Fever by Autumn Archer

3

Adrenaline bursts inside me with demonic flutters. Not neotropical butterflies with glorious sapphire wings, more like a sting of fear from a deadly bullet ant.

I scramble and stumble, falling to my knees and picking myself up again. A loud buzz crackles behind me. I ignore the hiss, without hesitating or taking a beat to glance back. Now isn't the time to yell about my lack of survival training. Researching the top ten facts about living in the Amazon rainforest does not equate to actually being here or being chased by something that wants a late-night snack.

I'm disorientated and insignificant. A tiny dot of human life in the world’s largest remote forest. I’ve trekked over mountains and withstood snowstorms in the Scottish Highlands, so beating the oppressive understory of a tropical woodland should be easy. It’s anything but. The relentless heat weighs me down, making every step a chore.

Thankfully, the storm has passed, leaving particles of moonlight to guide the way. It would be magical if humanity wasn’t the minority. Isn’t that why I’m here, to help restore the world's biodiversity? How ironic. Now I'm destined to become extinct in the wild.

That thought alone finally sinks to the pit of my stomach. I’m running for my life with no shelter, food, or way to contact my family. They don't deserve this. A missing daughter whose body they will never find. The mystery of my death undiscovered. Then again, I wouldn't want them to know the suffering I’ll undoubtedly endure. I don't have a hope in hell of finding the nearest village or climbing a tree for safety. I’ve lost track of the winding river, foolishly charging in an unplanned direction. What choice do I have? Stop and breathe, risking the chance of being mauled, or speed like an exotic bat into the belly of hell? I won’t give up that easily.

A far-off roar tingles, cooling the sweat trickling down my spine. The underground is less dense than before, akin to an earthy trail. I swivel around, checking what carnivore is waiting to pounce. I’m still half jogging, with only my head directed at shadows. My heart rate has accelerated beyond healthy, so much so that I sway. Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids. Every muscle burns, tense and rigid in fight-or-flight. Branches snap. Each break echoes like gunfire. I drag down my hood, ready to face my maker. Nausea rolls in waves. Every breath chases an erratic heartbeat. The tender skin on my cheek weeps and warms.

Narrowing my eyes, I study the screening plants, twisting in a clockwise circle. Late night eerie birdsong unifies with my terror. Nothing. Only crunching as the hunter closes in.

This is it. My killer will don a fine fur of spots with capable jaws and unyielding teeth.

I free the flare gun—my only defense. A whispering plea of protection passes my lips in a gust. I raise my arm to the dense canopy overhead and pull the trigger. Instantly, a fiery blast rockets from the barrel like a rogue firework. A glowing red blaze shoots high. My hand shakes. Dizziness carries me in a stagger. I drop to my knees, waving the redundant orange gun.

Shrieks lacerate the undercurrent of silent breaths, bouncing around the middle layer of trees. Ear piercing chatter sharpens, causing my head to thump. My face angles to the red star, while my hands press to the forest floor to steady me. Acidic vomit rises in a burning surge. I manage to swallow it down and blow out my cheeks, trying to focus. I can’t stay rooted in one place for long, but my feet hurt, and my limbs ache. The bright rescue flare will subside in less than a minute. I need to keep moving. I have to stay alert for survival.

When I attempt to run, a creature more frightening than a stalking jaguar pins me to the earth with an intense dark glower. A bronze bare chest carved from mythological deities, glistens like diamonds as a thin beam of moonlight dares to rest on his physique. He hangs back in feathery ferns. Tanned skin and saturated loose waves reaching his nape tells me he could be of local South American descent. A black necklace hangs from a sinewy neck, with a golden pendant nestled at his chest. Sturdy lean legs half wrapped in camouflage fearlessly carry him toward me until he halts. Close enough to assess the single female and far enough away to remain shielded in darkness. His boots shuffle, settling wide in a dominating stance. Both hands repeatedly fist and release by his hips. An ebony coating of scruff covers a strong jawline. A twirl of mist swarms his presence like a ghostly aura. His robust form flexes and is coiled and ready to attack in a heartbeat.

Where this man exists, the lion no longer takes the title of king. A contorted grimace tells me he’s both man and beast. Savage and cruel. Something to fear more than poisonous wildlife.

An icy shiver rattles my teeth. I run hot and cold. Weakness slows my pulse. The hours of running in a heightened state of jitters have taken their toll. Heavy limbs are zapped of energy, and beads of sweat dance on my lashes as they flutter. Burnout hits me hard with sighing defeat.

I’m at the mercy of a man who pulsates with masculinity and drips with feverish sensuality. It's a type of quality that stirs a jolt of excitement and scares me to death.

His head tilts, trailing a vivid green gaze over my hunched posture. In the faint light those unreadable eyes of his appear barren and devious. I’d like to believe he’ll help me, but a trickle of vulnerability freezes me under his stare.

“How did you get onto my land?” he demands with a sexy Latino lick, so enticing and deceiving.

I hitch my chin a notch higher, mustering the last reserve of strength. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was your land.” Bruce didn’t mention local inhabitants or nearby holiday resorts. “Do you live here?”

Bushy brows tug together like he’s shocked by my Scottish cadence. After a silent second, he folds his arms, slotting palms under his armpits. The purposefully intimidating act broadens already thick biceps, magnifying his hardiness compared to my failing stamina. It's obvious he has the advantage.

“How did you get onto my land?” he repeats, clipped and precisely to the point, like an impatient hunter.

The rough flow of his accent synthesizes the chemicals in my brain with the hormones in my body. This foolish attraction is unjustified, like the inhospitable glare he holds me in. When he strides into my personal space, I immediately bounce up in wobbly defense. Such sugary sweet seduction, a citrus scent of lime and tropical coconut competes with earthy tones of vegetation and moisture.

I’m taken back to my grandfather's hot greenhouse where varying species of wildflowers and fluted leafy plants were crammed in a tight humid space. The macho man doesn’t smell like danger, more like subtle tones of paradise. Until he reaches out and seizes my chin.

A rebellious lock of wavy hair hooks his brow. Clean white teeth bare. “I’ll ask you one more time,” he grits out in an alarming deep rumble.

Grappling against his hand, my fingers brush over ridges and textures. I whimper when he squeezes, angling my head so the bloody cut catches in a slice of silver moonlight.

“My camp was destroyed by the rainstorm and a fallen tree killed my mentor.” I clasp his wrist. “I’m trying to reach the local village for help.”

“Mentor?” His fingers uncurl, releasing me from a crowded inspection.

I stretch out my jaw. “I’m an ecologist studying the rainforest,” I say quickly, swaying into him. Not out of lust or primal need. My bones jangle. Perspiration mists every inch of my skin. Peridot eyes, so intense and abstract, are the only thing I see before I sink. Without control, I purge. Bright yellow vomit spews, and my vision goes black.