapsed beside her. By the flickering light she saw his glassy eyes, his face, taut and sweaty.

“Bramford?”

He didn’t seem to register her voice. He simply stared into space, like a dead man. She called his name again. Only the crackly fire and the bubbly, laughing hoot of a tropical screech owl peppered the night.

Eden nearly shouted. “You’re scaring me. Please, say something!”

Still, Bramford didn’t respond.

She poked his shoulder, tentatively at first, then with a little shove. At least his body felt warm so she knew he wasn’t dead. And yet, he seemed as far away from her as the world was from their lonely encampment. Had the spirit of
El Tigre
really flown away as Bramford had predicted?

Her eyes traveled over his magnificent, inert form. She would have laughed at the irony if she weren’t so scared. The helpless Pearl guarded the Jaguar Man.

Till dawn, he’d said. Eden hoped she would last that long.

She settled back, her eyes fixed on her charge. From time to time his face twisted, as if his thoughts fought to escape. An occasional twitch of limb or weird moan startled her.

In a short while, Bramford began making strange, indecipherable sounds. Perhaps it was a shamanistic language. His brow furrowed before he slipped back into his silent world.