“Mr. Bramford, sir!”
There was a brief halt. Then he roared, and she heard her dress rip.
“Stop, sir!” Eden cried louder. “Please, stop!”
He grew still and grunted, as if to say, What on Earth? Rising to his feet, he stood over her with a puzzled look. The dark night and the crackling fire and the devastating heartache pressed in on Eden. She knew she should quit. But curiosity won out.
She propped herself up on her elbows. “What happened to our son, Ronson?”
Once again, Bramford seemed eager to talk to Rebecca. In fact, he seemed relieved to discuss the past. It wasn’t the kind of sharing Eden had imagined, but it was a start.
He began to pace in front of her, talking fast. “When they offered to return you for a price, I suspected they intended to double-cross you. I was angry but willing to forgive, for Logan’s sake. After all, the boy needed a mother.”
“I came back to you then?”
His step faltered. “The price. Too high. They demanded our son in exchange for you. When I didn’t agree—how could I—they killed you.”
Rebecca, dead?
Bramford stumbled to his knees. “Because of my lies, you and Logan suffered.”
“What lies?” Eden said.
“The same as yours.” He beat his chest, over and over, the wretched sounds echoing in the night. “This is my punishment. Look at me, now. I’m a beast.”
He writhed on the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head like a man possessed by evil spirits. Again, he made babbling sounds. Eden guessed that his spirit had fled, just like she wished she could. And yet, she dragged herself beside him, worried he might kill himself in his hallucinatory state.
“Stop it! Please, Bramford, don’t do this.”
But the frenzied fight with his inner demons raged on. At least he couldn’t see her shame and humiliation.
What a pair of lonely, unloved freaks. Neither one of them belonged anywhere on this hopeless planet.
Numb with exhaustion, Eden limped to the dying fire and added several sticks. Its warmth enveloped her, reminding her of their passionate embrace. A hand flew to her lips, where the bruising feel of his kiss still lingered. Tears streamed down her face—pathetic tears, useless feelings for a man who loved someone else. Disgusted, Eden wiped her mouth on the dress. She wanted to rip the ugly thing to pieces.
Damn Bramford for picking the lock on her heart. Damn the hunger his kiss had awoken in her. And damn that conniving, selfish bitch, Rebecca.
Love? If it did exist, it hurt like Bleeding Earth.
THE SLOW, sweet whistle of the quail-like tinamous floated in the air, teasing Eden from a fitful sleep. She peeked at the hazy dawn, surprised to find herself lying on the ground. Then the sight of the smoldering fire brought back memories of her torturous night with Bramford, as well as a bitter, broken heart.
A sharp movement among the trees nearby startled her. She jerked her head towards what sounded like running steps. Her heart beat high in her chest; a scream wedged there. Only the surprise of Bramford, spooned beside her, calmed her.
His chest and hips rounded her like a protective mantle. A heavy arm was slung over her waist. The warmth he generated cushioned the cold, dewy ground. Eden nestled into his embrace—only for the warmth, she told herself. He softly groaned, pulling her closer. His lips tickled the top of her head. But the pleasurable feelings rubbed like salt thrown on a wound.
Probably dreaming of Rebecca.
Eden shut her eyes tight. Couldn’t she pretend, just for a moment, that he wanted her? But the fantasy felt hollow, and only deepened her despair. Father was right all along: better to catalog the chaos than to feel it.
Bramford quietly rose and lumbered to the fire. She ate several berries, wondering if he remembered their stolen embrace. He kicked sand over the ashes, then he scanned the area, as if reading the daily news. His gaze passed over Eden just like any other part of the landscape.
Nothing more.
His swollen hand had shrunk overnight to normal size—normal for a beast, anyway. The redness was barely visible. She decided she had underestimated the power of the herbs. Bramford seemed nonplused by the miraculous healing.
Too distracted by thoughts of Rebecca.
Eden blew out a hot breath. At once she began to cough, doubled over from the pain in her ribs. Still, he ignored her. She might be unlovable, but she was tired of being invisible.
“Hey,” she called to Bramford. “Remember me? I’m Eden, by the way, not your dead mate, Rebecca.”
Hard eyes cut over to her. “What do you know about that?”
She saw that his spirit had returned. At least he wouldn’t kill her. Though he probably wouldn’t kiss her, either.
“I know you betrayed her and your son. Wait a minute—” Eden realized her mistake. “Your son Logan is hidden in the gated hut, isn’t he?”
Bramford’s jaw muscle began to twitch. “I’m warning you. It’s none of your business.”
“That’s no way to treat a child.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand how cruel you are.”
He shook with rage, his weight sunk low. “I didn’t know it was all a lie.”
Go ahead, Eden thought. Rip my body apart—my heart is already in pieces.
Bramford rushed towards her, but then his shoulders sagged. “Let’s go home,” he said wearily.
“Home?” Even as Eden said it she regretted the sarcastic tone.
“To the compound.”
He gently picked her up, and she naturally reached her arms around his neck. After their stolen intimacy, however, she felt uncomfortable and quickly crossed her arms over her chest. He shot her a questioning look, but she dropped a blank mask into place. If only she had never felt the hot press of his lips against hers.
She just couldn’t think about that anymore.
She forced herself to concentrate on the sounds and smells of the jungle, as he carried her deep within its shadowy folds. The dank smell of earth and constant chatter of primates and cacophony of birdsong rose up around her like a crushing wall.
And yet, as the miles passed, her natural curiosity began to override her fears. When the air thickened with dampness and her skin turned clammy, she suspected a coming storm.
“Is it going to rain?” Eden asked, not quite trusting her budding instincts.
“Is it?” Bramford replied.
“Yes. I think so.”
“Let me know when you’re sure.”
He added a dismissive grunt and she wondered why she had bothered to mention it. His encouraging words came back to taunt her, words meant for Rebecca. But I’m teaching you and you’ve made good progress. He really didn’t care whether or not Eden opened her mind.
A swarm of Callicore cynosura butterflies flitted past, their hypnotic black and white markings as fantastical as having imagined that Bramford loved her. She stole a glance at him and caught her breath. A pale ribbon of morning light shone on the rugged, feline face, so at odds with the human intelligence that peered through his captivating eyes. Would she ever know him?
Perhaps if Eden solved the mystery of the FFP’s hold over Rebecca, she would understand Bramford. And if they could talk about it, maybe his mate’s ghost would no longer torture him. Would he see the Real Eden then?
When the first drops of rain began to fall, Bramford smiled at her. She smiled back, wanting to believe he thought only of her, though she was more confused by him than ever.
He huddled over her, shielding her face from the storm. His heart drummed against her ear. If Eden were a she-cat, would it beat for her?
By the time they reached the gate, the gloomy day had turned bright and steamy. Once again, Maria waited there. She didn’t react to either of their wounds—maybe she had expected that, as well—and simply fell in step beside them.
Eden nervously scanned the compound. An eerie quiet hung over it, as if something boiled just under the surf
ace, waiting to erupt. The thump of her father’s crutch broke the silence, startling her. She saw him limp onto the porch. Poor Father. He looked like a frail, little bird. A dying bird.
“Daught,” he said, his feeble voice just reaching her.
“Father.”
He began to blink, as he took in the braided vines around her chest. He gripped the railing for support, his fearful eyes questioning her.
“A few broken ribs, that’s all, doctor,” Bramford said, as they brushed past him and entered the hut. “She’ll mend. If she doesn’t do anything foolish, again.” He shot Eden a warning glance.
“You’re safe, Daught. That’s what matters,” her father said, following behind.
Eden looked over Bramford’s shoulder, wondering if those were tears in her father’s eyes. She never had seen him cry; not even at her mother’s death. Like father, like daughter. Why did they have to travel to this primitive place to express any emotion?
This time, Bramford didn’t hesitate to carry her towards Rebecca’s room. Eden studied him, hoping he would react to his dead mate’s portrait with indifference. But his eyes never strayed towards it.
“I guess you’re glad to be back,” he said, settling Eden onto the bed.
She let out an empty laugh. “It beats sleeping on the cold ground.”
“It wasn’t cold.”
“Not for you, maybe.” She tamped down the bittersweet memory of spooning together. “You have thick skin.”
At first he stiffened, and appeared anxious to say something.
“Eden…” He broke off as her father limped into the room, along with Maria.
“I’m in your debt, Bramford,” he said, collapsing at the end of the bed.
Bramford reached behind his back and handed him the anaconda tooth. “Will this work?”
Excitement sparked in her father’s waxen face. He adjusted his glasses and examined the tooth with trembling hands.
“It’s fresh,” he said. “How did you ever get it?”
“There was a battle.”
“Oh, Father, it was—”
Bramford cut her off with a sharp glance. “We fought and I won. That’s all.”
“What?” Her father sounded like a lost child.
“I told you, she’s fine.”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Eden added, surprised that her father’s beastly creation understood his needs better than she.
“Ella está bien.” Maria murmured her agreement.
She squatted on the floor, using the sharp end of a bamboo stick to cut a bed sheet into strips. For new bindings, Eden guessed. For an uncomfortable moment, only the tearing of the fabric sounded in the room.
Finally, her father addressed Bramford, his voice wavering. “I never dreamed you’d catch an anaconda. But then I’ve underestimated your power. Tell me, are you still determined to accelerate the procedure?”
“Yes, I am,” Bramford said. “More so than before.”
“Then we shall need one more thing. Panthera onca. A jaguar. Can you manage?”
“I’ll have to go deep into the jungle. It might take several days to find un tigre.”
Maria gasped. “Un tigre?”
“It’s important, my dear,” Eden’s father said. “Besides, what is one more jaguar in the face of such progress?”
The Huaorani woman looked at each of them in turn, her eyes sad and disapproving. Then she dropped her handiwork and quietly left.
“But Father,” Eden said. “Isn’t that the kind of thinking that got us here? One more tree, one more acre, one more jaguar—they matter.” She questioned Bramford too. “What about you and your sorrowful solastalgia? How can El Tigre even consider killing a jaguar?”
“I’m a hunted man.” His hand swept in front of him with a show of disgust. “What can I do for the Huaorani like this?”
“Perhaps if others like you existed,” her father said, as his eyes took on a feverish shine. “A new race of highly adapted human. Then we might reset the clock with you, Bramford, as the first New Man. It’s the only way.”
“I’m just trying to survive, doctor.”
Bramford pinned Eden with his penetrating stare. She wished she could read his mysterious expression. Why did he make her work so hard? And why on Holy Earth did he have to go and kiss her?
Then he turned and headed for the door.
“Wait, don’t go!” she cried.
He spun around, his expression as expectant as when he’d believed she was Rebecca. Or was Eden foolish enough to think he really wanted to talk to her instead?
She blustered on. “I’m sorry, but it’s all wrong. Don’t you see? What will happen to us if you get killed? And what about your son?”
His eyes went flat. “What about him?”
“If you’re not concerned for our welfare, at least consider your son’s before throwing yourself in the path of a deadly animal.”
“I’m no good to him or anyone else now.”
You’re good to me. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Exactly,” Bramford said.
He gave her one last, cold look and ran out. Eden’s heart sank as he sped by the window. Selfish beast.
Her father mused. “I’d say the odds are in the jaguar’s favor, although if you factor in Bramford’s intelligence—”
“Father, you’re talking about a real person, not an experiment.”
“I suppose you could look at it that way. Certainly, I’ll be more disappointed than anyone should he lose the fight.”
“You said he had a chance. For Earth’s sake, do you think he’ll be killed?”
“But Daught, do you care?”
She snapped at him. “Of course not. I’m just thinking of his son, Logan.”
“What? What child is this?”
Eden nodded towards the portrait on the wall. “Rebecca was Bramford’s mate, though he claims she’s dead. I suspect he’s hiding their son in the gated hut.” She sketched in the story Bramford had told in his dream-state and puzzled once more over the missing details. “What could the FFP possibly use against him?”
“Hmmm,” her father said. “As far as I recall no incriminating data on Bramford was available.”
Eden wanted to probe deeper but he struggled to his feet, his exhaustion palpable.
“Wait and see,” he added as he shuffled off.
Wait for what?
Bramford’s affection undoubtedly would be lethal when he reached full adaptation. No, if Eden ever wanted to feel the burning heat of his kiss, or the strong press of his body, or hear his tender purr, only one way remained.
Adapt?
She laughed out loud. Why lose what little physical appeal she had for someone who loved another? Besides, a real jaguar probably would kill him. She simply couldn’t think about Bramford another minute.
And yet, as Eden closed her eyes, the wild feelings he aroused ran through her, as inescapable as the blazing light of day. And the kiss—the memory of their long, burning kiss—brought a moan to her lips.
EDEN AWOKE the next morning to a startling dream. I’m speeding through the jungle. Nothing scares me. I’m fearless and free. It was only a dream. And yet, she had changed, hadn’t she?
She no longer flinched from morning’s golden light. Even the vast spaces and lack of boundaries intrigued her more than they frightened. And after spending time in the lush jungle, the modern room seemed as garish as makeup on a little girl’s face. Or did Rebecca’s presence repel her now?
Eden studied the lush painting, which evoked her time with Bramford in the jungle with a bittersweet feeling. Had Rebecca painted it as a ploy to convince him of her sincerity? Despite their strong physical resemblance, Eden now understood that she and Rebecca were as different as night and day. She doubted if her so-called twin ever had wanted to be a brave she-cat.
But I do.
It also struck Eden that if by some crazy circumstances she and Bramford were to mate, their child might look a lot like Rebecca’
s son. She simply had to meet him. Then, as her eyes fell on the torn window mesh, she thought of the curious spider monkey that had paid her a nocturnal visit or two.
Could it have been a small boy? Logan, perhaps?
He had left a clue, she realized with growing excitement. She gently knelt on the floor, happy to find that the pain in her side had improved. She brushed away the cobwebs under the bed with Maria’s bamboo cutter. There, stuck against a bump in the floor, she spied something. She fished it out and examined it by the light of the window.
Why, it was a paintbrush, which must have belonged to Rebecca. That would explain her son’s frustration over its loss. Even more, the lost object suggested that, as Eden suspected, Logan had visited her. And he still might be in the gated hut.
How heartless to lock away an innocent child. Had Bramford tried to bully the poor boy when he boxed in the rain? Once more, she puzzled over the fact that the hut opened to the forest. That arrogant bastard probably didn’t want anyone to see his son’s mixed race.
Eden angled the brush in the window so that it stuck out like a flag, hoping to entice Logan. Come play, little boy.
At a soft, gasping sound, she jerked around to find Maria staring. She detected wariness in her eyes, as well as the eerie knowingness she seemed to possess. In fact, she had the weird feeling the Huaorani woman knew what might happen if the boy returned for his toy.
“Logan?” Eden said, fingering the brush.
A sad look came over Maria. She didn’t reply but returned to the task of cutting bandages. Her shiny hair closed like silk curtains around her wide face, as she bent forward, and seemed to shut off the possibility of further questioning. Naturally at ease, her bare breasts and stomach pleated against her torso.
Again, Eden’s dream of running free flitted through her mind. She tried to imagine herself living like Maria. But the woman’s lack of self-consciousness felt out of reach, even dangerous, like swimming or walking in the light.
Eden sat on the edge of the bed, watching the woman’s nimble handiwork.
“Maria,” she said, pantomiming her question. “How did you know when we would arrive at camp?”