Fever by Autumn Archer
9
The sole purpose for being in this part of the world is to study the delicate ecosystem. Exploring the surrounding terrain is the only way my brain will continue to tick over. I dream of a thick hide to withstand bites, sharpened teeth to ward off any threat, and a heart that isn’t demolished by grief.
I focus on stepping down from the sturdy pathway, bursting out into the blistering sunshine and joining a trodden path worn by multiple steps. Plant roots close to the surface wind through the soil like a network of intricate veins. The track meanders through the trees where the temperature drops to clammy, and the hum of life shimmers like a unified pulse.
Grains of sand dwindle away, turning quick seconds to a peaceful hour. There are rare moments when I feel unfettered, where my interest wraps around phenomenal plum-colored orchids. I hunker down and inspect the theatrical petals, adoring a vanilla essence and wishing life were this uncomplicated.
Angling my hips in preparation to stand, a creepy clacking noise rattles close by. I skate my eyes over weathered soil and locate a rattlesnake the color of rust, shaking its tail from side to side. Every single muscle in my body goes rigid, unsure if I should grab a branch to swat it away. The instant I reverse, it moves, not toward me, in a diagonal line. A buzz of warning continues. My hands are slick with moisture, and my head thumps.
In a beat, a snake twice its size darts out of the undergrowth and pounces on the rattlesnake. Such a brutal, unexpected attack makes me squeal. The shocked shriek startles nosey parrots. I slap my hand over my mouth and spin around.
El Fantasma.
My antagonist graces me with his aloof presence. Gloved hands hang by his hips, muscles tightened. His bearded chin lifts with regality, and he slides the sunglasses to rest on the tip of his nose, while his eyes settle behind me. A cap shields his own wild locks, the glossy dark tips peeking out at the sides. I follow his green gaze, taking a quick glance behind me to find the king cobra enjoying a snack. The sight of one snake eating another is hideous and all too real of my lethal surroundings.
I’m caught in the middle. Poisonous creatures to my left and a beast of a man emanating sexuality to my right. My breathing judders when I accept the intimidation for what it is. Nothing more than a master looking down on his servant. It’s not fair how my knees quake and my pulse skitters. I don't want him to see my weakness. I refuse to let his masculinity affect me. What a waste of godliness for a man so stricken with a wicked soul.
He takes one calculated step forward. “Move away, very slowly,” he commands in a low rumble. “Walk straight to me and don’t stop.”
Sunlight dapples my captor’s broad frame. I nod once, ever so lightly inching away from the massacre. The more ground I cover, the faster my blood pumps and the harder my legs work to keep me upright.
With a meter between us, he slides the frames back up his nose and clenches his fist. In that second, I fear I’ve made a mistake. His spine visibly stiffens beneath a tight black T-shirt and moist lips contort to a grimace, telling me he’s keeping himself in check. Perhaps I should’ve taken my chances with the cobra. He blocks the path, standing with his legs apart.
Neither of us speak. I stare up at him, bracing for punishment. I shouldn’t have called him a coward earlier. I was angry. Upset. Confused.
Adrenaline spears into my heart, pleading with it to keep beating. The world slows to a fatal tempo of karma. If I ever thought I’d known fear before this day, I was wrong. From the damp soil below my feet, a pungent smell of decay and decomposition sharpens. Silence weaves around me like vines, tight and unkind. I swallow with a gulp, considering my next move.
“What were you doing this far into the forest?” He finally speaks against the will of a vein thrumming in his powerful neck. “Were you trying to escape?”
“No.” My head sways, yet the rest of me stays like a stone monument. “I was studying the colorful florets sprouting at the entrance of the rainforest.”
I’m not convinced he believes me when he languidly tilts his upper half clockwise and back to dominating. “Why?”
“Because I’m an ecologist.”
Without a second to inhale, he lurches forward like my answer walloped a lever of no control. Chorded muscle and energy rip me from the dense forest floor. He tosses me over his right shoulder with ease like a huntsman claiming his kill. I didn’t stand a chance against his power. My head plunges to ferns and limp legs drape his torso, petrified to fight against brute strength. Fluid strides carry me from partial shade to searing heat. I consider rebelling until my brain pleads for amnesty. If I’m lucky, he’ll relent on whatever plans he has for me now. I will myself to still, to play dead, hoping my compliance will settle his unstable state of mind.
Planks of wood speed under my head like we’re on a moving walkway. Our journey ends after what seems like an age when he kicks open a door, welcoming a cool citrusy breeze to prickle over my bare arms. Boots thud over sand-colored tiles. Palms circle my abdomen, and he slides me off his solid torso, shoving me backward like trash. I bounce, gasping in relief at the springy landing. My gaze darts from the made bed with clean sheets and plumped pillows to his furious breathing.
I recognize the layout. The aquamarine sparkle reflects from the outdoor pool. It’s my suite. He’s incarcerating his prisoner to the luxurious prison cell once again. Locked indoors. Trapped within four walls and a savage landscape.
El Fantasma cracks his neck, then flicks off his cap and ruffles damp waves with leather covered fingers. The hair separates into exquisite kinks, full and playful. He moistens his lips and drags the sunglasses down the length of his nose, then folds the frames and tosses them on the bed beside me.
Almond-shaped eyes, as green as a tropical lagoon, glisten with profound clarity. The lucidity hints at mercy but glares with an unreachable remoteness. Something horrific lives in the depth of his gaze. He’s both the warming sun and a sinister blackout. A sizzle of passion and a bite of depravity.
I scoot over the bed to the other side of the mattress, out of reach. He peels off each glove in turn, revealing damaged palms. Smooth scars mar the skin, creeping around his wrist like warped ribbons. Even with brutal disfigurement, the man defines regency. Poised like a god demanding obedience. He inhales purposefully, lungs lifting supreme pectorals. A dreamlike haze of light spans the outline of his wide stance. The welcoming air-conditioned atmosphere brings a shiver to my skin.
I’m not ready to die. Not yet. Perhaps I should pray, not to the rainforest deities, not to myself––to the man before me. My disaffected savior. The only one who can kill me or show mercy. I wonder how many miles he traveled through hell to survive the aged scars so very obvious and what that torment can do to a man’s soul.
The silent standoff finally dwindles when he clears his throat. “This is the reason you’ll never leave.” Splaying his palms outward, our gaze snags in a labyrinth of unreadable signals. “Iris Kitson saw me the night I rescued her. Every detail is stored away in her gray matter. Imprinted in her brain. That makes her a threat to everything I’ve built around me. So, when I tell you you’re no longer that person, the ecologist, that’s precisely what I mean.” His voice is hoarse and strained. The gruff rumble rolls in languid waves. “If that’s who you actually are.” A lock of hair floats to his lashes, so inky and thick. I watch it caress his golden forehead with a tenderness he permits. There must be a layer of rationality behind his wickedness.
“Of course that's who I am. Who else would I be?”
“Who is Bruce Kincade?”
“He was my mentor. The guy who ran our lab back home.”
“Fergal MacNab?”
How does he know Bruce’s assistant? “He works for Bruce.”
“And who do you work for?”
“We all work at the same lab.”
He seems perplexed by my answer for a moment. “There are only a few select people who see the real me.” He folds his arms, hiding his palms like he doesn't want me to stare at them for longer than necessary. “And the one big difference between you and them is trust. Which is a big fucking problem for you.”
“If you let me go, I promise I won’t say a word.” I lose my pleading voice in the noise of boots striking at speed.
I scramble along the length of the bed, rising to run. In a hurry to flee, my hip clips the bedside table, and a terracotta lamp crashes down and breaks into pieces. Backed into a corner, he crowds me with the essence of paradise. An eclipse of shadowy sunlight casts my world into obscurity.
Ducking down to my earlobe, soft whiskers tickle my unblemished cheek. “Won’t say a word to who?” The sandy rasp to his voice isn’t golden and fine, it's gravelly and dark. A trillion rough particles of grit, abrasive and discordant. I’m fully aware of how his body is taut, so close, yet the only connections we have are breath and hair. “Are you a threat, or is Iris finally dead?”
The request to strip away my identity almost breaks me. He shudders when I take a sharp breath. Staring up into his eyes, I whisper, “I’m not a threat. I wouldn’t tell anyone about what you do out here.”
“What do you think I do?”
“I think you hold innocent people hostage. I have no desire to find out why you’re so cagey, and I certainly don’t care what you look like.”
Ever so slowly his lips twitch as if another word would break diminishing control. “Is that so?”
“Please, if you take away my name, let me have one thing to keep for myself.” My fingers fan over my heart. “Like a hobby?”
A sound so raw and destructive roars from deep inside his chest. I freeze when he rears back, fisting both hands like he’s choking the life from every living organ inside of me. In one second flat, power and anger propel clenched fists to the wall behind me. Instantly, I’m trapped, penned in by the arms of a madman.
Barbs of electrified air prickle over my shaking limbs. Our chests heave in tandem, mine anarchic and his uncontrolled.
“Listen very carefully,” he snarls, teetering on the edge of his self-righteous throne. “You will surrender your existence to me.” His warm forehead tips to mine, not tender and definitely not wanted. My stomach roils with the possibilities of his temper snapping. His jaw clenches and both hands judder down the pale paintwork. “If you try to run away or attempt to get a message to the outside world, I’ll kill you myself.”
“How could I get a message to my family?” I gulp. “The storm ruined everything. And you’ve made sure I’m well and truly lost.” Fingers skate over the gauze taped to my wound. With one swipe, he tears it free.
“You will wear this scar as a reminder of who I am to you.” His eyes burn into the exposed lesion. “I gave you a second chance to live. I am your master now.”
Master.
That title grows with magnitude as seconds pass. I’ve somehow gone from being an employee to a worthless subject. “What you haven’t considered is the reason there're only men in my oasis.” He chuckles with a brittle edge. A repugnant layer of mucus creeps around my lungs, suffocating the simple motion of breathing in and out. “Why do you think that is?” Under the magnitude of his words, danger crawls over my scalp. “Perhaps having a woman here is the worst possible scenario for both of us.”
I can’t speak. Not a whimper or a plea for forgiveness. There is nothing redeemable inside el Fantasma. It would be wise to bow down and surrender. If it weren’t for the stubborn fire born within me, I would sink to my knees in a heartbeat. Yet, I stand tall and swallow hard.
“You have my word. I will honor your mercy.” Liquid rage stings my eyes. I blink the tears away, remembering how Iris Kitson stood up to the school bullies who taunted her for having bright hair.
My captor is a world away from those children. Malice was their only power, whereas the foreboding shadow of his soul is much more deadly.
Not allowing me to move away, a careful stroke dallies down my throat. I flinch, tensing for pain. The slight contact is gentle, like he’s studying every contour, absorbing each quick puff of air and getting high on his power over me. My pulse races when he nudges my chin higher so our lips almost touch. I breathe him into my lungs. Zesty lime. Creamy coconut. An exotic flare of lies.
I hate how my body reacts to him, even on the precipice of violence. My back arches when his other hand glides to my hip. I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out a cryptic peridot glaze.
It doesn't make a difference. The convoluted magnetism draws me deep into the web, winding around me as a defenseless insect. It's a bitter pill to swallow, seductively placed into my mouth by el Fantasma. Neither man nor ghost.
I’d like to believe there’s a glimmer of good somewhere with him, but the scars on his ego make him a different type of savage. In the absence of physical violence, he still commands fear.
“Don’t tease me with lies,” he mutters.
My eyes ping open. Horrified at the idea of leading him on in any way. Furious that he thinks taking away my name is his godly right.
“Tease you?” I hiss. “That's the last thing I would ever do.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him exactly how his very presence revolts me.
The grip on my hip bone intensifies. Silky hairs brush in the wake of his face, angling to the bend of my throat. “I want to fuck you,” he says thickly before pulling back like he’s tasted putrid poison. “It’s been a while.” His jaw ticks over, considering his options.
I press my spine into the corner, wishing I could merge into the background and disappear. “I’ll never let you touch me like that,” I gasp, trying to hide the disturbing tremble charging through me. My knees weaken and a light mist tingles down my arms.
In a beat, both hands pin me against the wall by my waist. He bends over me. A beautiful monster fighting hell for a shred of self-governance.
A subdued groan escapes me as the skin beneath his hands catches fire. So deceitful. So terribly unjust. The cruel reaction slips out for us both to hear, laid bare, echoed by his own growl of gratification.
His eyes no longer glisten, they darken to suspicious. “You’re lying, and you know what else, you’ll fucking beg me.” A palm reaches my navel, pausing at my waistline. My hand snaps to his, covering it tightly in a plea to make him stop. His pupils flare, and he goes absolutely rigid.
“I’ll beg you to stop. Is that what you prefer? To force a woman to fuck you.”
His eyebrow cocks. A slow alarming smile lifts the side of his mouth. Smooth fibrous skin beneath mine twists, enabling his hand to snare my wrist. He maneuvers my arm, pressing my hand to the thick erection resting heavily in his shorts. I straighten my fingers, refusing to cup his daunting length. “Now that you’re here, on my land, it's made me realize what I’ve been missing out on all this time. And believe me, you won’t beg me to stop. You’ll beg me to do it all over again.”
A throaty snarl rumbles when he shunts his rock-hard weapon of destruction into my forced palm. His eyes close briefly and hot air rushes from his nostrils. “This won’t have a happy ending.” Pretty lashes flick to the ceiling. Piercing green eyes hold me prisoner. “Learn your place and stay hidden. Make sure I don’t meet you on that path again. Ever.” His statement plunges me into the coldest of water, lashing my hideous attraction with hail and icicles. “But if you choose to go down that track, I promise you, I’ll ruin the both of us. And only one of us will survive.” Black lust swamps his green gaze, flipping my insides.
El Fantasma unhands me, roughly raking disfigured fingertips through messy strands. In that brief moment, his stern features drift to serene. Sunlight streams indoors, flickering as a gentle breeze plays with far-off palms. He stares right at me like I’m the first woman he’s ever laid eyes on. Twisting his neck, he unravels tension and what looks like a decade of ire. My chest shudders as I gulp down a sob, feeling utterly perplexed. How can one man be so savage and so devastatingly handsome? No matter the deception taking place inside me, I’ll never give in to him.
I’d rather die.
