Fever by Autumn Archer

6

They call me the ghost for a reason.

Covert and illusive.

Proficient in the art of flipping lives.

A master at patience, gliding under the radar until the perfect time to strike.

Right now, I’m mocking my best skill. Where I should have rigid disinterest, I’m following Iris like it’s my job to track and hunt. She has no idea the man who cast her out into the jungle is lurking in the fern. It’s not a game, more a necessity.

I don’t care that she’s prancing barefoot through the forest or how she glows in the dim light like a wood nymph. Nor do I give a fuck that a waterfall of fiery curls shield curves and flesh that were created for fucking. What I can’t seem to grasp is the striking kick of ownership. She belongs to me.

The woman herself is now a ghost. We’re matched in our own unique way. Granted, it was my doing, but she’s one less statistic to add to the world's official population count. Her old life was canceled, yet her soul still walks the planet on my untouched patch of the world.

This side of the border is relatively free from prowling beasts. A venomous snake or ant bite poses the main threat to her health. That, and exposure. Taking her clothes was a last-minute challenge for her self-sufficient pride. Any normal woman would break at the suggestion of stripping, let alone run into the mouth of a natural habitat heaving with life.

She caught me off guard with unassuming stubbornness, feminine boldness, and a valiant temper that just had to excite me. I should’ve locked the cabin doors. Forced her to kneel in subservience to her new king. Laid down the law with limited restraint.

I didn’t expect her to be royal in virtue or overflowing in a belief of survival. If I'm honest, I never thought she’d actually run. Perhaps I wanted her to beg. To plead for a kinder outcome. Or offer herself as a bargaining chip.

I’ve been isolated in the wild for so long, focused and driven. Adding lust to the equation wasn’t part of the plan. As the months ticked by, I quashed the inclination and gave my soul over to settling a score.

Before consequences swallowed me up and spat me out on the remote edge of the country, my typical type was athletic build and tanned skin—flirty brunettes with more bite than innocence.

In my thirty years of life, I’ve never encountered such silken pale skin brought to life with spirals of wayward flames. I’m in fucking awe.

She flits from tree to tree. Tiny in stature but fierce in fortitude, she mumbles and chants, cursing the bastard who took her clothes, stole her freedom, and left her to die alone. I’m honored. Only I haven’t quite gifted her the luxury of solace. She is mine, after all.

Fuck!

This is mindless.

I want her. And what scares me the most is that I want to fucking destroy her. If she’d let me. I’ve spent too long in my own company, cradling a broken heart and designing death. Years of isolation have turned me into an animalistic savage with a thirst to fuck the frantic little bird, desperately seeking a place to rest out of harm's way.

What she needs to do is return to her quarters and stay there.

Purposefully crunching over sprigs and shoots, the snapping noise cracks like a ping pong ball through the upper tier, signifying a predator is closing in. It just so happens that beast is me.

Her palms fly to her temples. She rotates on the spot. More than adequate breasts framed by twisted tendrils heave with every sharp intake of air. Fear vibrates and shakes over her elegant posture.

A night owl hoots on cue. I almost chuckle when she grits out, “Insufferable man,” and stamps her foot in the mud. I’m camouflaged and well hidden. She hasn’t a clue I’m chasing her back to where she belongs.

I know this section of the forest like the back of my hand. Herding her in a circle is easier than I expected. When she catches sight of the welcoming lights of the oasis, she sighs in defeat. Her shoulders slump, yet her pace gathers momentum.

Now free from the leafy canopy of ironwoods, Iris hesitates under palm fronds. The constellation Sagittarius gleams overhead in the twinkly canvas, while the ubiquitous disk of the Milky Way lords over our Earth. As she weighs her only option, her head tips upward to the black hole hidden behind a thin layer of cosmic clouds.

My hardened layers weaken, the glue softens, and I see her for what she really is—an elegant queen.

But even a queen must kneel to her king. The consequences of her return to my oasis will be catastrophic if not controlled. She’s chosen to stay. That’s her decision, no matter how bleak her choices are. Would I rather send her away on the next ride out of here? Absolutely. However, this is my concealed nirvana, and I won’t risk losing sight of the ultimate target. Not for anyone. Not for her. My face is stored in her gray cells. My recognizable scars are hers to recall. A detail she could divulge.

I make a promise to myself then and there, watching her hop onto the solar lit pathway. Our lives will never tangle. The woman will become a figment of my imagination. She won’t learn a single thing about el Fantasma, the untouchable ghost.

I’m not rewriting the course of fate for my benefit or for her. I’m doing it for my sister.

Iris glances over her shoulder one last time, silently bidding farewell to freedom. What could be thought of as an inconsequential act makes my blood scorch with uncomfortable arousal. My dick rests thickly against my zipper. The swell of lust unfurls in my core like a waking alligator after months of sleep, demanding instant gratification. A slick of sweat coats my spine. If there wasn’t a guest in the neighboring suite, I would strip off my restrictive garments and embrace my own freedom.

Only something doesn’t sit quite right. The burning urge inside of me refuses to be ignored. She’s coaxed out a beast from within me that won’t listen to reason, won’t bow to my request, and won’t be satisfied until it’s released.

Returning from the shadows, my fists curl, and my boots hit the wood, matching my heart slamming against my ribs. The thirst to fuck overpowers my senses. It’s only her I visualize, only Iris that I crave to taste.

I battle the demolishing need, slaying the desire inside me with memories I shouldn’t relive. They strike a match of hate and deaden my pulse. Shaky legs carry me to her cabin where I fall back into my comfort zone. Darkness casts its secluded blanket over my edgy muscles.

I designed the cabins for an authentic tropical experience, unifying the inside with glorious shades of nature. At no point did it occur to me that this particular suite would double as a glass cage, housing a rare and beautiful species.

My head of staff removed the blackout blinds and drapes at my request, opening the aspect to the elements. She has nowhere to hide, not even in bed. A waterfall shower has glass screens with zero privacy from the millions of creatures on the other side, including me. Timber-clad outer walls are hedged by multiple trees laden with coconuts, secluded at the end of a single walkway. Solitude is virtually hers, except when I’m camouflaged, studying my new uninvited guest.

She paces back and forth with rounded creamy buttocks and those womanly hips. A guttural groan mingles with cicadas when she snatches the sheets off the bed and swaddles herself like the goddess Aphrodite.

I curse the sheets for hiding her body as she takes solace behind the fabric. Leather-bound fingers drag down my face when she marches to the bathroom like a battle maiden after war. The sheet drags along the tiles until she reaches the shower and flicks on the water. Instead of stepping under the powerful spray, she walks to the glass window and presses her palms to the clear surface. The decor lighting from inside ensures the glare prevents her from seeing the full picture. She has no idea I’m stalking her or stuffing my hand into my shorts to pacify the stony erection. Nipples skim the glass. I stop myself from growling when she backs up.

I fucking hate how I’m losing control. How a dark desire is powdering my sight, so only Iris is visible. The sheet slips away, and she steps beneath a multitude of jets. Nakedness. Breasts. Nipples. Hips. It’s all there. I envy the warm water sluicing over every dip, clinging to her skin without my permission. Quick strokes lather foamy soap. Innocent hands wash away the earthy tones of survival and salty perspiration.

I fist my solid length, brutality giving in to what it craves. My fist pumps faster, shooting my heart rate to the treetops. Soaking lengths of vermillion pour down the bend of her spine as she reaches for the shampoo. That slow fold. Those firm buttocks. The parting gap between her thighs.

In a surge of adrenaline, the skin around my balls cramps, and my blood catches fire. A carnal snarl rumbles free from my throat, startling nearby wildlife. I sink to my knees before her, spurting my seed to the soil.

Self-loathing fuels every sharp exhale. I gave in to Iris. An imposter. A possible informer. Unbeknownst to her, she’s unlocked emotions so primitive that even I doubt my ability to resist.

There’s only one thing to do: make sure she stays the fuck out of my sight.