Bonnie Dee - Jungle Heat

About the Author Bonnie Dee began telling stories as a child. Whenever there was a sleepover, she was the designated ghost tale teller, guaranteed to frighten and thrill with macabre tales. She still has a story printed on yellow legal paper in second grade about a ghost, a witch and a talking cat. Writing childish stories for her own pleasure led to majoring in English at college. Like most English majors, she dreamed of writing a novel but didn’t have the necessary focus and follow through at that time in her life. A husband, children and work occupied the next twenty years, and it was only in 2000 that she began writing again. Bonnie enjoys reading stories about people damaged by life who find healing with a like-minded soul. When she couldn’t find enough books to suit her taste, she began to write them. You can see her backlist at http://bonniedee.com or join her Yahoo group for updates on new releases at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bonniedee/.

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Chapter One Congo Free State, 1888

Odd One watched, as still as the tree trunk by which he stood, not moving more than his eyes as Old

Grunt had taught him. His pale, furless skin caked with river mud was nearly the same gray-brown as the tree. His light hair was also matted with mud and his face smeared so only the whites of his strange blue eyes might give his position away. He could never hide in plain sight like the Others, but he did the best he could. Something was moving loudly through the underbrush—a foolish animal without enough sense to slip quietly between the leaves or to step lightly on the ground. The footsteps were different from any creature he’d ever heard, a heavy tread. It sounded as if there were more than one. He judged that the approaching animals had the weight of a leopard but not the stealthily padded paws. Excitement tingled through him, making the hair rise on his nape. He clenched the sharpened stick in his fist, pressed his back against the rough bark and waited for whatever was coming. One of the creatures made a sound as it came closer. Not a screech or cry, not a groan, hoot or whimper, but a noise unlike anything he’d heard before yet strangely familiar. A dim memory struggled to float up in his mind. He reached for it, and it was gone. His heart pounded and he breathed faster as he glimpsed one of the creatures between the leaves. It walked upright on two legs just as he did and like the Others did some of the time. He wanted to leap forward, to see all of it at once instead of flashes through the undergrowth. There were two of them, one walking behind the other. The pair communicated back and forth with their strange calls. He caught his breath. These were like the sounds he sometimes made when he was all alone in the forest, the noises his throat and tongue made that none of the Others could duplicate. The pair moved into the clearing in front of him where they stopped and stood looking around. His heart raced even faster. The two creatures looked like him, or what he’d seen of himself reflected in still water. Their faces and hands were naked like his with the same prominent noses and fully formed lips. Hair grew on the lower part of their faces. Their bodies were covered with something that was neither fur, skin nor scales but something completely foreign. One of them took a thing off the top of his head and ran a hand through sweat-flattened hair—hair like his, not fur as most animals had—and white like the streaks in Old Grunt’s ruff. These animals were his kind. There were more in the world like him. He wasn’t alone. He turned his attention to the other one, studying the face closely. The creature’s brows drew together in a frown as he communicated with his partner, using hand motions to emphasize the sounds coming from his mouth. His hair was brown. He was younger than his companion. Odd One couldn’t take his gaze from the creature’s eyes, the way they blinked and moved and squinted when his mouth widened to show his teeth. Baring teeth meant aggression to the Others, but the stranger didn’t appear angry. He seemed pleased. His eyes crinkled at the corners and lines grooved his cheeks. A quiet chuckling sound rumbled from his chest and came out his mouth. A warm feeling rushed through Odd One. He found himself mimicking the stranger’s expression, his lips lifting at the corners, his teeth showing. What would the strange animals do if he came toward them now? He would drop his sharp stick on the ground and come with his head lowered, his eyes down-turned to show his intention wasn’t to harm. Would they make their noises at him and welcome him as one of them? But he wasn’t of their clan so maybe they would drive him away. Better he stay still until they’d moved on, then follow and learn more about the invaders in his world. He waited and watched. After the two bent down to look at something on the ground, they rose and

headed back in the direction from which they’d come. Odd One followed, slipping silently over the forest floor without rustling a single branch.

James couldn’t shake the feeling something was watching him and Professor Hatchett as they forged their way through the wood. Dense foliage surrounded them on all sides, and the canopy overhead filtered the light, giving the impression of being under murky green water. The primary purpose of the expedition was to catalog the flora, fauna and primitive people that inhabited this area of Africa. It was the kind of study James had dreamed of all his life. But he hadn’t counted on the unsettling feeling of vulnerability that the isolated place gave him. Nature here was huge, powerful, untamed rather than displayed in a museum case, zoo or park as it was in London. Every time they hiked away from the base camp, James felt he’d be swallowed by the jungle, never to return to civilization. There probably were eyes watching them. Animals were abundant on this tropical mountainside. And birds. He’d never seen so many colorful birds. Even the flocks of pigeons inhabiting Trafalgar Square couldn’t compare in number. Parrots’ raucous cries were nearly deafening, especially in the mornings as they heralded a new day. As he trudged along the path he and Hatchett had beaten through the undergrowth, James suddenly realized why he felt especially unsettled today. The birds weretoo quiet, as if the presence of something dangerous had made them fall silent. The cheeky birds had never seemed too alarmed by the presence of foreigners in their midst before, but today even the gossiping colobus monkeys high in the canopy were mute. The silence was ominous. Was a threatening predator upsetting the natural noise of the jungle? “Hold up, Professor,” James called to Hatchett. “Listen.” The older man obligingly halted, removed his pith helmet and mopped his brow with the sweat-drenched handkerchief from his pocket. “What am I listening for?” James scanned the area, trying to see between the trees and green leaves, ignoring the brilliant flowers or flashes of feathers as birds darted to and fro. He knew jaguars sometimes hid in the branches overhead and leaped down on their prey. One of the big cats might see a strolling Englishman as a weak, easy victim. James reached for the holster at his side and pulled his revolver. He had no wish to harm any of the beasts they came across. This was no game hunting trip. But in order to measure, photograph and catalogue the local fauna, the scientists must sometimes collect specimens of the beasts. He tilted his head back and scanned the branches overhead, searching for a spotted pelt, but there was only green, green and more green. Suddenly there was a flurry of movement in the woods and a streak of gold burst from the undergrowth in front of him. A leopard bounded across the clearing. James raised his gun to shoot but knew claws and fangs would rip him apart before a bullet stopped the beast, and that was assuming his aim was good. He depressed the trigger at the same moment a blur of motion from his right intercepted the beast hurtling toward him. A man exploded between him and the leaping leopard, arm raised, and drove a spear into the animal. The big cat gave an unearthly scream and twisted in mid-air, knocking the spear from its side. Landing paws down, the animal vanished into the brush as quickly as it had appeared, yowling as it ran.

James sucked in a breath and chambered another round in the Enfield just in case his rescuer decided to attack him with that spear. The naked man, covered in mud from head to toe, turned toward James. For one breathtaking moment they stared at one another, primitive and modern man connecting across the vast chasm that separated them. Worlds apart yet both human, their gazes stitched them together. James’s heart pounded so hard he could hardly hear. An honest-to-God aboriginal stood before him. He wasn’t slight as the Pygmies of the Congo were rumored to be but stood average height, his build lean and well-muscled. It was difficult to distinguish his mud-covered features, but beneath the gray mud his skin did not appear to be dark like the natives James had encountered so far in Africa. James’s gaze flicked over the man’s face and body to fix on the hand clapped to his shoulder. The primitive had been shot. James’s bullet had missed its target and winged the man who’d rescued him. He took a step forward and reached out a hand. “You’ve been hurt.” As quickly as the leopard had disappeared, the man melted into the forest, the lush tropical plants closing in behind him. James started after. “Wait!” Hatchett came up beside him and grabbed his arm. “Don’t try to follow, lad. He could be dangerous.” Considering the man had gone out of his way to save them, James doubted it, but he knew there was no way he could catch up with a native who didn’t wish to be approached. Disappointment flooded him. This may have been his one chance to interact with an unspoiled primitive and he’d ruined it by moving too fast and frightening the man away. He stooped to pick up the man’s spear from the ground and examined the pointed end. “Look at this.” “No iron, which isn’t surprising. But this doesn’t even have a head of stone or bone,” his mentor said. “This is hardly a spear at all. Merely a sharpened stick.” They both marveled over the point, which appeared to have been charred in fire then shaped with something hard—perhaps a bit of flint. It was amazing the thing had even pierced the leopard’s hide. Nevertheless, it must seem an engineering marvel to its owner, who’d labored to make it. The stick-spear would be a loss to the hunter. James weighed the weapon in his hand, testing its heft and balance. He could leave it here in case the man returned for it, but as an artifact of a primitive culture it was too precious to surrender. He raised the stick like a walking staff, feeling the warm, smooth groove left by the other man’s hand. A shiver went through him at the sense of connection to a life so utterly foreign to his own. “Well, that was remarkable.” Hatchett’s voice drew him back from his reverie. “Come. Let’s return to camp before something else befalls us. It must be nearly time for tea for my stomach’s rumbling.” The older man started down the trail. With a last look at the emerald leaves hiding the spot where the man had disappeared, James followed after him.

Odd One clutched his upper arm where the wasp had stung him, pulled his hand away to examine it and

found blood coating his palm. Perhaps not a wasp sting after all. There had been a sharp thunderclap of a noise right before he was stung. If he hadn’t been so intent on stopping the leopard, he might have been frightened by the sound. As it was, his entire attention had been focused on saving the foreign creature before the jungle cat ripped open his face. Now he was hurt and the strangers had walked off with his weapon. He had no choice but to follow them, not only to find out where they came from but also to get his sharp stick back. Odd One packed cool, damp leaf mold against his oozing wound. He looked up the mountain where the Others would be foraging, then he turned and trotted after the strangers. They hadn’t attempted to hide their trail, but instead blazed a path through the forest that was easy to follow.

Chapter Two “The man was unlike any indigenous African I’ve seen.” James described his encounter to the assembled professors, their assistants and the guide who led them through this uncharted land. The bearers clustered nearby learned the story of the attack and rescue secondhand from one of the translators. Their camp was small by the standards of most expeditions and not nearly heavily armed enough for some of the areas through which they’d passed. But the university hadn’t been willing to fund more than the bare minimum needed for a dozen zoology, geology, botany and anthropology professors and aides to travel to the Congo. Sir Lewis Rutherford, a wealthy man with a taste for adventure and fame, had bankrolled the bulk of the expedition, accompanying the group on this journey of a lifetime. James supposed each man secretly hoped he’d be the next Tuckey or Livingstone or even the Belgian king’s puppet, Stanley. The idea of traveling into the wilderness and making some life-altering discovery was tremendously seductive. Hatchett rose from his camp chair to add his part of the story. “It all happened so quickly. Our young Mr. Litchfield was in great peril. If the native hadn’t intercepted the beast, I don’t know what I could have done to stop him.” “You need to wear a sidearm, Hatchett, as I’ve told you.” Mr. Smythe glowered, his heavy brows joining over his bulbous nose. “This is no stroll in the zoological gardens. Let this be a lesson to all of you.” Their guide was a seasoned professional who normally conducted big game hunts for the wealthy. He wasn’t happy about dealing with a group of academics who kept forgetting to carry their weapons. James thought about his single shot hitting the native in the arm and hoped the wound wasn’t serious. Even a small cut could fester and become seriously infected in this hot, moist climate. Rutherford spoke up. “You say the man didn’t appear to resemble most African aboriginals, but there’s a broad range in physiology across this continent from the Pygmies of the Congo to the desert Bushmen to the Maasai in the eastern plains.” James knew that, having been impressed by the diversity of native people at Leopoldville where they’d gathered supplies before heading upriver. “The odd thing about this man was that beneath a coating of dirt, he appeared to be Caucasian. From the shape of his features and patches of skin where the mud had worn away, I’d say with ninety-nine percent certainty he was a white man. His eyes were blue.”

Exclamations of disbelief mingled with discussions of how such a thing could be possible. “Perhaps this man was a member of an expedition, separated from his group and out of his mind with malarial fever,” Professor Albermarle proposed. There was a murmur of assent at this hypothesis. “A lost tribe?” Evan Blake, one of the graduate assistants, suggested excitedly. “Maybe long ago explorers from the north landed in Africa and founded a colony. Their mixed race progeny lost touch with their roots and became a unique tribe of their own.” No one favored his outlandish idea with a response. “Are you quite certain of what you saw, Litchfield?” Sir Rutherford asked. “Yes.” James glanced at Hatchett. “Wouldn’t you agree, sir?” White brows knit together. “My glimpse was so fleeting and quite honestly my attention focused on the leopard. Besides, James was standing between me and the native. I really couldn’t give any details. But I’m sure if Litchfield says that’s what he saw, it’s true.” James glanced past the arguing group of scholars clustered around the campfire to the bearers, who appeared nearly as excited by the discovery. One man in particular, whose black hair was frosted with white, pointed up the mountain and spoke rapidly to Ngalyema, the translator. James strode toward the group. “What is it, Ngalyema? What’s he saying?” “Nothing. A local legend that makes no sense.” “Please tell me. Any bit of information could prove useful.” Ngalyema scowled and shook his head. “Superstitions, sir. They speak in his village of a white ape living on this mountain. Not a real ape but a man who lives with the gorillas.” Most of the bearers had been with them since Leopoldville, but a few were new faces, locals whom Smythe had added to the crew. This man must be one of them. “Ask him if he’s ever seen this so-called white ape.” James waited for the translation with his heart beating faster. Although discovering an anomaly like a displaced tribe of Caucasians who’d miraculously migrated to Africa would’ve been an astonishing find, he’d be more thrilled if the story the man told was true. In his anthropology course James had read accounts of feral children isolated from human contact, some purportedly even raised by animals, the most notable case being the wolf boy of Aveyron, nearly a century ago. But such incidents were few and far between. To discover an actual wild child, untouched by any civilization, even a primitive one, would be a scientific discovery of immense merit. Could such a person be reclaimed or would the loss of critical formative years be too debilitating? Ngalyema reported the old tribesman’s answer. “He says no, he’s never seen this creature, but knows a man who did from a distance while hunting. The man-ape was foraging on the side of the mountain with a group of gorillas. In the past others had seen a similar strange sight, a boy walking among the apes.” “No one ever tried to rescue this child?”

Ngalyema shrugged. “These villagers are simple people. Their daily needs are difficult enough to fulfill. Such a thing is not their concern.” As a scientist, it definitely was his, James thought. His excitement was almost too huge to contain. With a glance at the group of his colleagues, he decided to keep this new information to himself. Everyone would be eager to track down a man such as this, if he existed. James didn’t want the jungle man brought down like a wild beast and forced into captivity. He would woo him gently and slowly—if he could find him again. But what were the chances of the man coming anywhere near the place where he’d been shot in return for rescuing a stranger?

Odd One watched the circle of firelight and the long black shadows cast by the strangers sitting around it. As evening passed, one by one they left the fire to go into small white caves. Like the members of his clan, each of the creatures was a little different from the others, but some of them were very different as if they came from another tribe entirely. Their faces were brown rather than pale. Their hair was black and the shape of their features was not the same as the others. He marveled that both types seemed to live together peaceably. The last time his clan had met with another, there’d been a battle between the leaders. Old Grunt had won and had driven the trespassers away. Odd One saw the stranger who’d been attacked by the leopard earlier. He focused on him not just because he still carried the sharp stick in one hand but because he was strangely good to look at. Odd One didn’t know why this was so, why this one was special, but the brown-haired stranger’s appearance pleased him very much. As he rubbed his aching injured arm, he remembered the moment they’d looked into each other’s eyes. Something had crackled like lightning between them and whispered like the wind through the leaves. This stranger had signaled with his eyes all kinds of things Odd One couldn’t understand. He needed to look into those eyes again—eyes as blue as the sky, as blue as his own. The need was like a thirst he couldn’t slake. He didn’t know how he would dare approach Sky Eyes again, but he must find a way.

Sleep that night was nearly impossible. James brushed the mosquito netting away from his face and listened to the god-awful snoring of his tent mate Evan Blake, Professor Albermarle’s aide. Like the other grad assistants on the expedition, Blake was there to take notes, collect specimens and do whatever his mentor commanded. He’d even acted as Albermarle’s valet on occasion. There was nothing an eager student wouldn’t give to participate in this priceless opportunity for travel, and the zoology professor’s assistant was no exception. James had wanted to go back into the forest to look for the ape-man that same afternoon, but could think of no excuse to leave camp, especially as everyone seemed intent on firing questions at him. He’d grown quite short with Blake when the young man reiterated his lost tribe idea. “I’ve really no idea if that’s a possibility. I’ve told you everything I can remember and I don’t wish to posit bizarre theories without further exploration of the matter.” “Further exploration.” Blake’s bespectacled eyes had widened. “You intend to search for him? Let me

go with you! I’ve wanted to find the gorillas ever since we got here but Albermarle doesn’t seem inclined to stir more than a hundred yards from camp. Why did he even come on this trip?” With Blake sticking by his side, James had been forced to linger in camp. Better to wait until tomorrow, plant the idea that he’d gone off with this group or that one when really he would go alone, back to the place where he and Hatchett had encountered the lost man. The chances of seeing him again were slim, but James had to try. At least he had one carrot to dangle—the man’s primitive spear, which was surely of value to him. He might come back in hopes of finding it. Or perhaps the lost man was as fascinated by the strangers as they were with him. Wouldn’t he want to investigate creatures so similar to himself? He had to know he wasn’t an ape. Maybe curiosity alone would bring him back. As he lay in his tent fighting sleeplessness, James relived the terrifying moment of the leopard attack and the appearance of the ape-man over and over. He pictured the man’s long hair and beard, plastered with mud, the well-formed naked body, also coated gray. What would the stranger look like if cleaned and combed? He suppressed an inappropriate shiver of arousal that shot through him at the vision. Those eyes—a brilliant sapphire that shone against the darkened face. Had James imagined a spark of intelligence in them or was the man’s mind as simple as the beasts he lived with? And how had such a thing occurred? Perhaps he was a member of an expedition as Albermarle had suggested. Malarial fever could make a man lose all reason and go wandering. Yet local natives claimed to have seen him with the apes since childhood. Maybe his parents had been missionaries who’d died leaving their son alone to nature’s vagaries. So many theories to ponder. So many hours in which to toss and turn and do nothing but think and think. James rolled onto his side and covered his head with his pillow to block the rattling thunder coming from his roommate’s cot. Despite the risk of going off alone, tomorrow he would seek out the jungle man. James felt strangely confident he would find him, and when he did, he would figure out a way to communicate with the lost soul.

Chapter Three A bird burst from the leaves in front of him, screeching raucously and making him jump from his skin. After yesterday’s close call, James was more wary than ever of the wild land around him. Death lurked in the jungle and would come to claim a man if he wasn’t careful. It was nearly impossible to believe a small child could have survived into adulthood at the whim of nature and by the benevolence of a band of gorillas. James had seen stuffed gorillas in the Natural History Museum but had not glimpsed so much as one live one since beginning this safari. As an assistant to Hatchett, a professor of anthropology, he’d come on the trip to interview members of indigenous tribes as well as to search for remnants of older civilizations. The chance to study primitive people was the main draw, but James also hoped to see much of the wildlife, the big apes being at the top of his list. However, the animals were as elusive as ghosts, keeping away from intruders, and the chance of catching sight of one was slim. Now James had found something much better than gorillas. With patience, perhaps he could do more than catch a sighting of the jungle

man. With his gun ready in case the leopard still haunted the area, James returned to the clearing. He noted the trampled grass and weeds where he and Hatchett had left their brief mark. By the time another day had passed, all sign they’d ever been there would be obliterated. Flora beat fauna every time in the jungle. He set the sharpened stick with its point piercing the loamy ground, shrugged his knapsack off his back, and squatted at a few yards’ distance from the stick to wait and watch. He might be a fool, sitting in the hot sun an entire day, alone in the wilderness. Or he might be right and the primitive man could be close by, perhaps watching him now and waiting for a chance to retrieve his weapon. The thought sent a frisson of nervous excitement up James’s spine, lifting the hair on his nape. Sweat trickled down his back and beaded on his face and neck. It was ungodly hot in the forest, but easier to bear when one was moving. To simply sit like this was torture. Insects buzzed around his head. He waved them away and slapped a mosquito against his neck. James scanned the trees which edged the clearing, but saw no sign of movement. He took a sip from the tepid water in his canteen. It was hard not to guzzle, but the water must last him all day. He couldn’t hike back to camp for more. James listened to the insects buzzing, the birds calling and the monkeys chattering in the trees. Deciding he might as well do something useful as he sat there, he pulled his notebook from the pack and flipped it open. He withdrew one of his most precious possessions from its box—a fountain pen which his mother had given him on his last birthday. While prone to blots and leaks, the new self-feeding pens were a much better writing choice than quills for travelers, and left a more permanent imprint than a graphite pencil. Putting pen to paper, he related the tale of yesterday’s attack and what he’d learned so far about the ape-man. He grew so intent on conveying every detail of the encounter, including adding a little sketch of the jungle man, that he lost track of where he was. A movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he jerked his head up in time to see a figure dash from the clearing with the sharpened stick in his hand. Gone! James cursed himself for losing sight of his mission. The jungle man had taken the bait and gone and he’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he’d missed what was happening right in front of him. Instinctively, he started to rise to his feet to chase after his quarry, but an inner voice inside warned him to sit back down. There was no way he could catch up with the jungle man. Instead he should demonstrate the man had nothing to fear from this stranger in his forest home. Resuming his cross-legged position, James picked up his dropped journal and pen. He looked from beneath his brows at the thick woods. Was that something just beside that tree trunk? It was too shadowy to tell and he daren’t raise his gaze any higher. He resumed his work, writing about what had just occurred with a soft scratching of the pen nib across the paper. He remembered how his cousin’s child, Deborah, had been shy of him at a family gathering last year. He’d needed to reacquaint the little girl with his presence and had put into practice things learned in a psychology class. Small children felt intimidated by adults asking a lot of questions. Ignoring the five-year-old, he’d tinkered with a toy train he’d brought for her, running its wooden wheels over the nursery carpet and making enticing engine noises. Aloud, he’d invented a story in which the train was out of control, had jumped the tracks and was heading dead-on at the village—scattered blocks conveniently

playing the part of houses. Intrigued by his solitary play, Deborah had soon joined him on the carpet, bringing tin soldiers to save the village. After they’d played together, she’d fallen in love with her Cousin James, would scarcely let go of his hand when he had to leave the nursery for more adult climes. She’d followed him around for the rest of his visit whenever she could escape her nanny. Perhaps the ape-man was too animalistic for this ruse to work. Maybe he had no interest in James’s activities, but it was worth a try. If there was a spark of humanity in him, it might show itself in the very basic human emotion of curiosity. James hummed a song the bearers had been singing as they carried the bundles and packs and accoutrements of camp life along the forest trail, moving inland from the Congo River. The tune had been stuck in his head for days though he didn’t know the words. It was catchy and rhythmic and the music seemed to guide his hand as he sketched the forest scene before him. With crosshatching he created shadows beneath the trees. He even drew a vague figure, which could have been a man hiding in the woods. Another glance told him the dark figure had taken a step closer to the beams of sunlight illuminating the clearing. There was indeed a person concealed by the thick undergrowth. If James had been walking past unaware, like yesterday, he never would have seen the man. His heart leaped at this small victory, but he continued to draw. Sweat trickled down his face, a drop beading on the end of his nose, splashing onto his notebook and smearing the ink. His body itched from drying sweat and his feet were far too hot in thick socks and heavy hiking boots. His hand cramped from holding the pen. How long had passed since they began this contest of wills, five? Ten? Twenty? James wanted to bolt upright and face his cautious stalker, but reined in his impatience and turned the page. This time he filled the entire paper with a rough sketch from memory of the fleetingly glimpsed face of his rescuer. He paid special attention to the man’s eyes, the most memorable feature. When he was finished, he capped his pen and tore the page from the book. Placing it on the ground, he weighed it with a small stone so it wouldn’t blow away and scooted back from the drawing so his elusive quarry might feel free to come out and examine it if he wished. He’d read primitives couldn’t comprehend two-dimensional drawings as representations of three-dimensional objects. But the cave paintings in Altamira, Spain, depicted crudely drawn wild animals and hands, which seemed to prove a different truth. Some had called the discovery a hoax. James sided with those who believed ancient humans had created them in an attempt to portray incidents from their daily lives. However, this jungle man wasn’t a tribal primitive but a man whose sole social contact may have been with animals. Would he be able to interpret anything in the lines on the paper? Would he even be interested in it? James forced his tense body to relax as he waited to find out. Nothing happened. The man remained in the trees, silently watching him. James didn’t know what to do next to get a reaction from him. He tried to think what he might find impressive if he’d lived all his life in a forest and decided simple yet useful implements might be the greatest marvel. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out his penknife, pressed the button and opened one of the blades. Still remaining seated so as not to send his wary watcher into flight, he reached for a nearby fallen branch and began to whittle away the bark, leaving shining white wood behind.

A soft hooting sound came from the woods. James’s heart pumped faster. Oh yes, the ape-man was impressed. He continued to whittle away first the twigs and bark to make the branch smooth, and then one end, which he chipped into a point. The makeshift spear was not a good one. The branch wasn’t straight or strong enough to be useful. But the jungle man could see the applications of the penknife. James considered leaving the penknife for him as a present along with the sketch, but decided putting a knife into his hands was a bit dangerous at this point in their tentative relationship. He closed the blade and put the knife away. His backside was sore from sitting so long and he was parched with thirst. Raising his canteen, he took another drink then poured the tiniest bit of water into his hand and splashed it onto his face. Another quiet hoot came from the forest and a movement. The ape-man was nearly out of the trees and visible at the edge of the clearing now. James studied him without appearing to do so. The man’s height and build were similar to his own, no taller or shorter from what he could judge. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his body. Every sinew was clearly delineated: shoulders, arms, chest, torso and legs as lean and hard as an anatomical illustration of musculature. His cock hung flaccid against his balls. James glanced away from that area, ignoring the rush of heat in his own groin. He concentrated on what he could see of the man’s face. Much was hidden by a beard and moustache matted with dirt. The long hair framing his face was also filthy. James thought that when clean it would be light brown or even blond. The man stood with a slight hunch to his shoulders, as if he didn’t always walk upright. And then, suddenly, he stooped low, crouching with his knuckles resting on the ground. He swayed back and forth slightly. His gaze never left James as once more he made that quizzical hooting noise. His eyes were stunning in their intensity, a luminous shade of cerulean that seemed to glow. He bared his teeth and gave a growling roar, a display of dominance James understood. James lowered his head, eyes trained on the ground.No danger here, my good man. Not challenging you. He considered that the man might hurt him but didn’t entertain it as a serious concern. The ape-man had saved him yesterday. Why would he do that only to harm him today? Besides, James had a gun on the ground beside him. He didn’t want to use it but would if necessary to save his life. James glanced at the man’s arm he’d accidentally shot yesterday. What looked like a moss-and-mud poultice was packed against the wound. With no bandage to keep the mixture in place, bits flaked and fell off even as James watched. He wished he could give the man medical attention from the first-aid kit in his pack. But there was no way he’d be allowed to get that close. Water! Potable water was at a high premium here in this sweltering jungle. Would the jungle man take that bait? James uncapped his canteen and offered it. “Drink. Water.” The ape-man raised his chin and sniffed the air, as if he could smell the water even from a distance. Perhaps his sense of smell was overdeveloped from living in the wild. He watched James and the canteen in his hand, but didn’t move toward it. James took another small sip and offered the water again. He kicked himself for not bringing food which he could leave on the ground to tempt the man closer. He’d once attempted to tame a feral cat near his family home in Langholm. The cat never had allowed him to touch it, but had greedily accepted every scrap of food he left out. A canteen of water was simply beyond the primitive’s comprehension. James gave up and screwed the lid back on. Now what other wiles could he use to keep his guest a little longer? Congreve had written, “Music has charms to soothe a savage breast.” He’d try to entertain and pacify the jungle man with a song. Of course, immediately he forgot every song he’d ever known, but at last “Auld Lang Syne”

popped into his head and James began to sing softly. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?” Damn, he’d started too high and his voice cracked. The ape-man’s eyes widened and he made a startled chattering sound, his tongue clicking, as he scrambled back a few paces. “Oh come, my voice isn’tthat bad,” James interrupted his song to joke. He smiled at the stranger then resumed the song. Still crouching, the man scampered to the left then the right, bobbing his head and making inarticulate grunts and hoots. James imagined this was how gorillas behaved. Or so he assumed, since few men had observed the animals in their natural habitat. Game hunters tended to shoot and stuff, while zoological collectors captured and caged the beasts. And certainly no ape in a zoo acted the way they would in the wild. When James stopped singing, the ape-man stopped gamboling about to stare at him. He grimaced and slammed his fist on the ground, demanding more with an imperious grunt “I can’t think of any other songs. Oh, I know…” James began to sing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” This time the jungle man froze. He stared at him silently, head cocked, a frown creasing his forehead. James recognized the look of a man trying to place something he couldn’t quite recall. His heart beat faster and when he’d finished the short nursery rhyme, he murmured, “Do you know this song? Good God, you remember something, don’t you?” The man grunted and pounded the ground again. James started from the beginning, vaguely remembering there was a second verse about guiding a traveler through the dark. He finished again, and his audience of one bellowed for more. “All right, all right. I’d no idea I’d become so popular.” James sang the star song again. And again. He wiped a hand across his sweating brow. At that moment, he would’ve given anything to dive into the icy water of the River Esk near his family home. Scottish winters no longer seemed as bleak as they had when he left home for Oxford. At least there the air was bracingly frigid, unlike this sweltering, debilitating tropical heat. “Ssss.” The jungle man made a hissing noise, then, contemplatively, as though mulling it over in his mind, a quiet humming. “Mmm.” James’s excitement grew. The man was trying to vocalize, to match the sounds and tones James made. The moment was thrilling. And this discovery was all his. He would write about every second he spent with the ape-man, every nuance of expression or body language or sound. He would publish a paper or maybe even a book. He’d be known in the scientific community as the discoverer of the Ape-man of the Congo. He’d be the brilliant anthropologist who’d made an unbelievable connection with a man raised by animals. Something crashed through the forest, startling James from his thoughts. He looked toward the noise and heard English-speaking voices. He turned back to the jungle man, but in the mere seconds he’d looked away, his cagey visitor had vanished. The clearing was as empty as if he’d never been there.

Damn! James unfolded his cramped legs and rose. He wanted to leave the drawing and the whittled stick there in case the jungle man returned for them. But he wasn’t ready to share with the others what he was up to. He walked toward the approaching voices he recognized as belonging to Blake and Hatchett to head off the intruders into his private research project.

Odd One didn’t go far. These pale creatures couldn’t seem to see or sense him in the forest, even if he stood only a few yards away. He watched Sky Eyes go toward the others and communicate with them. Odd One grunted in annoyance. He wanted them to leave. He needed to hear again the soft sounds Sky Eyes made. They meant something to him. A memory tickled at the edges of his mind like ants on his skin, something he’d once known but had forgotten, and it had to do with the sound like water running over rocks. The other strangers wanted to go toward the clearing. Sky Eyes pointed them in the opposite direction and led them away. He cast a backward glance at the things he’d left behind. Odd One guessed Sky Eyes was leaving them for him, but he was a little afraid to touch the foreign objects. He waited until he could hear no more noise from the intruders before moving in a careful crouch toward the things in the clearing. He stared at them for a long while, the peeled stick and the white-and-black thing. At last, he reached out a hand and patted at the flat thing. It made a crisp, rustling sound like dead grass. He poked it again then placed his palm on its surface like a large banana leaf. He studied the markings Sky Eyes had made there, black like the patterns he sometimes drew on a light rock with a charred stick. Odd One stared at the black marks, feeling as if they were supposed to mean something to him. He remembered the first time his mother, Grub Picker, had tried to teach him how to look for insects. He hadn’t understood what he was supposed to be searching for and she’d lost patience, grunting and huffing as she peeled back the bark of a rotten tree trunk to reveal a wealth of termites. Odd One had felt useless and stupid. He never seemed to be able to do the simple things the Others’ children knew instinctively how to do. Now this stranger was trying to communicate with him and share something through these markings. Again Odd One was the stupid one who didn’t understand the message. He chattered his teeth in frustration and turned his attention to the peeled stick. He picked it up and examined the smooth surface, stripped of every bit of bark. What an amazing tool Sky Eyes possessed. The Others sometimes used a rock to knock open a stubborn termite nest or a stick to poke at something they couldn’t reach, but other than that, their hands and feet were their tools. Odd One had found when he lacked the strength or skill to do something the Others could easily do, he could create something to accomplish the task for him. Using a branch to pry or lift heavy things, a sharp stone to cut with, and pointed sticks for protection, he’d made up for his miserable lack of natural survival skills. He’d learned young that without the heavy fur of the Others, he would freeze on cold nights. After finding a pelt on the rotting carcass of an okapi, he’d worn it wrapped around himself whenever he grew chilled, until it fell apart. The need for another pelt was what had driven him to create the sharp stick with which to bring down another tapir. The discovery he enjoyed eating its meat was due to his quest to keep warm. With a sharp blade like Sky Eyes possessed, all of Odd One’s tasks would be much easier. He coveted the tool greatly. But his attention drifted from the stripped stick back to the markings. He turned the flat

thing this way and that, trying to make sense of the black. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning striking, he saw the message on the white sheet. It was supposed to be a face. The dark parts were shadows. The light parts were the features. Those circles were eyes, that dark mass, hair. It was supposed to be him. Odd One felt as if he’d been tackled by one of heavy males in his clan, his breath driven from him and his gut aching. Sky Eyes had seen him, really seen him and put down here what he saw. Odd One felt truly recognized for the first time in his life. With the Others he was a mistake who lived on the fringe of the group, but this foreigner sawhim in a way the Others never had, never could. The older he grew the more he’d become aware of exactly how different from the Others he was. He didn’t belong with them. And now, at last, maybe he’d found a clan where he did belong. Carefully wrapping the thin white thing around his sharpened stick, he covered it with his hand so it was safe beneath his palm. He picked up the stripped bare branch and trotted after the foreigners through the forest.

Chapter Four James was annoyed with Hatchett and Blake for disturbing his encounter with the jungle man. He could hardly keep his impatience from showing in his abrupt tone and long silences. To turn them away from the clearing, he’d convinced the pair they should head east where the natives had rumored there might be the remains of a city of stone in the forest. Although taking detailed notes on the daily lives of indigenous tribesmen they met was a large part of Hatchett and James’s work, to find the remnants of an ancient people would be a coup. On any other day, James would have been glad to accompany the pair on this search. Today he wanted only to return to the clearing and the chance of his ape-man still lingering there. After hacking through the dense brush for more than an hour and finding nothing but enormous mosquitoes, Hackett suggested they return to camp. “Rough going, eh?” Blake trudged beside James. “I didn’t quite imagine Africa would bethis beastly hot or buggy despite everything I’d read.” “This is a tropical forest,” James pointed out dryly. Professor Hatchett had slowed and fallen behind them. Blake’s voice dropped to a stage whisper. “What say we leave the old boy back at camp and then strike out on our own to look for your jungle man? Have a real African adventure…after we’ve had a spot of tea, of course. I’ve heard the rest of the story. Everyone has. That he’s been sighted with gorillas by locals. A man raised by apes. Astonishing. We must find him.” “I think I’ll lie down and rest for a while,” James said. “Besides I believe it may rain.” It was true. While the air beneath the canopy was always thick and muggy, it had a certain quality just before a downpour—saturated as if it couldn’t hold one more ounce of moisture. “Oh, well then. Maybe tomorrow.” Blake didn’t sound too crestfallen. He lifted his glasses and mopped his round red face with a handkerchief.

As they passed the clearing, James looked to where he’d left the sketch and the whittled stick. Both were gone. Triumph surged through him. His antics had left some impression on the ape-man, whose curiosity had been aroused by the manmade objects. James believed the man still lingered nearby, perhaps following them even now. He was curious and wanted to know more about his own kind. James fully intended to teach him the first chance he got. But as he’d predicted, rain began to fall just as they reached camp and soon sheets of water turned the camp into a muddy mess. Everyone stayed zipped tight in their tents, waiting out the storm. Lightning crackled, thunder roared. Both seemed much more intense here in the wilderness than when one was seated in front of a roaring fire in a parlor with a glass of brandy and a book in hand. James spent the afternoon in moist misery reading the mildewed pages of one of the few books he’d brought along. A few men gathered in one of the larger tents to drink and play cards. Supper that night was dried meat and hardtack since there was no way to start a fire to heat anything—not even a cup of tea. James pled a headache and retired early, lying on his side, listening to the rain drumming on the canvas like softly tapping fingers. He endured another restless night, sleeping in fits and starts, jerking awake once from a dream in which the jungle man loomed over him with a sharpened stick. At last he opened his eyes to the dull glow of sunlight filtering through the canvas. He rose from his cot. Blake still slept—on his back with his mouth wide, but surprisingly no snore coming from it. James dressed, put on his boots and went outside. Only the native bearers and servants were up, puttering around camp, attempting to start a fire or washing mud from the Englishmen’s clothing in a pot of water. They barely glanced at James as he squelched through the mud to the perimeter of the camp. Anyone watching would assume he was going to relieve himself in the jungle, but James kept walking. The thick mud clung to his boots, coating them with a heavy layer that made lifting his feet difficult. He trod the now-familiar trail up the mountain toward the clearing. This early in the morning, mist hovered over the ground where the rain-chilled air met the hot earth. The emerald jungle was swathed in gray fog, giving it an even more primeval air. James kept his weapon handy and his eyes sharp for any animal that might lunge out of the fog and attack. Perhaps it was the absolute silence coupled with his extra-keen attention that allowed him to sense movement in the trees to his right. He halted and searched the foliage. At first his gaze skimmed right over the man standing half-hidden by a tree, but a moment later his mind caught up with what his eyes had seen. He looked back toward the tree. His gaze fixed on a pair of eyes regarding him. James caught his breath. It was his jungle friend, so close to camp he might have been waiting for James to come out and find him. James lifted his hand in greeting. “Hello,” he said softly. The man stared at him for a long moment then slowly lifted his hand in a matching gesture. James couldn’t have been more proud than a father watching his child take a first step. This gesture was a response—a dialogue between them. The ape-man wanted to communicate. But the woods here were dense and they were far too close to camp. James didn’t want to risk discovery by anyone taking an early morning constitutional in the woods. He began to walk up the path toward the clearing.

Several yards away, the jungle man mirrored him, walking parallel with him up the mountain. Glancing sideways at him, James noted the man was no longer mud-streaked. Last night’s rain had washed him clean and he hadn’t wallowed in camouflaging mud again. It was as if a layer of animal had been stripped away to reveal more of the human beneath. James wondered if the man had simply been dirty before or if he’d purposely muddied himself to make hunting easier. Perhaps he’d darkened his skin in order to better match the gorillas he lived with. Whatever the reason, he was clean now, his skin sun-browned but a lighter shade than James would’ve expected in a man who’d lived his entire life outdoors. However, he dwelled under the canopy of huge trees which would shield his skin from much of the sun. Fifteen minutes’ march brought both of them to the clearing. James stood in the middle and waited for his companion to come near, but the jungle man held back, suddenly shy. Remembering how music had excited him yesterday, James sang another nursery rhyme. This time it was “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep.” He felt a fool standing there, warbling the child’s tune, but it worked. A moment later the man stepped out of the trees at the edge of the clearing. He was without his stick-spear, but carried James’s whittled piece of wood. Beneath his palm, wrapped around the wood, was the drawing. James stopped singing and said hello again, once more lifting his hand in greeting. This time the man didn’t mimic the gesture but simply watched him. When James took a couple of steps toward him, he made an alarmed screech and backed away. James held both hands palms open. “It’s all right. I won’t hurt you. I’m sure you’re much stronger and could rip me limb from limb if you wanted to. Trust me, I’m in much greater danger from you.” He grinned. The man’s eyes went wide and his stance stiff. He bared his teeth and gave a much louder screech than his previous squawk of surprise. James instantly stopped smiling as he realized showing his teeth must seem an aggressive gesture. It made sense. Dogs showed their fangs when they growled and cats when they hissed. Probably angry gorillas did the same. He lowered his head in a submissive gesture, while continuing to hold his hands open. Head still bowed, he took another tentative step forward. The ape-man did not retreat into the trees. Curiosity and a hunger to engage with one of his own kind clearly outweighed his natural fear of the unknown. Making a quiet whimpering sound, he took a step toward James. Only a couple of yards away now. James didn’t know how close the feral being would allow him to come, but he couldn’t stop himself from moving forward. It was the same drive that had caused him to skate on thin ice as a boy or fall from a tree when he went too high and snapped off a weak branch, not to mention the time he’d nearly slid down the side of the mountain after climbing a rock face he’d been told not to. He’d been an explorer since long before coming to Africa. James stopped when he was several feet away from the other man. He could smell his male odor. He didn’t reek nearly as much as some of the men in camp swathed in too many layers of cotton and wool. Being naked, the ape-man had no clothing to soak up body odor, and the rain had washed him as clean as anyone could be in this wilderness. James’s gaze was trained on the man’s muddy feet and solid calves, his scarred knees and muscled thighs, the tawny hair on his groin and the semi-rigid erection that protruded from that thicket of hair. For

a moment, he stared at the smooth length, the cowl of foreskin with the red tip just beginning to protrude from it, then James lifted his gaze higher—over the man’s concave belly, up the muscles of his abdomen. He faced the hard chest, lightly furred with golden brown hair, one dusky nipple on either side. The man’s shoulders rippled as he shifted. A beard covered much of his chest, and a moustache hid the shape of his mouth except for a plump lower lip. James wished to see him clean-shaven. From the well-cut angles and planes of his cheekbones, nose and forehead, he imagined the man would be quite handsome. He was caught for a moment by the gravity of the moment. Here was man at his most basic, little more than an animal. But beneath a tailored suit coat, tie and shiny shoes, beneath the cultivated manners and trappings of society, a civilized Englishman was the same mammal. It was ironic and intriguing to see the proof of how far man had developed since his primitive past—and how little he’d really changed at all. James lifted his gaze to meet the other man’s. He stared into eyes full of curiosity and intelligence signifying a mind waiting to be tapped. He could hardly wait to help this man unfold into the person he was meant to be before he’d lost his way in the jungle. The ape-man looked intently into his eyes, his own scanning back and forth as if trying to read a message there. A frown of concentration drew his brows together. He raised a hand and reached out as if to touch James’s face, then dropped it back to his side. James smiled, without showing his teeth this time, and repeated his quiet hello. The other man moved his mouth, mimicking the shape of the word, and then he made a whimpering noise in his throat. James glanced at the gunshot wound on the man’s shoulder. No longer packed with moss and mud, it was puckered, red and slightly swollen. James feared infection. He reached toward the wound, and the jungle man flinched away. “Let me treat that. I have some salve in my bag.” He gestured at his pack lying on the ground, held up his palms and backed toward it. “If you let me…” James bent over the bag and pulled out the small kit of first-aid items he carried with him. His mother had insisted he bring some homemade herbal cures to combat the horrid diseases she was certain ran rampant in the wilds of Africa. She was right about sicknesses like malaria for which there was no cure, and her topical ointment for cuts and burns had certainly served James often enough throughout his childhood. He uncapped the small jar and walked slowly to the jungle man, holding it up so he could see. James stopped a few feet away again, dipped his finger into the bee-balm salve and smeared some onto the back of his hand then held it up for the man to inspect. “See. Feels better.” Dipping his finger again, he very slowly reached toward the other man’s shoulder. It would be an enormous step forward if he allowed James to touch him. His finger hovered above the wound, so close he could feel the heat of his skin. James smelled the stranger’s rich, heady odor and was acutely aware of the man’s half-solid erection. His finger descended and touched flesh, and although the ape-man’s skin twitched, he didn’t pull away.

Sky Eyes touched him, a warm finger prodding gently at his wound. Odd One sucked in a breath and held perfectly still. It had been a long time since he’d been touched. When he was small, Grub Picker had groomed his hair and held him close to her. The children had wrestled and played with him. Even Old Grunt had occasionally given him an affectionate cuff that knocked him off his feet. But the older he grew and the more obvious his differences, the less the Others had allowed him to be a part of their group. No one groomed his hair anymore or wanted him to return the favor. No females would allow him to mount them, and he didn’t really want to. He’d only ever tried a few times when all the other young males were first starting to do it and he’d wanted to fit in. It wasn’t sex he wanted, but he did wish he could sleep snugly next to a warm, furry body at night. To have this foreign creature touch his skin was beyond description. Powerful warmth shot through him, filling him with heat like sunlight. His cock, which had been growing steadily harder from the nearness of the stranger, began to ache, and he wanted to reach out and touch Sky Eyes in return. He needed to know what his brown hair felt like, to stroke his fingers over smooth skin instead of fur. He wanted to see the stranger stripped bare of the layers he wore on top of his skin. Odd One held still while the stranger smeared the sweet-smelling stuff on his wound. The area was sore, especially when Sky Eyes pressed against it, but he didn’t care. He whimpered in pleasure and submitted to the tender touch. While the foreigner’s attention was focused on ministering to him, Odd One took the opportunity to study him closely. Sky Eyes’s brown hair was short, ending at his neck, and Odd One wondered how that had happened. It occurred to him that he might have used the sharp thing he’d stripped bark with to shear off his hair. The hair on his face was gone, too. When Odd One had seen him the first day, there’d been stubble on his jaw and above his mouth. Now his face was smooth. The shapes of his forehead, nose, mouth and jaw were just like his own but different in small ways. Sky Eyes’s skin was even lighter in color than his. There was a sprinkling of pale brown spots across his nose and cheekbones. His eyelashes were brown like his hair but darker. His eyebrows were arched with a questioning tilt. His lips parted slightly and the tip of his tongue slipped out to wet them. Every movement he made was fascinating. Odd One knew how to read the Others. Their body movements and facial expressions told him everything he needed to know about what they were thinking or feeling. He did not know how to read this creature, which was frustrating. He felt there were signals and messages in every blink of the stranger’s eye and flex of his jaw which Odd One couldn’t interpret. He guessed Sky Eyes had many strange thoughts going on inside his head and he wanted to know what they were, to understand them and to learn everything about him. Sky Eyes was done treating his wound now. After he’d put the ointment away, he stood looking directly into Odd One’s face, an aggressive move among the Others. Odd One grew tense, his muscles tightening for fight or flight. He forced himself to draw a breath and relax. Staring must not be a sign of aggression among these foreigners. He’d watched them around their camp the last few days and seen how they interacted with one another. They were different from the Others in every way. He’d have to adjust his thinking and his reactions to them. Odd One stared back, studying the stranger’s eyes, blue like the sky on a clear day, shading to a darker ring around the outer rim. But after a moment he had to look away. The tension growing in him was too

strong, too powerful. It frightened him. Sky Eyes made noises in his sharp, clicking language which sounded nothing like the grunts and screeches of the Others. He pressed his palm against his chest and made the sound again. “Man.” Odd One watched his mouth shape the sound. “Man.” When the stranger reached toward him, he flinched but didn’t pull away. The warm palm touched lightly against his chest. Sky Eyes must feel his heart pounding. “Man.” Back and forth between their two chests the stranger moved his hand and repeated the sound. “Man.” Odd One mulled it over in his mind, trying to decipher the meaning. With the Others most sounds related to food, territory, mating or safety. This sound meant something about the two of them, but it was hard to stretch his mind to understand what. Sky Eyes looked at him expectantly. He wanted some response so Odd One grunted an acknowledgement. When that didn’t seem to please, Odd One duplicated the motion, pressing his hand against his chest and then against the foreigner’s chest. Even through the thick covering, he could feel Sky Eyes’s heart thumping. “Man,” Sky Eyes repeated. It appeared important to him that Odd One make this particular noise. He obliged by repeating, “Mah.” The stranger’s eyes widened and he showed his teeth. “Yes. Good! Man.” Odd One matched his expression, pulling back his lips to reveal his teeth. This was an easy game. He was good at mimicking most animals’ calls. “Yis, gud, man.” Sky Eyes was so excited he let out a whooping sound—a happy sound like a bird calling. Odd One tried to mimic the sound but couldn’t match it. The sound of approaching footsteps and talking foreigners came from the distance. Odd One stepped back into the trees, although they were still far away. Instinct told him to flee from the unknown. “Wait!” Sky Eyes started after him. Odd One didn’t want to go. What he wanted was for the other strangers not to come here and end his time with Sky Eyes. But maybe it didn’t have to end. Maybe the stranger could come with him. He walked farther into the forest, glancing over his shoulder and grunting. Sky Eyes followed.

Chapter Five What the hell was he doing going off the path into the unknown? A man could easily get lost in this

endless wilderness even with a compass. For all he knew, his new friend was taking him home for dinner. Or perhaps as dinner. Did gorillas eat meat? But James could no more refuse that grunted invitation than he would turn down a grant to study primitive cultures in the Amazon. This find was too exciting to lose by worrying about little things like personal safety. Besides, he honestly believed the ape-man meant him no harm. There was intelligence in his eyes and he’d indicated a will to learn. He was reaching out and James would not turn him away. He’d barely had time to scoop up his knapsack before chasing after Jungle Joe and now he rather wished he’d left it behind. He’d be hard-pressed to keep up with the other man’s long-legged stride even without carrying all that extra weight. The man wove around trees and leaped over fallen logs and thick vines with the lithe ease of a leopard. Speaking of which… James cast a glance up into the trees, wondering if the big cat from the other day might be lurking nearby. But surely his clever guide would be aware of it. He stopped worrying and concentrated on keeping up. Jungle Jasper was climbing a slope now. James’s chest burned as he gasped for air and so did the backs of his thighs and calves from ascending the rough terrain. But he’d never been a quitter, and if he stopped now he’d be stranded in the jungle, so he kept going. Jungle Jerry reached the top of the ridge and disappeared from view as he climbed down the other side. When James reached the top, huffing and panting, he registered the steadily growing sound he’d been hearing for what it was, a waterfall rushing over a jutting promontory to land in a pool below. The ravine boasting this jewel of a pool was nestled in a fold of the mountain. Climbing the hill from the other side, one would never guess this lush sanctuary was there. Jungle Jake was already halfway down the steep face of the hill, heading toward the water. He looked back to make certain James followed, and then continued on his way. James hurried after him. Actually he rather lost control of his speed on the precipitous descent and lunged down, his pack bouncing on his back. By the time he reached the bottom of the gorge he was drenched with sweat and wondering how he’d ever climb back up. But the scent of the water was as alluring as the sweetest perfume and the lost man was already wading into the pool. James shed his heavy pack and stripped off his long-sleeved shirt. He sat among the ferns to unlace his boots—being watchful for snakes and red anthills—then took off his khaki trousers. Clad only in underclothes he splashed into the water. The other man knelt in the shallows, putting his face to the water to drink. He looked up at James, his beard dripping, and sat back on his heels to watch him. James plowed through the water until it was up to his waist. It felt heavenly to be immersed in coolness as he hadn’t been since leaving England. Nothing but sponge baths and very little water for that since he’d come to Africa. As he waded farther, submerging up to his chest, the jungle man gave a loud hoot. James turned to look at him. The man’s eyes were wide. He screeched in alarm as he sloshed back and forth in an ungainly crouch at the edge of the pool. He was afraid of water. More than that. He was afraid for James to be in the water so deeply. His concern touched James, who waded closer to the shore, holding his hands up. “I’m all right. See?” He splashed his hands in the water then lifted his feet off the muddy bottom and swam around to illustrate how safe it was.

The man stopped pacing but still seemed very nervous. James stood and came toward him, holding out his hand. “You can go in deeper. It’s good. You’ll like it.” Jungle John scowled and slapped the water with his fist. He reached a hand toward James and couldn’t have made any clearer his insistence that James come out of the pool. “All right. We’ll do it your way, but it’s a shame. This spot is paradise.” James cast a last longing glance at the deeper water and the lovely splashing waterfall. A movement caught his attention and his gaze swept back toward the opposite side of the waterhole in time to see the black-and-white striped backside of an animal heading into the underbrush. Then he noticed that the bumpy log not too far from where the animal had been drinking wasn’t a log at all. “Good God!” He stared at the reptilian beast which might have been carved from rock, it was so still. He’d seen a few crocodiles during their trek upriver, but he’d had no idea they came this far inland. And here he’d been like a baby toddling toward danger, ready to splash and play in croc-infested waters. James hurriedly backed out of the pool until he was in only a few inches of water. He glanced over at the forest ranger. A good nickname for the jungle man—Ranger. The man wore an expression that might have been amusement, his lips quirked slightly at the corners. He stayed where he was, scooping water and throwing it over his body until he was wet all over. James watched for a few moments then waded toward him. His guide evidently knew how shallow was safe. If he thought they could cool off at the edge of the pool that was good enough for James. Still he kept a watchful eye on the half-submerged reptile across the pond and he was no longer relaxed and joyous about the idea of swimming. How had Ranger survived so long in this environment where danger lurked everywhere? It was an astonishing accomplishment. James followed his example, crouching in the water and splashing his sweaty body, then bending down to soak his entire head. He didn’t drink the green-tinged water. His father was a doctor and had advised him against drinking unpurified water while in Africa. With the invention of the microscope, scientists had discovered bacteria inhabited virtually everything. The theory of a connection between these microorganisms and disease, although still not accepted by the medical community at large, was gaining a foothold. Dr. Litchfield was one of those who came down on the side of the new science. James sat back on his heels and slicked his wet hair away from his face. He glanced across the pool at the crocodile—still there—and wondered if more were lurking, ready to rush up and grab an unsuspecting bather in shallow water. “Man!” Ranger’s voice made him jump. James twisted to face him, shocked that he’d remembered and used the word James had taught him. Ranger had risen from the water. His slick, wet body gleamed in the sunlight. Golden highlights shone in his damp hair. James swallowed hard. Ranger walked from the pool into the woods beyond then looked back at James, who leaped to his feet.

His guide led him to a rotted log on the forest floor, kicked it apart with a well-aimed blow of his heel and knelt to scoop up the bugs that came scurrying out and tuck them into his mouth. Glancing up at James, he grunted. “Lunch? Of course. I’d be delighted.” Steeling his nerve, James squatted and grabbed a couple of squirming termites. He tossed them far back on his tongue and swallowed without chewing, making every effort not to gag and offend his host. Ranger didn’t look up to see if he liked them. He was too busy capturing insects and devouring them. After that he moved on to a berry bush, which he stripped of purple berries. James picked a couple and studied them doubtfully. He’d been warned too many times in his childhood not to eat any berries except those he recognized. These might not make Ranger sick since he’d grown up on a steady diet of them, but James’s constitution might revolt. He decided to pass on the berries and tossed them away when Ranger wasn’t looking. The man showed him a few more choice spots which boasted grubs and some kind of lichen. When the feasting was over, he led James back to the pool. James instantly checked on the crocodile and a shiver went through him when he saw it was gone. Was the creature in the water now or had it plodded off into the forest? He knew little about crocodiles except that their jaws were powerful enough to grab a wildebeest, drag it underwater and drown it. Ranger went to the peeled stick and drawing, which he’d placed by a rock away from the water’s edge. He approached James, holding out the piece of paper. James accepted it. The paper was damp and limp from last night’s downpour and the drawing he’d made was blurred and ruined. Ranger looked at him expectantly. “You want me to draw another?” James went to his pack and brought out the notebook and pen. He sat cross-legged and flipped open the book. His wet linens clung uncomfortably to his skin, and he decided to stop being so prissy. Setting the book aside, he stripped off his undershirt, but ingrained modesty wouldn’t allow him to abandon his drawers. A light breeze cooled his skin as moisture evaporated. His nipples tightened and his cock hardened at the tickling sensation all over his skin. James took the notebook back on his lap, being careful not to wet it with his drawers, and looked at his subject in preparation for sketching him. Ranger crouched a few feet away, watching him. His gaze traveled over James’s naked torso, studying every inch. If the light breeze had made him hot and hard, the other man’s avid perusal was like setting a match to tinder. Heat flooded through James, and his cock swelled, visibly tenting his drawers. Thank God he had the notebook to shield it from the other man’s view. Far too often in his life, he’d had to hide the signs of his arousal from other men. Back in grammar school and later at university, he’d learned to control his attraction to his own sex, or at least hide it very well. But he’d never tried to hide his sexual impulses from himself, acknowledging his perverse inclination when he reached puberty while recognizing it wasn’t acceptable in the society in which he lived. This was part of what had driven him to study anthropology, in an attempt to understand why some people didn’t conform to society and to learn how they survived when the group rejected them for their differences. Nothing he’d discovered so far in his studies had helped him gain any better perspective. Perhaps this man, caught between ape and human, might give him some clue.

With a few deft lines, James captured the shape of Ranger’s face. He concentrated on the eyes and nose, depicting the soulful yearning he saw in the other man’s gaze. For someone who wasn’t a skilled artist, James thought he’d managed fairly well to capture emotion in simple pen and ink. He blew on the sketch to dry the ink, then tore out the page and handed it to his model. Ranger gazed at the drawing for a long time. He raised his hand and touched his face, the beard on his chin, the shape of his nose. “Man.” James patted his chest then pointed at Ranger. “Man.” He scooted close to indicate the face in the picture and repeated “Man” once more. Was the concept too difficult? Could Ranger possibly understand the word signified the essence of what he was? An idea struck him and James sketched his approximation of a gorilla from the stuffed ones he’d seen at the museum and from illustrations in books. He hoped it looked something like the animal. Ranger leaned close to watch him draw. His shoulder rubbed against James’s, skin sliding over skin, and another wave of lust surged through James. His hand faltered, a blob of ink spattering the drawing. Again he blew over the ink to dry it, frowned at the result and showed the sketch to Ranger. “Ape.” To clarify, he made the best ape noises he could, grunts, hoots and screeches such as Ranger made. He pointed back and forth between the two pictures, naming them over and over. “Ape. Man. Ape. Man.” Then he pointed to Ranger. “Man.” James sat silently waiting for the message to sink in, watching Ranger’s face for that bright moment of dawning understanding. He nearly held his breath as one second after another ticked past, and then abruptly it happened. “Man.” The word was a quiet whisper but imbued with meaning as it hadn’t been before when he’d used it earlier to gain James’s attention. He rested his palm on his chest and repeated it. “Man.” James nodded emphatically. “Yes. You are a man.” Ranger looked up at him, reached out and touched James lightly in the center of his chest. “Man.” His heart pounded, but he held very still while Ranger’s hand roamed over his chest, feeling his skin and the texture of the hair covering his pectorals. He drew a small breath and willed his cock to stop throbbing. Ranger smoothed his hand over James’s chest to his shoulder. He curved his fingers around it, feeling the muscle, then slid his hand to touch James’s neck, his jaw, his cheek. He knelt before him and raised his other hand, his palms bracketing James’s face. Like a blind man, Ranger let his hands travel over forehead, eyes, nose, cheekbones, jaw and lips. His fingers lingered on James’s mouth and James’s lips parted beneath those callused fingertips brushing them as lightly as moth wings. The yearning inside him grew stronger, a swelling desire that originated in his groin but fanned out through his entire body until every particle of his being was engulfed with need. Between his legs, his rock-hard penis continued to pulse. One touch and it would probably explode.

James wanted to push Ranger’s hands away—or move them down to where he desperately needed them to be. He wanted to grab the other man, this innocent primitive, and kiss him so hard he bruised his lips. He denied both impulses and continued to sit quietly, allowing the ape-man’s curious exploration of his body. Yesterday, he would have been thrilled simply to engage Ranger’s interest enough to keep him from running away. Today he’d taught him words and a concept of himself as a man. And Ranger was brave enough to get this close to him. It was a miraculous leap forward. James wouldn’t ruin the moment. He’d allow it to go on as long as Ranger wanted to touch him. Now the man slid his hands down James’s arms, held his hands, pressing palm against palm, fingers matching fingers. He stared at their hands together and James did too. Ranger’s fingers were a little longer. The pads of his hands were nearly as leathery as the callused bottoms of James’s feet. His fingernails were broken and dirty, and scratches and cuts marred the backs of his hands and arms. In fact, most of his body was decorated with fresh red marks or thin white scars incurred over his many years of hard living in the wild. He moved his hands to James’s chest again and stroked them over his stomach toward the top of his drawers. James glanced down. His stomach was twitching at the sensuous touch, and the damp fabric of his knee-length drawers was molded around his bulging erection. His cheeks burned, but when he looked at Ranger’s face, the man’s expression was intrigued rather than disgusted. Of course it was. His mind was as innocent as a child’s, which made James feel like a nasty, perverted old man even if he was only twenty-five. Ranger hooked his fingers in the top of James’s drawers and began to pull them down. James reached out to stop him. But no. He should be able to suffer through this exploration without spouting like a fountain. He had to let the lost man freely explore all of his body. It was important. The man was making a vital connection in his mind, realizing he was an entirely different species from those he’d lived with for most of his life. James rose up on his knees and unfastened the drawstring of his drawers. He pulled them down his hips and stared straight forward, biting his lower lip. When those curious hands stroked over his hips, combed through the hair covering his groin and wrapped around his cock, he closed his eyes and bit down hard on his lip, concentrating on the pain. Up and down Ranger’s hand slowly and lightly touched his penis. He moved it to cup James’s balls, weighing them in his palm before squeezing gently. “Christ,” James whispered and sucked in a breath of air. The foreign hand returned to his cock and continued its slow torture, a little harder now as Ranger gripped him with more force and tugged. Good God, was hetrying to make him come? James’s eyes flew open and he looked at the other man, who was gazing at his cock with a frown of concentration. Surely Ranger had masturbated and knew the pleasure it gave him. Why wouldn’t he think it reasonable to do the same for his new friend? He had none of the strictures of society to tell him this act was wrong. As a good Christian boy, James had been taught to believe self-pollution was wrong, let alone someone else doing it for one. The sanctity of marriage surrounded all sex acts like an impenetrable fortress. The boiling oil of guilt was poured on any who tried to scale the walls instead of entering over the drawbridge of matrimony like a civilized person.

His breathing was hard as the tension in his balls grew tighter and his cock came nearer to exploding. If he didn’t stop it now, he never could. James grasped Ranger’s wrist. “Enough. Stop,” he gritted between his teeth. Immediately the other man released him. He didn’t appear offended at the rejection, but merely transferred his hand to his own penis, idly stroking the thick length and pulling the foreskin up and down over the reddened tip. James couldn’t tear his gaze away from the erotic sight. Ranger was completely unselfconscious about masturbating, treating the act as naturally as eating, drinking or taking a piss—all of which he’d already done in James’s presence. He was a man unspoiled by the invented rules society plagued itself with. He moved his hand faster as his eyes closed and his lips parted in an exhalation. To James, he was breathtakingly beautiful in his moment of surrender, his face contorting in pleasure as he spilled his seed on the ground before him. Then the moment was over. Ranger exhaled loudly and opened his eyes, turning his attention back to James. Only then did James notice the lengthening shadows and realize it was well into the afternoon. He checked his pocket watch and found he’d been gone for hours. They’d be looking for him back at camp. No member of the expedition was supposed to wander in the jungle without at least one other man accompanying him and preferably more. If James was to continue to see Ranger, he’d have to come up with a better excuse for his absences. Tucking away his cock, he rose to his feet and put his notebook back into his knapsack. He must return to camp, but could he get his guide to take him there? “I must go now.” He added the appropriate gestures, pointing at himself and in the vague direction of camp. “Go. You take me?” Ranger stood, carefully folding the drawing James had given him. Without any more prompting, he led the way from the pool back into the jungle, this time around the base of the mountain. They reached the camp much more quickly than if they’d returned to the point where they’d first met. Within a half hour, James could hear noise from camp up ahead. He was both relieved and disappointed to hear the voices of other men. He didn’t want his time with Ranger to end so soon. James hesitated, considering cajoling the ape-man into coming into camp with him. Perhaps it was time to let everyone know about his discovery and allow the other scientists to have a crack at studying the lost man. But the larger part of him cautioned that Ranger was not ready to be confronted by strangers who would poke, prod, measure and test him, watching his every move. He’d be like a wild jackal released into a room full of purebred poodles and he might very well tear them apart in his effort to escape captivity. James turned to say goodbye to his host, but Ranger was already gone from his side. He was alone in the forest.

Odd One was alone once more. He’d climbed a tree and from there had a good view of the group of Man moving around the camp.Man. He repeated the word over and over in his mind. It was good to have a name for these foreign creatures.Man was what they were.Man was whathe was. At long last, he had a name for himself.

He couldn’t see Sky Eyes, who’d gone inside one of the white things and hadn’t come out again. But the rest of them were endlessly fascinating, so busy doing mysterious things. They had a way to make fire and they cooked food over it. The aroma of hot meat made his stomach growl. Odd One had only been near fire when there’d been a lightning strike in the forest. These amazing Man were controlling the fire and using it to do whatever they wanted. It was a revelation, like the first time he’d realized he could use his pointed stick for more than prying open rotten wood in search of grubs. He’d felt great power when he’d first used his stick as a weapon to threaten Loud Mouth, one of the other young males who gave him trouble all the time. Watching the Man interact with each other as they moved around their camp made him feel very confused—a hopeful feeling mingled with a heavy weight. What would happen if he went among them now? Would they welcome him and share their food or drive him away, recognizing he was not one of them? Perhaps he’d be as much of an outsider here as he was with the Others, the Apes. His mind returned to Sky Eyes, as it had constantly done since the first time he’d seen him. A hot, heavy feeling tightened his stomach and his cock began to harden. He’d liked spending time with him today, showing him the pool where he liked to cool off. Watching him take off the layers to reveal his bare skin underneath had been astonishing. To at long last see a body like his own—and then to be allowed to touch it all over—had filled him with powerful emotions that made him ache as if he was sick. He’d wanted to do much more than merely touch Sky Eyes. He’d wanted to pull him close and feel their bodies pressed together, naked skin against skin. When the other man’s cock had swelled in his hand, excitement had surged through him, making his own cock grow hard. He would’ve rubbed Sky Eyes’s penis until he came, but the man had suddenly made him stop. Odd One didn’t know why and hoped he hadn’t done something wrong, something that might keep him from coming back. There was so much he didn’t understand about Man, so much he needed to learn in order to be one. He dropped his head back against the smooth bark of the tree and closed his eyes, shutting out the scene spread below him. His head hurt. He hadn’t eaten enough over the past few days and he’d spent last night shivering in the rain, lurking here near the camp. There was too much to think about. He knew what he was now. He could never go back to being part of the Others’ tribe, but he wasn’t yet a Man either. And he was having memories about the time before the Others. Memories of hands, voices and faces—which had been mostly forgotten, pushed to the back of his mind by the immediate need to survive each day—were suddenly awakened. It had begun with the sounds Sky Eyes made yesterday, something familiar about stars. Not being able to remember frustrated him. He felt restless, angry, sad and excited. Too many emotions at once. For a long time now, he’d known he needed to leave the Others and either live alone or try to find ones like himself. But now that the time had arrived to make a change, he was scared and anxious and desperately homesick for what was familiar. He slid down from the high branch of the tree, scrambling to the ground. Tonight he would go home and see Grub Picker, Old Grunt and all the Others. He would sleep near them where he was secure and knew what to expect. He would push out of his mind all thoughts of bare-skinned Man with all his strange actions and motives. For tonight at least he’d return to being an Ape.

Chapter Six

Another night. Another six or seven hours of suffering through Blake’s snoring while attempting to still his thoughts and get some rest. James lay on his back, staring up at the moldy canvas and drumming his fingers on his chest. Their tapping reminded him of other fingers that had touched his chest that day, the hard calluses tracing over his flesh and around his nipples. They peaked now simply from the memory of those hands touching him all over. Ranger’s curious exploration of his body had been the most sensual thing he’d ever felt. Lying here now, his cock grew hard and could almost feel the other man’s grip on it, cautious at first then more demanding. He shivered as he slid his hand beneath his drawers to take hold of himself. In a dreamy state of half sleep, he imagined it was the jungle man touching him again, pulling and pulling him to the edge of something momentous, something more than just an animal orgasm. A connection was forged between them by the act. And now, the dream man’s mouth was on James’s cock, sucking him into delicious heat and wetness, steamier than the jungle at midday. Christ, how he wanted that for real. Not just the sensation of a mouth on his cock, which he could pay for if he was really in need, or find with a partner in certain London clubs. It was the other thing James desperately desired, the sense of a bond forged between him and one other person in this world. Even surrounded by friends and family who cared deeply for him, he felt he’d been alone all of his life. With quick, efficient tugs, he drew himself the rest of the way to the edge of the precipice and plunged over. The climax was sharp and sweet and ultimately unfulfilling because he wanted so much more. But at least it relieved his tension and calmed his whirling mind. He was able to sleep at last. The next day, James had no opportunity to pursue his solo mission. Hatchett berated him sharply for going off alone and told him he should remain with the party exploring the north. James chafed at the bit as his mentor reined him in. They weren’t going to camp at this location long before pushing deeper into uncharted land. He didn’t know if Ranger was intrigued enough to follow the expedition when it moved on, and James didn’t want to lose one day with him. But he had to pretend an interest in what the group hoped to find—a lost city. He and Hatchett’s study of the way communities of people lived was closely tied to the archeologists’ work. They would search for clues to daily life in the ruins, if they ever found them. The botanists had accomplished the most on this trip so far, collecting new specimens and photographing or pressing them to take back to England. The zoological team of Albermarle and Blake hadn’t seen any fauna that hadn’t already been catalogued by previous explorers. Blake had taken a few blurry photographs of animals in motion and one or two rather nice ones of elephants, who obligingly held still for the camera. With the aid of a translator, James and Hatchett had questioned natives from several Congo River tribes about their way of life, but since moving inland, they’d interviewed no more natives. Hatchett hadn’t suggested trying to search for the ape-man although discovering such a phenomenon was an anthropologist’s dream. Instead, he seemed fixated on the ruins. Perhaps he thought a moving quarry would be too difficult to locate. So James trekked through the jungle with a party of ten including bearers, heading in the opposite direction from the lagoon where he’d spent the previous day. He kept a sharp lookout, practically giving himself a headache from concentrating so hard on peering into the forest for a glimpse of Ranger. He might be watching them, or waiting for James at the clearing on the hill, or maybe he’d gone back to his gorilla tribe. James would love to see him interact with the animals. Simply to glimpse the elusive beasts

from a distance would be a thrill. A long, sweaty march later, the group was ready to give up and head back to camp in order to reach it before nightfall, when Michael Ramsay, an archeology student, tripped over a stone and fell to his knees, cursing. The stone turned out to be hewn, part of a number of stones tumbled across the forest floor and overgrown with vines. The air was charged with excitement as the team hacked away the groundcover to find foundations of a building. After a few hours of work, the team had uncovered the remnants of several stone structures, one with partially standing walls so hidden by vegetation one could have walked past without seeing them. The questions of where the stones had been quarried and how they’d been transported to the location were debated with great passion. But the group couldn’t stay there overnight. The sun set fast in the jungle, plunging the woods into total darkness and danger, so they headed back to camp, arriving a little after sunset. They shared the discovery with the rest of the group. A celebratory dinner and quite a bit of drinking followed. James slipped away to the forest, hoping Ranger would be waiting, but he wasn’t, and a loud crashing in the brush sent James hurrying back to camp. The following day, scouts found a location for a new encampment near the discovery. The old camp was broken down and moved. Once again, James had no chance to go see Ranger. The new campsite was far from the clearing where they’d first met, and James feared he’d not see the jungle man again. However, the next morning when he took an exploratory walk away from camp, he hadn’t gone more then fifty yards into the jungle when Ranger was there, standing before him as if he’d sprung from the earth itself. He was all muscle, sinew and naked flesh, and the sight of him made James as breathless as a woman in a too-tight corset. His stomach fluttered as he held up his hand in greeting. “Hello.” Ranger mirrored his movement and the word, although the sound, spoken more from the chest than the nasal cavity, sounded more like a grunt. “’Lo.” James wished he could explain why he hadn’t come for several days and why the camp had moved, but Ranger seemed to accept the fact that he was here now, exhibiting no irritation or curiosity about his disappearance over the last two days. Perhaps he’d been with him all along, watching from a distance. The thought gave James a warm glow. He remembered his mother telling him how every person had a guardian angel appointed by God for the sole purpose of watching over his life. James grinned at the wicked thought that he could do worse than have a handsome angel like this one, who was happy to rub his cock for him. Ranger smiled back at him, turning his lips up at the corners but without any mirth reaching his eyes. They’d have to work on his sense of humor, but first, there were plenty of other lessons James wanted to teach. He’d planned them over the past two days, and this time he’d come armed with a book. He took off his knapsack and pulled out an illustrated volume of animals of Africa, flipping it open to the page of gorillas which he’d marked. The black-and-white lithographs were far superior to his questionable sketch. James held the book out so Ranger could see the picture. The man came close and stood studying the page. He stroked his finger over the drawing and James’s skin tingled as he remembered what that touch had felt like.

“Ape.” He popped the “p” with a smack of his lips. “Ape,” James confirmed. They were still standing in the woods in the middle of tall ferns. He looked for a place where they could sit and study the book together. As though reading his thought, Ranger led him farther into the woods to an enormous fallen log, green with vines. Ranger hoisted himself onto it. James struggled to climb up with the weight of his pack pulling him backward. A strong hand snaked out, grasped his wrist and pulled him onto the broad surface. James winced at the painful grip and felt a stab of lust at the other man’s brute strength. The smooth log was so wide in circumference, James’s feet couldn’t touch the ground. It made a fairly comfortable sofa under the circumstances. He placed his pack beside him and turned the pages of the book until he came to more animals Ranger would recognize. “Crocodile.” The thing was as ugly in print as it was in reality. A soft intake of breath came from the other man and he hooted quietly. “Crocodile,” James repeated until Ranger could almost say it too. James pointed out more animals and birds, naming each one. “Leopard. Parrot. Snake.” He didn’t want to overwhelm his student with too many new terms at once, so after they’d reviewed the list several times, he closed the book and set it aside. Uncapping his canteen, he took a drink then offered it to Ranger. The man gingerly tipped it to his mouth, splashing water on his chin and chest. James took the canteen back and poured a little water into his cupped hand. “Water… Water.” Ranger repeated two distinct syllables. “What. Er.” James smiled and flicked the water at him. Droplets hit his chest and trickled down. “Good.” Now he took out the packet of food he’d brought, a little hardtack and dried meat—all he could pilfer from the tightly rationed camp. The biscuit was nearly hard enough to chip a tooth and the meat as tough as leather. Hard to believe sailors survived on a steady diet of this stuff. But it was edible and perhaps Ranger would be glad of something besides termites and berries. James took a small bite of the hardtack and chewed it, then offered the rest to his guest. Ranger sniffed and licked it before taking a bite. His jaw muscles clenched as he chewed and he frowned. “It’s hard, I know. Thus the name. I wish I could bring you something better.” “Man,” Ranger responded, keeping up his end of the conversation. He slapped his chest then thumped James in the chest with the back of his hand. “Man.” “Yes, we’re men.” James nodded. “But we also have names. I’m James.” He pointed to himself. “James.” Ranger frowned. “Man.”

How could a thing have two names? It was a difficult concept for a person who’d only just learned to speak. James tried to explain anyway. “Man.” He flexed his arms and pounded his chest in a manly way then pointed to his face and said his name. “Jame,” Ranger repeated. He pointed at his own face. “Jame.” “No. You’re…” He couldn’t name him Ranger. What should he call the jungle man, who’d charged in to save his life like a guardian angel? He recalled a name from his catechism days, Michael the Archangel, God’s warrior. “Michael.” He pointed back and forth between them while repeating their names over and over, until tentative comprehension dawned in Ranger…in Michael’s eyes. The man slapped his palm against James’s chest and proclaimed “Man,” then pointed and named him “James.” He repeated the motions on himself. “Man. Mica.” James nodded. “Man. Michael. That’s right.” It was a tremendous breakthrough, even though James wasn’t entirely positive Michael completely understood the lesson. But he was striving beyond James’s wildest hope, progressing from animal grunts to spoken words in only a few sessions. He was obviously an intelligent man who’d been trapped by fate. His mind had been waiting to be freed. Now he could grow into the man he was meant to be. James cautioned himself not to overload Michael with new concepts. Today he’d taught him a few words, shown him some pictures and given him a name. That was sufficient. Besides, he must return to camp and then to the ruins where plenty of work awaited him—work he would’ve been thrilled about at the start of this expedition, but which now seemed a chore. “I must go.” He pointed in the direction of camp. James started to slide off the log, but Michael grabbed his arm and pulled him back, groaning in disapproval. He touched James’s mouth with his finger, leaving his lips tingling. Michael frowned and blew a frustrated breath. He wanted something but didn’t know how to ask for it. “You want me to teach you more words? Not right now. I really should go. Maybe I can manage to come back later.” “Sss!” Michael hissed then made a humming sound in his throat, tuneless at first then resolving into notes. It was James’s turn to puzzle out the other man’s meaning. When he recognized the tune, he laughed. “You want me to sing the star song again. Very well.” He chanted “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” once, twice, three times. With each repetition, Michael focused more intently on his face, watching his mouth and listening so hard his expression was grim. After the third repetition, James stopped. “You do remember this song, don’t you? I wish you could tell me about your family and how you were lost. I wonder how young you were and how you happened to be taken in by the apes.” That was the real wonder of it—that an animal mother would be affected enough by the plight of an abandoned child to raise it. But sometimes the maternal instinct was very strong. James’s boyhood dog had once grown very attached to a baby chick that followed him around the yard. When the chick

became a hen, it appeared to forget its former attachment and pecked at the poor dog. James considered again how marvelous it would be to see the gorilla tribe. Maybe Michael would be willing to take him to where they lived. He opened the animal book to the gorilla page and tapped the illustration with his finger. “Ape.” He pointed up the mountain, swept his finger back and forth between them and pointed up the mountain again. “You take me to apes?” Michael glanced in the direction he pointed and looked at the ape lithograph. He pushed the book away with a swipe of his hand that nearly knocked it from James’s grasp. His negative seemed pretty clear. “All right.” James nodded. Maybe given time he could persuade him. After returning the book to the bag, he hopped off the log. “I really must go now. But I’ll see you again. Here.” He indicated the fallen tree which the forest was slowly reabsorbing vine by vine. He raised a hand in farewell and turned to walk away through the trees. When he glanced back, Michael was gone. The camp was in a flurry with almost everyone preparing to head to the ruins, except for Professor Hatchett, who was feverish, and Dr. George Langley, the physician, who was also feeling under the weather. Now that the expedition which he’d generously funded and which bore his name appeared to have found something notable, Rutherford had laid his bottle aside and was in full gear, ready to trek to the site with the rest of the group. Until now the self-styled great adventurer had seemed more content to stay at camp playing cards with his valet and drinking. At the site, the party swarmed over the ruins and various factions argued about how the work should be accomplished. The archeologists planned to cordon off areas and strictly prohibit the number of people allowed inside to carefully remove earth from around the fallen stones. Others were in a hurry to find more interesting artifacts than a lot of rubble, science giving way to avarice at the hope of finding gold or gems. James stayed out of the arguments and worked in the zone he’d been assigned, digging cautiously. He didn’t find anything too exciting except a flat slab of rock which may have been the hearthstone of a fireplace. The fact that anyone had erected stone buildings in this remote location was fascinating. He imagined how people might have quarried and moved the rocks and wondered why they would have built here on the mountain so far from water? Perhaps there’d been a water source that later dried up. Or perhaps they’d been driven by another tribe from wherever they’d lived before and were forced to relocate here. Possible scenarios were intriguing, but the actual labor was tedious as he brushed dirt from a rock that turned out to be nothing but a rock. Then Professor Roger Crate found a stone bowl and pestle, completely intact and buried together. The miraculous find brought everyone over to congratulate him. The afternoon was waning and James had his own agenda to fulfill, one that involved a living man rather than long-dead ones. He felt a little guilty about leaving the work, but was too impatient to wait until tomorrow to try to see Michael again. He made the excuse of returning to camp to check on Professor Hatchett’s health. Smythe appointed a bearer to accompany him. As James trekked through the jungle, he saw no sign of Michael. What did he expect? That the man did

nothing but linger around and watch for him to be alone? Well, yes. That’s exactly what he imagined. James believed Michael was always nearby watching. How could he not be fascinated with the strangers in his world? After all, he’d found his own kind at last.

Chapter Seven After stopping by Hatchett’s tent, mopping his mentor’s feverish brow with tepid water and telling him about the dig, James made his escape from camp. He packed some chicken from the previous night’s supper and then, on a whim, added his shaving kit to the pack. He walked toward the spot where he and Michael had had their earlier tryst. One bit of jungle looked much like the next and there wasn’t a blazed trail. After he’d wandered for a bit, long enough to grow a little nervous about his exact location, Michael suddenly materialized before him. “How do you pop up like that?” James exclaimed. “You’re as silent as a shadow.” The ape-man grunted and disappeared into the brush. James followed until they came to the clearing with the fallen tree trunk. He rummaged in his pack and brought out the parcel of chicken and rice he’d brought. “I have something for you.” He unwrapped and held out the offering. Michael stared at the food, leaned toward it and sniffed like a curious dog. “Try it. I promise it’s better than the hardtack and jerky. Awful stuff.” The other man looked into his eyes then at the meat. He took a piece and sampled it. James smiled as his face reflected his pleasure. Michael grabbed the rest of the food and gobbled it down, licking his fingers when he was through. “I’ll try to bring you more tomorrow,” James promised. “How you survived on a diet of insects and fruit for all these years I can’t imagine. Now, I have something else to show you.” He took his shaving kit from the bag. He didn’t know how Michael might like a sharp razor scraping over his face or if he had the right to alter this man’s appearance. The foolish trappings of civilization—a shaved face, shorn hair, clothing—didn’t apply to his life. There were many more important things to teach him such as basic communication. But James had noticed when Michael touched his face he’d seemed fascinated by his smooth cheeks and jaw. Maybe he’d feel more like a human if James styled him in his image. Taking the hand mirror from his kit, he showed Michael his reflection. The man became lost in the study of his own face, opening and closing his mouth, blinking his eyes, poking at his cheek and watching the results in his reflection. At last James took the mirror from him and propped it against a branch of the log. Pouring water from his canteen into the small basin, he made lather in his shaving mug and applied it to his face. When he stroked the razor up his neck, Michael hooted softly and leaned in to watch, looking back and forth between James and his distorted reflection in the wavy mirror.

Eager to get past the demonstration on his already shaven face, James made short work of the job before wiping away the remaining lather. He emptied the dirty water from the basin and poured fresh, and then stropped the blade to sharpen it. Grasping Michael’s hand, he brought it to his face. The man touched him all over, testing the smoothness of his cheeks and jaw. James could smell him—not the sour smell of old sweat but an earthy, masculine odor that made his belly tighten with desire. James tugged lightly on Michael’s beard. “Do you want me to shave you?” For a moment, the other man stared at him blankly, then he grunted, which James took as an assent. James had Michael sit on the ground and knelt by him with the basin by his side and a towel slung over his shoulder—a strange barber in an even more bizarre setting with forest green all around and exotic birds darting occasionally overhead. With the scissors from his kit he clipped the thickest part of the beard prior to plying the razor. As the hair fell away, his subject held completely still. When James had finished, Michael already looked better with a neatly trimmed beard. More civilized. He met Michael’s gaze as he reached for his face again and held his jaw. “This won’t hurt but you must hold very still. Trust me.” Again James felt a twinge of discomfort. Was his task as a scientist to civilize the wild man or study him in his current habitat? He gazed at the shaving brush in his hand, and the gleaming razor lying against the strop. Michael rubbed his hand over his gold-bearded chin and then reached to touch James’s cheek again. His action seemed to indicate he wanted James to continue until he was equally smooth-shaven. “All right, if you’re sure. But I have to warn you, I’ve never shaved any neck except my own. I promise to be careful.” James brushed shaving soap liberally over Michael’s jaw and chin, tipping his head back to lather his neck. Then it was time for the razor. James’s heart beat faster as he brought the sharp blade to Michael’s throat. One surprised jerk from Michael and he might accidentally nick him. But the man held perfectly still, head tipped back to allow James to scrape the hair from his throat. Only days ago, he’d been wary and wild and afraid to come close. Now he appeared to not only accept James’s presence but to trust him completely. Keeping his hand sure and steady, he quickly shaved the vulnerable neck, then grasped Michael’s chin and drew his head down to begin work on his face. Each scrape of the razor revealed more of his strong jaw and chin. James tried to ignore how attractive he was. He reminded himself this shave had nothing to do with wanting to see more of Michael’s face, but was an attempt to help him more closely identify with his humanity. The proximity of his body bent over Michael’s coupled with their isolation in this pastoral spot gave a heightened sense of intimacy. James was acutely aware of every sensation: the leather grip of the razor, the slippery lather, the texture of Michael’s beard and skin, and the man’s warm exhalations tickling his hand. He was also deeply aware of the man’s nude body heating his own. Desire rolled through him once more. Had it ever really stopped? He’d seemed to be in a state of semi-permanent arousal ever since he’d met the jungle man. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get him out of his mind or view him objectively as an anthropologist was supposed to. Blue eyes stared into his from close…so close. James fancied he might tumble into them and fall inside

Michael’s mind, where he would see everything Michael had ever seen or known. He would view the world with the singular vision of a primitive man and realize nothing was as he’d believed it to be. The roles men played, the rules they followed, the lines they spoke, the causes they believed in, were all a charade and only the primal man underneath was real. Michael blinked and the connection was broken. James breathed again. He drew away from the other man to rinse the razor in the water and dry it thoroughly. “There. You’re all finished and you look very debonair.” He smiled when Michael put both hands to his face to feel his newly smooth skin. His eyes were wondering as his fingers trailed over cheeks, upper lip, jaw and chin. James held the mirror in front of him, and once more, Michael examined himself, pinching and pulling at his skin, showing his teeth and screeching, squinting his eyes. He stuck out his tongue and licked it over his lips, making James’s heart skip a beat, and then smoothed his palms over his face and neck again, enjoying the feeling of his own skin. Michael touched his own mouth then reached out and pressed his fingers against James’s lips, his chin and jaw. He compared the way they felt and then he smiled—a real smile, not the teeth-baring grimace he made when mimicking James. His entire face lit up. His eyes crinkled at the corners and deep grooves cut into his cheeks, bracketing his mouth. No nonsense about skipping a beat—James’s heart stopped entirely. The man was absolutely striking, as beautiful as an angel when he smiled. James reached out slowly and cupped that hard masculine jaw. He rubbed his thumb lightly over Michael’s full lower lip and his mouth opened. His smile disappeared but the joy remained in his eyes as he gazed back at James. A kiss. Just one kiss. Surely one won’t hurt anything. One kiss.James’s mind clamored like Evan Blake’s when the man latched onto a subject and wouldn’t let it go.Lean in. You want it. You have to have it. One little kiss. He wants it too. Can’t you see the yearning in his eyes? It’s all right. Do it. James leaned closer. His lips parted. But Michael couldn’t know what he wanted. He was an innocent. James was the first human he’d met so of course he was attached to him, maybe even attracted to him. Michael was in the prime of his life and had never seen a woman. He must be so sexually charged he’d want to hump anything—even the gorillas he lived with. For all James knew, he did just that. This growing tension between them was only because Michael didn’t know the alternative. Raised in normal, human society, no doubt he’d be as heterosexual as the next man—as long as the next man wasn’t James Litchfield. Releasing Michael’s face, James drew back and busied himself with emptying the shaving mug and bowl and drying them out before packing everything away. “I’ll cut your hair next time,” he promised, glancing at Michael’s tangled mop. But he didn’t know if he should continue to perform such personal tasks if they were going to have this radical effect on him. “Now I should return to camp. It’s late. They’ll be returning from the ruins and I should be there.” He rose and Michael did, too. For the first time James was glad to end their session. He needed some distance and time to collect himself, especially since, shaven, Michael was even more attractive to him. He could hardly corral his galloping desires.

James buckled the straps of his knapsack and lifted it onto his shoulders before he finally looked at Michael again. The man stood in the murky green undergrowth, but a shaft of late afternoon sunshine speared between branches and gilded him in gold. Unfair! James did not need the extra stimulation—he was captivated enough without witnessing the jungle man’s transformation into a tawny-haired, lithe-bodied Adonis. “All right then. I’ll try to meet you again tomorrow.” He turned away, his stomach lurching as Michael whimpered softly. James felt like he’d rejected a stray which wanted to follow him home. There was no way he could explain his need to continually leave Michael to go back to his own kind. He hoped the ape-man understood.

Odd One watched Sky Eyes—James—walk away, heading back to his group. Again. It wasn’t as if he wanted to go with James to meet all those strangers. As much as he looked like them, he was not one of them. He felt in his gut there would be trouble if he went among them. But he also didn’t want to be alone any more, especially now that he knew what it felt like to be with someone. What he really wanted was for James to stay with him here and finish whatever he’d been about to do when he’d touched his mouth. Odd One’s lips still felt the contact of those warm fingers. He rubbed a thumb over his mouth as James had. How strange not to have hair anywhere on his face. When he’d looked at his reflection in James’s hard water—a mirror, he’d called it—Odd One had felt like he was looking at one of the strangers. He understood the image was him. When he blinked his eyes and bared his teeth, the image did the same, but it was hard to believe the pale, hairless face was what he looked like. No wonder the Others—the apes—rejected him. And yet his own image didn’t appear ugly to him, nor did James’s face or the shape of his body. In fact, the sight of the man pleased him very much, the blue eyes and the soft lips on a mouth that made so many interesting sounds. Odd One felt comfortable with him, as if he’d found the place where he fit, yet uncomfortable at the same time. A yearning heated his insides and made his cock grow hard often when he was around James. The way the man smelled and the way his muscles moved made Odd One’s stomach hurt, but the ache only increased whenever James went away. He felt constantly hungry for something he couldn’t have. Odd One had felt James was about to mount him just now, but maybe he’d mistaken the attraction. Maybe his face and form were repulsive to the other man. Maybe he didn’t want to mate with him. Or maybe men did things differently than apes. He shook off the swirl of conflicting thoughts with an annoyed grunt. There was too much going on in his mind these days. It was exhausting. He almost longed for the days when he had nothing more to concentrate on than filling his belly and finding a place safe from predators to sleep at night. Almost. But spending a day with the apes had reminded him of all the reasons he’d begun thinking it was time to strike out on his own. Old Grunt had been surly. Some of the younger males had caught his mood and harassed Odd One. He’d remained at the fringe, foraging with other weaklings and outcasts. Even among those with abnormalities—a misshapen foot, a frail body, a weak mind—Odd One was the lowest. No one had driven him away. They’d simply ignored him.

After a day he’d returned to watching the foreigners and waiting for James to come to him. When they’d moved their camp, he’d been afraid they were leaving him behind, alone once more. He’d followed closely. But the next day James had come searching for him and had given him a name—Michael. It was hard to think of himself by that word, which didn’t mean anything to him. He’d been the outsider for so long.Odd One described his relationship to the apes and without it he didn’t know exactly who he was. Stooping to pick up the stick he’d placed by the fallen tree, Odd One poked at the rotted stump left behind when the great tree had broken. It took some prying to get into the decayed heart where busy insects tunneled. He ate all he could before they scattered, remembering the delicious taste of the meat James had given him. His stomach rumbled at the memory, wanting more. Odd One trotted off to search for a burrow he might dig up to find baby rodents to kill and eat. That was another thing that made him Odd One. The apes ate only fruit, leaves, roots and grubs gleaned from the forest. And although the males sometimes fought for dominance, they rarely killed each other. Being driven from the group was the biggest punishment. When he was small, Odd One used to be terrified of that fate. How would he live without them? Now it seemed he was ready to leave the clan behind and begin a new life as “Michael.” Maybe that name meant he belonged with James.

Chapter Eight Whenever James could manage, he slipped away from his duties, letting the majority of the expedition think he was back at camp and those at camp assume he was at the ruins. He tried many ways of reaching out to Michael over the next days, introducing him to new foods, using songs to teach him words, giving him paper and pencil to draw with and showing him how to use the penknife as a tool. He tried not to push for results, but let his learning unfold naturally. Michael was an eager pupil and it wasn’t hard to inspire him. He grasped the idea of putting pencil to paper and sketched crude illustrations of the world around him. A lifetime of studying the natural life of the area made him an expert at details. It was simply a matter of learning to control his hand and train it to depict what his brain already knew. Michael showed James how he’d been using the pointed stick to make pictures in smooth dirt or his finger dipped in berry juice to draw on a light rock. Even without other humans with whom to communicate, he’d instinctively tried to illustrate scenes from his life. This desperate desire for connection struck James hard as he considered the utter loneliness of Michael’s life. He longed to pull him into his arms and hug him to make up for all he’d lost. After spending several more days together, Michael could correctly use a handful of words. He knew his own name and James’s. He knewman, ape, sky, dirt, sun, leaf, water, food. Nouns were easy. James would have to be more innovative in teaching him more esoteric concepts. For his part, Michael showed James how to survive in the wild. There were things to eat all around, whether James found them appetizing or not. One could collect morning dew on large leaves to drink and there were hidden streams under the forest floor. A poke with a stick in the right spot and muddy water would bubble to the surface.

Michael showed him some of the wildlife that always seemed to lurk just out of sight: a family of bongos, a herd of elephants grazing, nesting birds and once, a column of deadly driver ants devouring everything in their path. Michael even helped James climb up one of the tall trees where they observed Colobus monkeys at play. But every time James asked again about seeing the gorillas, Michael ignored his request. He clearly wasn’t ready to merge his two worlds. James could understand that. They were two aspects of his life which he didn’t necessarily care to mingle. Each day James grew more fascinated by the man who was no longer a subject of scientific study to him, if he ever had been, but an individual with a personality and feelings. He wasn’t always certain how Michael’s mind worked. Too many years of living solely with animals had reduced him to a collection of primitive instincts in many ways. But there were depths beyond that. James caught glimpses of the fully realized man Michael might have been under normal circumstances. Strong and resilient, he also seemed to have an innate sensitivity and depth of emotion. Once, when James was worried about Hatchett’s continued ill health, Michael frowned and thumped James’s shoulder with his hand. He shifted restlessly and hooted with a questioning lilt. Words couldn’t more clearly have expressed his desire to know what was bothering James. “The man I was with when we met, Professor Hatchett, is very ill. It appears to be malaria and we’re treating it with quinine, but our camp doctor is almost as sick and hasn’t been able to examine him. Hatchett’s quite old and he’s weakening every day. I don’t know if he can pull through this.” He pictured the frail man sweating and shaking from fever and looking about a hundred years older than he had only a few days earlier. Of course, Michael couldn’t understand anything he was saying, but it felt good to voice his fears aloud. Back at camp everyone tiptoed around the subject, not admitting how dire Hatchett’s condition had become. Michael gave a grunt, sympathizing with whatever was bothering James, and reached out to pat his hair. The heavily stroking hand eloquently expressed his concern and warmly comforted James, making his eyes sting with unshed tears. He smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be all right. Probably Hatchett will be too. But thank you.” “Good?” Michael used one of his new words. “Good,” James confirmed. That same day when he returned to camp, Evan Blake was waiting in their tent to pounce on him. “Litchfield, I know something’s up. Tell me where you’ve been going every day. And don’t say you’ve been tending Hatchett. I know better.” James was taken aback. He’d become too comfortable with his fabrications that allowed him to spend time with Michael. He’d felt invisible, invulnerable, but he should’ve known he couldn’t keep a secret for long here. At least one pair of eyes had been watching him and of course they had to belong to the curious Blake. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He placed his pack on his cot and began to unpack it as if he

hadn’t a concern in the world. “Don’t try it on with me. I’m not a fool. I can see what’s in front of me.” Blake crossed the small space to stand beside him. “It’s about that ape-man, isn’t it? You’ve been pursuing him rather than going to the dig. Have you found him?” James exhaled harshly and faced his roommate. “Don’t be ridiculous. If I’d found him, don’t you think I would’ve shared that discovery with the group?” “No,” Blake answered flatly. “And I notice you don’t deny it. Youhave found him, haven’t you? You’ve been studying him.” Study was hardly the right word for what he’d been doing. A scientist was supposed to observe and catalog nature, not interfere with it. And an anthropologist was meant to take notes about other cultures, not try to change them. Again he wondered if he’d overstepped his bounds by trying to reclaim Michael rather than simply surveying him as a unique specimen. He met Blake’s stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Tell me or I’ll tell them.” The man pointed a pudgy finger at the door. “Tell me and I’ll help you. I can go with you and take notes, too. It’s not safe for you to go off alone like this.” “There’s nothing to tell.” James shrugged, and thought up a half-truth. “You’re right. I have been searching for the so-called ape-man but I can’t say I’ve had any success.” He couldn’t say because he wouldn’t. Blake pushed his spectacles up his nose. The wire rims had left permanent marks on the bridge and on his chubby cheeks. “I know you think little of me, Litchfield, but I can be of use to you if you let me. I promise to keep your secret and not interfere with your work if you’ll only tell me what you’ve found out. I know there’s something.” James held the notebook he’d pulled from his knapsack, the one containing sketches of Michael as well as drawings in the man’s own hand. He was a terrible liar, always had been—except about his homosexual proclivities. That was the one secret he’d kept and the biggest lie he lived. He exhaled another sigh. “All right, Blake. Here it is. But if you tell one other soul—” “I won’t. I promise. Absolutely.” The man actually crossed his heart like a schoolboy pledging an oath to a mate. “Ihave encountered the ape-man on more than one occasion.” How much to tell? “In fact, I’ve interacted with him and begun to communicate with him in a rudimentary fashion.” “Oh, my! That’s astonishing. Why have you kept it a secret? You should be proud of such an accomplishment. Everyone will want to know about this.” “Blake!” James warned. He waved a hand. “I won’t tell. I promised. But why won’t you?” “The situation is delicate. I don’t want to frighten him away. He trusts me. But if an entire party of academics descend on him, I don’t know what he’ll do. It would be too much, don’t you see?”

The other man nodded. “But what about one other man? Just me? Can I come with you? I promise I’ll be as quiet as a church mouse. If you plan to introduce this man to civilization, you have to start someplace. You can’t keep him to yourself forever.” James’s stomach lurched. What Blake said was true. He didn’t want his time alone with Michael to be interrupted. He didn’t want to share him with anyone. Once the rest of the expedition knew about him, which of course they must eventually, this special time of getting to know one another would be over. Michael would become a specimen again instead of James’s friend. “I’d have to prepare him for the idea first,” he hedged. “How do you contact him? Is he close by all the time? Does he watch the camp? Is he watching even now? What about the apes? Have you seen them? Have you seen him interact with them?” Blake’s voice pitched a little higher with each question. He glanced at James’s notebook. “Have you been writing everything down? Can I read it?” James held up a hand. “Enough. If you can be calm, maybe I’ll take you to meet him soon. But if you’re going to get so excited—” “I won’t be. I can be quiet. But this is phenomenal. A man raised by apes is a story every newspaper will want to print. The public will be much more interested in this than in the discovery of some old ruins.” James’s blood froze at the thought. “I don’t wish to gain fame for this, Blake. The ape-man is not some anomaly but a real person who must be protected from the world.” “Of course, absolutely. But a book, Litchfield. You could write a book about your experience and I could help you with the project, organizing your notes or helping you test and teach him. Whatever you wish, I’m at your command.” “You’re Professor Albermarle’s assistant and your discipline is zoology.” Blake shrugged. “He can do without me. This could be one of the biggest finds of the century. Your name will go down in history as the explorer who found and domesticated a lost man raised by apes. I want to be a part of it.” He paused then added, “Think of the money you can make in book sales and public appearances. Lecture halls, salons, you’ll be in demand everywhere. You and… What are you calling the ape-man?” He didn’t wait for an answer but rushed on. “This is like the Elephant Man, John Merrick. The wealthy are fascinated by the unusual and unique. Being his protector could gain you entrée into the highest levels of society, even hobnobbing with royalty.” James slammed his fist down on the knapsack with a punch loud enough to startle Blake. The fact that some of these same thoughts—publication in a scientific journal, respect of his peers, fame—had occurred to him made him ill now. “Stop! He is not a sideshow freak and he does have a name—Michael.” Blake’s eyebrows shot up. “Michael? How did you come to call him that? Do you have an idea where he came from?”

“No. It seems he may remember a little of his childhood, but I’m not certain how much. As for the name—” James had no ready response, “—it simply felt appropriate.” “Very well. Michael it is.” Blake pushed at his glasses again in a habitual nervous gesture. “I do understand what you’re saying. You don’t want him to be hurt or overwhelmed by attention. I promise to be circumspect. Absolutely. If you’ll only let me come along.” James felt cornered and understood a trapped animal’s desire to lash out, even at a helping hand, but he held his temper. “Let me go to him tomorrow and suggest his meeting you. If you would cover for me at camp, it would be very helpful.” Blake bobbed his head and repeated his favorite word. “Absolutely.” And so the following day James went to meet Michael with a heavy heart and a sick stomach, knowing their days of private interaction were nearing an end. He’d soon have to share Michael with the world—maybe only a little at first, but Blake was right, a bizarre story like this would capture public attention when the expedition returned to England. A story this romantically tragic could not be kept secret for long. Michael waited for him at the fallen tree, which had become their daily meeting spot. He held something in his hands and came toward James to offer it to him. The object was a dead lizard with the skin peeled off. Michael brandished the penknife James had given him and smiled. “Good. Knife.” “Yes. It’s a good knife.” James reluctantly accepted the skinned lizard, wondering if he’d have to take a bite of the raw meat in order to show his appreciation. His stomach revolted at the thought, and he couldn’t stifle a grimace of disgust as he took the floppy dead thing into his hands. He examined, nodded and tried to hand back the corpse. Michael pushed it toward him and made an eating gesture while repeating another of his new words. “Eat.” “Um, I’m not hungry. Thank you.” James firmly thrust the animal toward Michael, who accepted it and began to devour it. James looked away until he was finished, trying not to hear the crunches of small bones. When Michael finished, he headed toward a nearby water source, one James was familiar with now after days spent in his company. After both men had drunk their fill, Michael looked at James with his bright gaze which seemed to ask, “What are we doing today?” “Michael, you want to meet men?” James pointed in the direction of camp. “Do you want to come with me?” The other man’s face went still, his expression unreadable. “You don’t need to be afraid,” James said softly. “I’ll be with you.” How he wished Michael could understand all of his words, but much of their communication took place through tone and facial expressions. He thought Michael understood he offered support. A thought struck him. “Perhaps we could make a trade. I’ll go to your world first then introduce you to mine.” He rested his hand on Michael’s arm and looked into his eyes. “Take me to the apes.”

For once Michael didn’t brush his request aside. He paused, thinking, and then grunted an affirmative.

The trek to the gorilla tribe was much longer than James had expected. He followed Michael’s unflagging pace uphill on a northerly angle, trudging until the back of his legs ached and sweat poured down his body from fighting through the thick branches and vines. He wanted to call out to his guide, signal him he needed to rest for a few minutes, but pride kept his legs moving and his mouth shut. James began to rue his impulsive decision and wish he was safely at camp with a cup of tea in his hand. It seemed he was no adventurer when it came right down to it. When Michael stopped at last, James nearly plowed into him. Michael thumped him in the chest with the back of his hand and made a huffing sound which he took to mean he wasn’t to follow any longer. Collapsing onto the ground, James rested his arms on his bent knees. Michael crouched, losing his upright stance and transforming into something more primitive before disappearing into the undergrowth. The gorillas must be near, James guessed, and Michael was checking out their receptivity to having a stranger in their midst. Alone in the wilderness, James waited for whatever would happen next. Mosquitoes whined near his ears. He waved a hand to shoo them from his face, and slapped one on the back of his hand. The air was close and he had the odd sensation that the entire jungle was waiting along with him. His head felt muzzy and thick, as though wrapped in layers of cotton, and a sip of water from his canteen didn’t begin to slake his raging thirst. How long had he waited? Would Michael come back for him? If something happened to his guide, James would be stranded here in the jungle, far from the campsite. He didn’t know if he could find his way back, certainly not before night fell. Anxiety hummed in his veins and he drummed his fingers against his leg as he gazed at the busy bugs scurrying over the forest floor. Just then, the bushes rustled and Michael appeared once more. He grunted at James and turned to head back the way he came. James obediently followed in the same awkward crouch, his gaze trained on the flexing muscles of Michael’s buttocks and legs. His heart beat fast in anticipation of seeing a sight few had ever witnessed—gorillas in their natural habitat. He felt as if he was being ushered into the presence of royalty. When Michael motioned him to stop, James immediately held still, and together they peered through the curtain of leaves at the sight before them. James caught his breath when a dark shape he’d mistaken for part of a tree trunk moved. The gorilla crossed the ground on all fours, its front hands acting temporarily as feet. Wide at the shoulders, its body narrowed to smaller hindquarters. Since the animal’s backside was to him, he couldn’t see its face, only the gray crest on its head and back, sprinkled with white hairs. James turned his head toward Michael and the small motion brought the ape’s attention to him. It faced him from across a span of no more than a dozen yards—keen brown eyes under a jutting ridge of brow studying him with an intelligence that was astonishing. James almost felt the need to introduce himself formally and say hello. Instead, he lowered his head and kept his eyes down-turned but stole glances at the majestic animal. The gorilla lumbered closer. It grunted and huffed curious breaths from its flat nose. James was acutely aware that the hulking ape probably weighed twice as much as he did. If it chose to charge him or swipe at his head with its powerful arm, he’d be dead. He might draw his gun, but by the time he’d cocked and

aimed, the attack would be over. Besides, he didn’t intend to kill the animals he wished to study and he wouldn’t betray Michael’s trust in that way. If he sat very still, the gorilla lord might decide he was harmless enough and let him be. James’s heart pounded so hard he could barely breathe. He risked another glance from beneath his brows. The gorilla with the frosted fur sniffed the air before rising on hind legs and giving a roar that echoed through the forest and showed sizeable canines. James swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, the ape had turned away to range slowly through the undergrowth. From the corner of his eyes, James noted that Michael crouched nearby, one hand holding the latest sharpened stick he’d whittled with James’s knife. He would have intercepted if the gorilla had attacked. James had no doubt of it. And the import of what that meant—that Michael would turn against those who had raised him in order to protect James—was not lost on him. His throat tightened with emotion. Michael led him in the same direction the silverback had gone. The trees grew sparser as they reached the edge of the forest. There Michael stopped again and James did, too. Spread about before them was open land dotted with occasional trees. Roaming over the landscape were several of the great apes. James looked from one animal to another—all different sizes, their fur in various shades of dark gray to black. Excitement swelled through him at witnessing the sight of a living gorilla tribe. None of the other apes was anywhere near as large as the first one James had seen, confirming his assumption that Michael had introduced him to the leader first. He guessed the foraging gorillas were mostly females and their offspring dominated by the single older male. In lion prides, males reached maturity and left or were driven from the group by the dominant male. But since little was known about the great apes, this was only James’s hypothesis. Most Europeans seemed more interested in shooting and stuffing the apes they encountered. Gorilla hands or feet bought from local tribesmen were popular souvenirs for many who made the trip to Africa. The animals were aware of James’s presence. Many watchful eyes glanced his way as the gorillas stripped sapling shoots or ate the leaves and berries. He would have expected them to flee from a new animal suddenly in their midst, but maybe his appearance in Michael’s company made him nonthreatening. Or maybe their leader’s sanction made him acceptable. His attention was drawn to a pair of little ones chasing one another around with wild screeches. When the pursuer caught his quarry, he tackled him to the ground where they wrestled like any young animals—kittens, puppies or children. He smiled at their antics. It was late afternoon now, the heat of the day alleviating as the sun drew closer to the horizon, but it was still plenty hot to be sitting still in the moist tropical heat. Sweat bathed James’s body. His skin prickled and he felt lightheaded and very thirsty but daren’t reach for his canteen. The last thing he wanted was to startle the animals to flight. He blinked away a droplet of perspiration that dripped into his eye and focused on the silverback who sat in kingly state beneath a tree, eating a piece of fruit. Langley, the expedition’s botanist, might know what it was. Ripe red juice dribbled over the silverback’s huge hand as he brought the fruit to his mouth and devoured it in several bites. James’s stomach rumbled. He wouldn’t mind having one of those fruits—or even some of the awful hardtack buried in his pack, which was still hanging from his shoulders and giving him a backache. After a few more moments of silent observation, James could stand the weight no longer. He carefully

slipped the straps off his shoulders and let the heavy bag slide to the ground. Immediately the foraging beasts were alerted. Heads went up. Hoots and screeches resounded. Teeth were bared. One of the females screamed at the playing children, calling them to her. The king went from at ease to full alert in a heartbeat, rolling to all fours and charging across the bit of open ground that separated him from James and Michael. Michael leaped in front of James, blocking the silverback’s approach. He roared a warning as he faced off against the leader. The big ape casually cuffed him aside, knocking him to the ground with one blow of his great, hairy arm. James cowered, head lowered, body frozen although his legs were itching to run like hell. He thought of the gun in his pack. Even if it was in his hand, the caliber of bullet wouldn’t be sufficient to slow this large creature. Abruptly the silverback came to a halt only a yard in front of James. Without lifting his face, James could see its furred chest rising and falling, the curled fingers pressed against the ground. He inhaled the overpowering, musky stench of the animal’s pelt and listened to the harsh rasp of its breathing. Heat from its body bathed him, or maybe that was only his own sweating flesh. James glanced past the beast at Michael, who pushed himself up to his hands and knees. James hoped he wouldn’t try to intercede again since the silverback was keeping his distance, groaning and snorting like an old man disturbed from a Sunday afternoon nap. It seemed the charge had been for show, to put James in his place. But since he’d demonstrated the proper humility, the king was going to let him go with a warning. Demonstrating his disdain, the beast turned its back on James and rocked away with an awkward, hunch-shouldered, four-legged gait. A couple of the little ones, who’d been watching from a safe distance, took a cue from the leader and made small charges of their own toward the interloper. They screeched and gave squeaking roars, showing their small but very sharp teeth. But their game ended abruptly when one of the mothers herded them away from James with a growl and a cuff of her hand. James looked to Michael, who’d risen and resumed chewing on leaves as if nothing had happened. He stripped a handful of leaves from one of the vines and brought them to James, offering them with a grunt. Fearing an onset of diarrhea from eating strange plants, James nevertheless tucked a leaf into his mouth and chewed, the bitter taste bursting fresh and sharp on his tongue. When Michael looked away, he spit the masticated leaf out. What he really needed was water. He couldn’t deny his thirst anymore. Risking another reprimand from the leader, James unscrewed the lid of his canteen and drank deeply of the lukewarm water. This time his movements were ignored. It was rather humiliating that a group of animals so quickly realized he was a weak creature, unworthy of their notice. The sun had dropped even lower in the sky. James knew he wouldn’t make it back to camp before nightfall and hoped Blake would cover for his absence. He sat quietly watching the gorillas as the shadows lengthened and the sky turned red. Several of the females groomed one another’s fur or shared food. Some roamed away from the troop, disappearing into the jungle. One of the mothers carried a baby held against her breast as she foraged. A pair of apes, perhaps young males, got into a squabble over a particularly tasty nest of termites. The fight ended when one screamed in anger and ran off into the jungle. There was a lot to watch and James enjoyed every minute of it, even though his head ached from

the unrelieved heat. He noted that Michael didn’t interact with the others but foraged at the edge of the group, keeping his distance. How isolated his life must have been. James wondered how Michael’s integration into humanity might be accomplished with the least shock to him. If only James could get the others to take his suggestions, but he knew how opinionated they could be, and Rutherford felt he had the right to be final arbiter of any decision. James feared the expedition would treat Michael as an exotic specimen, perhaps even lock him up, all in the name of science. Suddenly Michael was beside James, bumping his arm with the back of his hand and offering him a piece of the red fruit. James took the soft fruit, sniffed its fragrant ripeness, then decided to hang caution and eat it. He hadn’t had anything since early morning. The juice burst sweet on his tongue, bathing his parched throat and slaking his thirst a little. He nodded at Michael and gave a grunt of appreciation. When he was finished eating, Michael gave him another tap and led the way from the clearing. His audience with the gorilla tribe was evidently over. James took one last look around at the few foraging animals still left in the area in the purple twilight. For a brief moment his gaze met the king’s. Brown eyes gleaming, the silverback stared at him before turning his attention back to picking nits from his fur. Michael led James to a brackish stream, pushing leaves away until the water was revealed. The jungle man lay belly down and drank his fill. James followed his example. No water had ever tasted so good. “The sediment gives it a piquant bouquet,” he informed Michael. “Delicious.” The light was almost gone, murky twilight barely illuminating the trees around them. Between one moment and the next the sun set and the forest was plunged into absolute darkness. Neither star nor moonlight pierced the canopy of leaves. The heat, which had baked him all day, was gone and James shivered with a sudden chill. All the noises of insects, birds and animals, which were loud enough during the day, seemed a cacophony of sound tonight. His ears rang with the noise and his aching head whirled. For the first time, James began to wonder if his headache and sore throat were simply from heat and thirst. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that he might be coming down with a fever. But the way his skin burned and the way his head felt swollen and his tongue thick were signs something was amiss with him. He wrapped his arms around his trembling body and cursed his stupidity in not figuring this out earlier. As much as seeing the apes had been an experience of a lifetime, he would’ve put his health first and stayed at camp. In the darkness, he registered the pale gleam of Michael’s skin as the man sat beside him. Their arms pressed together, and even with his feverish flesh, or maybe because of it, James felt a surge of warmth pass through him at the contact. He felt keenly sensitive, his senses of smell and hearing increasing as darkness blocked his sight. Sitting here in the black jungle was like inhabiting some special world unrelated to regular life. No eyes to judge. No one to know if he slid his hand down Michael’s arm and grasped his hand. There was no harm in it. James wasn’t taking advantage of Michael’s innocence merely by holding his hand. He rubbed his thumb over the back, feeling the roughness of scarred skin and the warmth of blood pumping through his veins. This felt good and right. He was content simply to hold Michael’s hand like this. When Michael pulled his hand away to slip it around James’s back and draw his body closer, that closeness seemed right and natural, too. Hot skin slid against skin, a slick of sweat binding them together. It was good. No one was being hurt here. They were simply two human beings offering comfort to one another in the dark wilderness.

James turned his head a little and rested it against the other man’s shoulder. He inhaled the scent of his body, warm and earthy. He stuck out his tongue and tasted the salt collected above Michael’s collarbone. Then Michael was pulling him down onto the ground with him, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling his mouth against James’s hair. James felt the warmth of the other man’s breath tickle his ear, lips press against his jaw. So good, so right. There was nothing wrong with this at all. James slipped his hand around Michael’s waist, feeling the strong muscles of his sides, the smooth skin. His fingers splayed over the man’s broad back and held him close, body pressed to body as they lay on the forest floor. He was no longer chilled but feverish again. His cock grew harder with every moment they lay together, but because he wasn’t feeling well, his head still aching, James didn’t feel a sense of urgency. He was content simply to lie together in a protective embrace, shielding each other from the huge loneliness of the world around them. James lifted his face and felt Michael’s breath against his mouth, only inches separating them. Energy charged the air, sizzling through his body—or maybe that too was the fever. All he had to do was lean in and their lips would touch. James wanted it with an aching intensity that seized and rattled his bones. His eyes closed and he shifted forward an inch, a mere inch. And then they were kissing.

Chapter Nine James’s mouth was touching his and Michael had never felt anything like the powerful charge that crackled through him. He tightened the grip of his arms around the other man’s body, pulling him even closer as if he would absorb James’s body into his own. He pressed his lips against his. James’s mouth opened slightly at the pressure and he slid his tongue over Michael’s lips. It tickled and made him grunt in surprise. He started to pull back then stopped, allowing James’s tongue to flick between his lips and meet his own. Another hot bolt of desire shot through him. His cock rose stiff and hard as a tree branch between them, poking into James’s groin. Even through James’s layers of clothes, Michael could feel the bulge of his cock pushing back at him. More. He needed more than this. He needed to feel James’s skin rubbing against his all over. Was this the excitement the apes felt when they mounted their mates? At last he understood their urgent coupling. This feeling was like a fire blazing through him and James’s body was burning hot in his arms. He tugged at James’s shirt, trying to get it off. James pulled his mouth away and said something. Odd One only recognized the word “no” which meant something could not happen. He didn’t want to hear that so he held James even closer. James put his hand on Odd One’s face, cupping his jaw, and said his name, “Michael,” then a lot of other words that all sounded like “no.” Michael grew impatient. He knew what he wanted, what he needed, so he leaned in to take some more

of it, covering James’s mouth with his once more. His lips mashed hard against James’s, smothering those no words. James opened his mouth wider and their lips molded together, tongues swirling around each other. Strong feelings rolled like thunder through Michael, filling him with a deep rumbling. His hips rocked as he thrust his swollen cock against James’s hard bulge. He reached down to feel the length and thickness of the other man’s erection through his clothes, and then slipped his hand beneath his trousers to touch hot skin and solid flesh. James broke off the hungry meshing of their mouths with a gasp. “No.” He shook his head. “No, Michael.” He placed his fingers over Michael’s lips, stopping any further attack from his mouth and then James rolled away, turning his back. It wasn’t because he expected Michael to mount him. He wanted to stop what they were doing. Michael was so wide-awake and full of energy and desire he couldn’t believe the other man didn’t feel the same way. He whimpered in frustration and rubbed his cock against James’s backside a few times before sighing and stopping. The rejection shouldn’t surprise him. He was the Odd One, too different, too strange. James wasn’t interested in having sex with him. But at least he wasn’t moving away. He did allow Michael to continue to hold him close, body pressed to body, sharing heat and comfort. A surge of feeling rushed through him once more, something more than the need of his cock. This was a good, safe, warm feeling, which he hadn’t experienced since he was very small and Grub Picker used to hold him close to her big furry body and groom his hair. And before her…other hands and faces he could almost recall. Michael burrowed his face into the back of James’s neck, breathing in his scent. His body wrapped around the other man’s, fitting together like two pieces of a broken stone. Michael matched his breathing to the other man’s so even their chests rose and fell in the same rhythm. How good it felt to lie with someone rather than alone. He listened to the night sounds of the forest, attuned to anything out of the ordinary. If the frogs and insects fell silent it usually meant a predator was stalking and he would wake instantly. A powerful feeling of protectiveness rose in him. He would make sure no harm came to James, although his intentions had done no good when Old Grunt had charged and flung him out of the way. But if any predator came tonight, Michael would fight to the death to keep James safe. He slept lightly as he clasped the man in his arms and held him all night long, and when morning came he gazed with pleasure at James’s sleeping face. Thick eyelashes rested against his cheeks and Michael wanted to brush the tip of his finger over them to feel the fringe. Stubble covered James’s jaw and chin, and Michael did allow himself to scrape a finger over that roughness. He touched his own face. His hair was growing back, too. James had not taken it off with his sharp blade since the first time. Michael traced his finger over the sleeping man’s parted lips. Warm, moist air puffed from between them and he remembered what it had felt like to have that breath against his mouth, those soft lips pressed hard against his. His mouth tingled at the memory and his cock stirred once more. James’s brown hair tumbled over his forehead, strands sticking to the sweat on his brow. Michael smoothed the hair back, noting that his face was very hot. The night had been chilly. There was no reason for him to be sweating this much. Michael frowned, remembering the few times he’d been sick in his life—the heat that had raged through his body. Could James be sick?

He placed his palm against the man’s chest, feeling hard bone and the thumping of his heart through his clothes. It beat too fast as if James had been running rather than lying still. At least his breathing wasn’t harsh like Michael’s had been during that spell when he’d shivered and curled in a miserable ball, certain he would die. Michael was suddenly terrified James would never open his eyes again. He could die from whatever sickness had overtaken his body. Panic bubbled through him and he jostled the other man’s chest with his hand, trying to shake him awake. James frowned and opened his eyes. With a surge of relief Michael sat, grasped his hand and pulled him upright. James rubbed his forehead and the back of his neck and muttered something. Michael knew the word “camp.” His chest tightened. He’d hoped to keep James here with him longer, perhaps forever. But he’d always known that was impossible. He stood and helped James rise to his feet. The man swayed and pressed his hand to his forehead again, then to his stomach, rubbing as if it were sore. Perhaps something he’d eaten yesterday was making him feel bad. The awful white lump James had fed him the other day had sat in Michael’s stomach like a rock until he threw it up. Maybe James couldn’t eat the same leaves and fruit the apes did and getting it out of his stomach would make him better. Michael leaned him against a tree while he took his morning piss and James did the same, then Michael led him toward the man camp. It wasn’t a long distance, maybe a half day. But Michael had to move slowly because soon James could hardly walk at all. He staggered and rested against another tree. Opening his container of water, he tipped his head back and swallowed then stood with his eyes closed, the empty container dangling from his hand. His face was pale and glistening with sweat. Michael was afraid. James needed more water, but the next spot was an hour away. Sliding an arm around his back, Michael supported him as they walked on. The sun rose higher along with the heat, and the two men moved even slower. Michael stopped often to let James rest. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and took off his shirt. The thin white one underneath clung to James’s body. His arms, neck and chest were shiny with sweat. Michael would take him to the pool of water to soak, but it was too far away and in the opposite direction of the camp. He whined with worry, desperate to do something to ease James’s suffering, but all he could do was get him back on his feet and walking toward the next stream. When they reached water at last, James fell to his belly and drank deeply, scooping the cool liquid that welled from the ground in his cupped hands. Michael tugged at his arm to get him to stop. Too much water at once was not good. But James drank and drank. At last he lifted his dripping face with a sigh of satisfaction. A moment later he groaned and retched up all the water he’d drunk. Michael watched him, waiting for it to be over, wishing he could help. He should never have taken James away from his tribe. He’d made him sick, and now he didn’t know if the men could do anything to make James better even if Michael took him there. He forced James back to his feet. Now they were traveling down the mountain rather than climbing. James leaned against him more and more, his feet stumbling along. Then his eyes closed completely and his entire weight slumped against Michael.

Michael lowered him to the ground. He took off James’s pack, which he’d been wearing on his back. It was full of precious, important things James needed, but he’d have to leave it behind. He couldn’t carry both the heavy sack and James. He hefted the other man off the ground and slung him over his shoulders, grunting as the dead weight settled against his neck and back. Michael wrapped an arm around one of James’s legs, gripped his opposite wrist and trudged on. The extra weight made his footsteps heavy and the going hard as he maneuvered through the woods. Sweat slicked his body as the heat of the day reached its peak, but at last he heard the sounds of the camp ahead. Through a break in the trees he could see the white shelters and the men moving around, each so different. He was afraid of them. How would they react if he walked into their camp carrying James? Would they think Michael had hurt him? Maybe it would be best if he left James nearby and waited to make sure someone found him. James groaned and Michael knew he couldn’t do that. If the men were as clever as James, they could probably fix the sickness. He had to bring James to them right away so they could save him. His shoulders ached from carrying James and his legs felt as heavy as rooted tree trunks as he plodded from the jungle into the world of men.

Chapter Ten “I tried, Litchfield. I did everything I could to make them listen, but they tied him up anyway.” Blake’s nasal voice was whining before James had fully opened his eyes. He blinked and rolled his eyeballs to the right to look at his roommate looming over him. That tiny movement made the world spin and his head pound. He groaned. “He brought you into camp like some kind of hunter with wild game slung over his shoulders. It was terrifying. At first I thought you were dead, but then I realized it didn’t make sense. I mean why would he bring you here if he’d killed you? Even a primitive man isn’t that stupid.” James blinked and focused on Blake. “I covered for you as long as I could. When you weren’t at dinner the other night, I said you didn’t feel well and had gone to bed early. But I could hardly sleep from worrying and by mid-morning the next day, when you were still out there somewhere, I finally told the truth—about everything, about your work with the jungle man. I didn’t know what else to do. “They organized a search party to look for you, but since no one knew where to begin tracking you, they had to give up and come back to camp. In the late afternoon is whenhe came strolling into camp, carrying you on his back like a stevedore with a sack of grain.” James dry swallowed. He had no moisture in his mouth and his throat felt like the Sahara. “How long?” he croaked. “Two days you’ve been unconscious, sometimes out of your mind, rambling from the fever and other times as still and cold as a dead man.” Blake patted his arm. “I was afraid you weren’t going to make it. Hatchett didn’t. Dr. Langley did though. He’s back on his feet and treating you for malaria. We’ve been

dosing you with quinine like we did poor Hatchett.” Blake slipped his fingers beneath his spectacles to rub his eyes. “He was just too old to survive the fever.” James tried to feel something for the death of his mentor, but was too weak to dredge up any emotion except worry over Michael’s fate. “Michael.” He pushed the name out of his parched throat. “Where is he?” Blake shook his head. “Ah, you should’ve seen it! It was as if a lion had strolled into camp. The bearers yelled and yammered and I swear they would’ve stuck him with spears if they’d been carrying any. Smythe pointed a pistol at him and demanded he put you down. Of course, the poor primitive didn’t understand and just kept walking. My God, what a specimen he is. How strange to see a white man as dirty and naked as a savage. Astonishing that he has any meat on his bones, living the way he has all these years. Anyway, I grabbed Smythe’s arm and told him not to shoot.” Blake barely paused to draw breath before hurrying on. “Everyone was arguing about what should be done. Poor jungle man looked frightened out of his wits and ready to run off with you if things didn’t calm down. I walked toward him, hands up, and remembered what you’d said about giving him a name so I took a chance and called him Michael. He stopped walking and stared at me. You’ve really taught him his name. Amazing what the human brain is capable of. All of those lost years living like an animal and now he responds to a name.” It was comforting to have someone else understand the enormity of Michael’s capacity to learn. Blake might be an annoying bugger, but he was a good sort at heart. “What happened then?” James asked. “Here, drink this first.” Blake poured water from the jug on the nightstand into a mug and held it to James’s lips. He drank thirstily, nearly knocking the mug from Blake’s hands. Water sloshed onto his bare chest. It felt good. “I said his name again and beckoned for him to carry you to our tent. He was very obedient. He followed me, although he stopped outside the tent, afraid to enter. But I kept holding the flap back and pointing inside and finally he stooped and brought you in. Even Rutherford could see I knew what I was doing and kept his mouth shut. You know how he likes to order everyone around. Of course, all of them would’ve liked to pack into the tent, but there was only room for me and the ape-man. He laid you on your cot as tenderly as a nursemaid with a baby and stayed bent over you for a moment before he left the tent. “I went after him. I knew no one would let him simply walk out of camp. He’s too valuable. I tried to keep them from grabbing him. Better to earn his trust than fight his resistance.” James nodded. He liked Blake better by the moment, forgiving him every sleepless night of suffering through his snoring. He couldn’t have handled things better himself if he’d been conscious to do so. Blake blew out a breath of frustration. “But they wouldn’t listen. Michael was trying to leave camp, pushing his way through the crowd. Smythe and some of the bearers tackled him and dragged him to the ground. It took six of them to restrain him. He was screaming and lashing out like a wild animal. Smythe hit him in the head with the butt of his pistol and knocked him unconscious.” “Damn it!” James croaked.

“They tied him up to a pole in one of the tents with about fifty pounds of rope in knots a sailor couldn’t untie. And then our valiant leader, Sir Lewis, ordered a cage be built to house him for shipping back to England. The man plans to bring him to London and show him off like a sideshow attraction.” Blake had the grace to blush since he’d suggested a similar idea not too long ago. “I can see now how wrong that is.” James felt sick and didn’t know how much was from his spinning head and churning stomach which didn’t want to accept the water he’d drunk, and how much was his horror over Michael’s treatment. He must be terrified. He struggled to rise, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I’ve got to see him.” Black spots danced in front of his eyes and his arms collapsed beneath his weight. He fell back onto the cot. Blake rested a hand on his chest. “Easy, my boy. You’ll do no one any good if you have a relapse. Get some rest. I’ll bring Rutherford to talk to you. You can explain your work with Michael and persuade him to let you continue on the course you’ve set.” “No, I need to see him now,” James murmured, but his vision fogged and his consciousness drifted away like smoke.

Michael slumped against the strong vines that tied him to a pole made from a stripped tree trunk. He’d thrashed and struggled until his skin was raw from rubbing against the rough jute, but he couldn’t get free. He whimpered in distress and stared from beneath his tangled hair at the white walls of his prison. The smell of man was strong here, along with many other unfamiliar smells. This was the world he’d watched and longed for since he’d first followed James back to camp. He’d sat in his perch in a tree at night and wondered what it would be like to be part of the man tribe. Now he was here and all he wanted was to return to the forest where he belonged. He wondered if James was better or if he’d died. He whimpered again at the thought. He wished he knew if he was all right. But if James was better wouldn’t he have come to him by now? Michael couldn’t believe he’d abandon him. Not James, who smiled so warmly and whose mouth tasted like ripe fruit. Michael squeezed his eyes shut, taking himself away from this frightening place, back to the night when he’d held James in his arms, their bodies pressed close together. For the first time ever he hadn’t felt like Odd One. He was Michael who belonged with James. It was the most content he’d ever been. What would happen to him now? What did the men plan to do with him? He’d smelled burned flesh over their fires many evenings. Perhaps they would kill and eat him. His stomach tightened in fear. He’d fought death too many times—predators, broken bones, illness—to give in now. Somehow he would free himself and run away. But for now the best thing he could do was act like he’d given up, stop struggling and pretend to be weak. The moment they took the vines off him, he would lash out with the speed of a leopard. He tensed as someone opened the white prison and came inside. With his head lowered, all he could see was feet covered in black. Boots, James had called them. It was important he try to remember all the man words he could.

The boots stopped in front of him. Two pairs of feet. Above him two men talked together about him. How strange to be looked at and talked about. He listened hard, but none of their sounds made sense to him. He snuck a glance at them from behind the curtain of his hair. One man was large in the belly and tall. He had much hair on his face and less on his head. His nose was big and his voice was loud. The man with him was the one who’d challenged Michael when he came into camp, threatening him and stopping him from bringing James to safety. When Michael had tried to leave after putting James down, this man had hit him over the head. He’d also kicked Michael a few times as he lay tied to the pole. Michael stifled the growl that rose in his throat. He clenched his teeth. He wanted to bite the dangerous man. The loud one stooped over him and spoke into his face. Michael could no longer pretend he wasn’t aware of them. He stared between the strands of his hair at the big-nosed man with the white-streaked facial hair. The man acted like Old Grunt, like one who was in charge. The other man, treacherous as he was, obeyed him. Michael could hear it in his tone when he talked and see it in the submissive way he held his body. The loud one was the leader. If he could somehow convince Loud Man he had value, perhaps he wouldn’t kill him. Michael curved his lips, baring his teeth. From James he’d learned men saw this as a friendly gesture rather than a threat. But this man pulled back as though he feared Michael would bite him. He straightened to his full height and spoke more words to Dangerous One, who kicked at Michael with the toe of his boot. Rage surged through him. He wanted to grab hold of that foot and break it. After that, the men left and he was alone once more. Michael wiggled his arms and legs, testing his bonds again, feeling for a bit of give, but they remained tight. He slumped against the pole and closed his eyes. During the time he’d been kept here, he’d drunk water, but refused food. He was weak and hungry from his trek through the jungle carrying James. He must rest now and conserve his energy. An opportunity to fight would come and when it did he would seize it.

Chapter Eleven “James, are you awake?” It was Blake’s voice again, rousing him from anxious dreams of running through the jungle chased by something unnamable and wallowing in quicksand, unable to lift his feet. James’s eyes felt gritty as he peeled them open to stare at his tent mate. “Sir Lewis is here to speak to you if you’re up to it.” His eyes slowly slid to focus on the other man. Rutherford, as always, reminded him of a soused Father Christmas. He had the big-bellied, gray-bearded demeanor of the kindly saint, but none of the happy twinkle in his calculating eyes. And his nose was bright red from liquor rather than cold. “Litchfield, I’m glad you’ve survived the worst of your fever and hope you continue to mend.” The

amenities out of the way, Rutherford continued, “But I don’t condone your decision to pursue the jungle man on your own rather than share the discovery. I’d like a full explanation of everything that transpired between you and the subject. Have you kept up your journal?” “It’s in my pack, sir, which I believe must be somewhere in the jungle.” He couldn’t stop thinking of whathad transpired between him and Michael—the touching, the kissing, the holding. “I kept a detailed account of the…encounters, what I learned about him and what I was able to teach him. I can rewrite it.” “You shouldn’t have taught him anything. Your role should’ve been to merely observe. Professor Hatchett would be disappointed in you.” “I understand you’ve tied Michael up. Is that mere observance?” James argued. “He’s a human being, not an animal, and I was attempting to slowly ease him into trusting his fellow humans. I fully intended to bring him here when he was ready.” “Whenyou decided he was ready. It wasn’t your place, Litchfield. And giving him a name?” Rutherford loomed over James lying on his cot. “What possessed you? Scientists don’t name their subjects.” “I had to call him something.” He swallowed dryly and wished he dared interrupt this conversation to ask for a drink of water. “Michael responds to his name and to mine. He is much cleverer than one could possibly hope, considering his formative years were spent in the company of animals.” “How do you know that? How do you know if the natives’ story of him living with gorillas is true?” James decided right then he’d never tell about his experience with the gorillas, feeling it might bring trouble to the animals. “I don’t know if he was actually raised by apes, but he’s likely been alone in the wild from a very young age. The point is Michael should be treated not as an animal, an imbecile or a child, but as an intelligent man, eager to learn. I believe he could be integrated into society if the job is done slowly and carefully, but don’t expect him to act like a nineteenth-century man.” “Well, at least we can agree on the last part.” Rutherford took a seat in a camp chair beside James’s cot and glanced at Blake, who lingered in the background. “Fetch me a drink, will you? Here’s the thing. The ape-man is a valuable commodity and must be treated as such. I have dubbed himnovus hominis, the new man, and when I return with him to London, I don’t want him to be either too civilized or too wild to introduce to society.” James pushed himself onto his elbows, which supported him much better today. He couldn’t bear to lie prone and helpless on his bed as he faced Rutherford. He knew exactly what the man planned. As Blake had suggested earlier, he would turn Michael into a novelty, the toast of the jaded elite and likely a financial gold mine as well. See the wild man of the jungle, raised by apes, living like an animal until an expedition of brave Englishmen led by Sir Lewis Rutherford discovered and rescued him. Not since Stanley met Livingston has such an amazing African adventure occurred.The story far outshone the discovery of a ruined city that contained no gold or jewels. James would’ve loved to speak out against any display of Michael as some freakish anomaly, but he didn’t have the power of a wealthy, titled man like Rutherford. Instead he’d ease the worst of Michael’s treatment while trying to ensure he was allowed to keep close to thenovus hominus. “I wish you would let me continue to work with him, sir.” He adopted an obsequious tone he knew

would soothe Rutherford even while it turned his own stomach. “Michael trusts me. I believe I can get him to cooperate without being bound or caged if you’ll only give me the chance.” Rutherford stared at him as if he were almost as interesting a specimen asnovus hominus. “You’ve grown attached to him.” James chose his next words carefully. One wrong one and he’d not be allowed any further contact with Michael. “I simply believe that beneath his uncivilized veneer is a full-fledged human being waiting to emerge. Aren’t the qualities you wish to exhibit to society not only man’s indomitable will to survive against all odds but also how his intellect will rise to the surface given the proper stimulation? A wild man in a cage can be seen in any traveling carnival—some poor epileptic or retarded soul who’s kept like an animal for entertainment. But wouldn’t society be more impressed witnessing Michael’s transformation from ape-man of the jungle to your ‘new man’? It would be a resurrection of sorts, something to seize and inspire their imaginations.” He banged the same drum as Blake or Rutherford by suggesting Michael would be a newsworthy sensation, but it was the only way he knew of to convince Rutherford to let him stay close to Michael. The man fixed a bloodshot gaze at James and sipped his drink. “I do see your point. It’s a delicate balance.” He drained the glass. “I want a wild man but not one who’s going to piss on a drawing room floor or bite Lady Mucketycrotch. He should be a unique sight worth seeing, like that Merrick fellow, and part of what makes the Elephant Man such a sought-after addition to one’s drawing room is his erudition, or what one can understand of his speech. Do you think you can teach the ape-man to speak?” “He already knows a few words. With your permission, I’d like to see him now.” How it galled him to ask Rutherford’s consent as if the man had any hold over Michael. But he was the head of the expedition. Money and power made it so. “You look tired. Perhaps not today.” Rutherford rose and handed his empty glass to Blake. “Tomorrow will be soon enough.” James pressed his lips tight and nodded. Rutherford added, “I’ll discuss this matter with the rest of the Oxford team, letting them know you will be answerable directly to me from now on rather than the university. They can have their ruins. This ape-man is mine and I will pay you to oversee his education.” Relief and disgust mingled in James as Rutherford left the tent. He’d won his bid to maintain contact with Michael, but at what cost if it turned him into society’s dancing bear of the year. Blake dropped into the chair Rutherford had vacated. “Whew, he’s a bitter pill.” “Indeed,” James agreed, slumping back onto his pillows and coughing. The annoying tightness in his chest wouldn’t go away. “Since His Majesty has forbidden me to see Michael yet today, I wondered if you might show me where Hatchett is buried so I might pay my respects.” “Absolutely.” Blake jumped back up from his seat. “It’s a sad thing to have one’s bones rest in foreign soil, and not even in a cemetery but in the wilderness. I feel badly for the old chap but it can’t be helped.” James sat up, head spinning, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Blake helped him to his feet and supported his swaying weight. James despised his weakness but supposed it was to be expected

after several days of lying unconscious. “You’ll likely get another earful out there,” Blake warned. “Our colleagues are also angry you pursued this by yourself. They’ve left you alone until now because you’ve been so sick, but once you show your face they’ll be sure to scold.” “I understand,” James said curtly, not intending to be rude, but so dizzy and nauseous he was afraid he’d collapse before they ever made it outside. Once they emerged into the fresh air, however, his head began to clear. The stifling closeness of the enclosed tent had been nearly unbearable. James breathed deeply and let go of Blake to stand alone. He was aware of many pairs of eyes focused on him, both scholars and native bearers. He imagined what it might have looked like to them—Michael carrying him into camp, draped over his arms like a fainted damsel. Except he vaguely remembered something hard jammed into his side and there was a bruised spot on his hip so Michael must have carried him over his shoulders. The thought sent a little thrill through him. The man had saved his life. What had James done for him in return? Nothing. Poor Michael was a prisoner. “Blake, when we get back will you do me another favor?” James asked as they left the perimeter of the camp and approached the rough wood cross someone had driven into the ground at the head of Hatchett’s grave. “Could you talk your way into checking on Michael? See that he’s being given sufficient food and water and give him something from me so he knows I’m still nearby.” “Absolutely.” Blake was amenable. “At first Rutherford would let no one but himself and Smythe into the tent, but now that they’ve got him caged, the others have been allowed to view him.” James’s stomach rolled. The idea of Michael, frightened, alone and caged like an animal, made him want to tear across camp, fight his way into the tent and free him. But he was so weak he could barely put one foot in front of the other. They stopped by the churned-up earth that marked Hatchett’s final resting place and James bowed his head. With his worry over Michael, he’d hardly given a thought to the loss of his mentor. Hatchett was a good man, a great teacher and, despite some disagreements between them, James would sorely miss him. He prayed an Our Father as he gazed at the wooden cross made from two boards nailed together, then said to Blake or maybe to himself, “He would’ve been so excited about Michael. I wish now I’d told him, but I thought he might try to discourage me from going after him.” He glanced at Blake. “Tell me, how else could I have done it? An entire party hunting down Michael would have frightened him away. I had to do it on my own.” Blake nodded. “A bold move, but I guess you have to expect repercussions.” As they headed back toward their tent, James stared at the tent where Blake told him Michael was incarcerated. On the way, they were intercepted by Professors Albermarle and Crate, who promptly listed all of James’s wrongdoings in not sharing information about the ape-man. The sun blazed on James’s head as if their judgment was the fires of hell roasting him. He was growing feverish again. “Sloppy work, Litchfield, and sloppy science,” Albermarle finished the harangue. “I kept notes, but they’re lost out there somewhere.” He gestured at the jungle.

“Get another notebook and write everything you remember while it’s fresh in your mind,” Roger Crate advised. “The situation now is that Rutherford has taken control of the ape-man.” Albermarle’s permanent frown lines scored his forehead deeper than ever. “He’s stolen our discovery. The university must win back custody over the man. Perhaps you can be useful in that capacity.” Neither man mentioned the ruins, which seemed to have become a much less interesting topic to them as well as to Rutherford. “Sir Lewis asked me to continue working with Michael. Perhaps when we return to England, Oxford can stake prior claim, since I am an employee of the university and he wasmy discovery.” He could see with perfect clarity how this suddenly divided expedition would end up in a legal battle. The expedition had been formed and partially funded by the university, but wealthy Rutherford had bankrolled the rest. It was hard to say which party would win a court wrangle, but Michael would be the pawn in their game. The two professors began to talk again. And talk. And talk. Suddenly Albermarle’s bass drone and Crate’s nasal tenor made James’s ears ring and their words no longer made sense. He knew he was about to pass out. “Gentlemen,” he interrupted. “I must lie down now, if you’ll excuse me.” He leaned heavily on Blake all the way back to their tent and once he was inside the stuffy cubicle once more, he slumped down to his knees, shivering, sweat drenching his body. “Foolish to go out,” Blake clucked as he helped him into his cot. “Now you’ve suffered a setback.” He offered water, which James gratefully drank. “Could you give me that book?” James pointed to the guide to African animals. When Blake handed it to him, he flipped through and tore out the page with the gorilla on it. “Give this to him and say my name. I don’t know how else to let him know I’m here or that I’ll try to help him as soon as I’m able.” Blake snapped a little salute. “Right-o. I’m on the mission.” He paused then added, “You should know, by the way, that I also received a royal blistering from Albermarle for covering for you. If you should happen to write a memoir, I want you to remember who’s been on your side. And remember I’m excellent at editing, proofing and fact gathering.” He smiled, but James knew he was serious. Blake had his own agenda. “Noted,” James said. He watched Blake leave the tent before closing his eyes. The world spun and his stomach rolled. The damn fever seemed to have the effect of drunkenness with none of the pleasanter aspects of drinking. He put a hand to his throbbing head and prayed to God to help him quickly through this bout of malaria so he might help Michael. Hasn’t he been through enough suffering in his life already? Please give him a reprieve.

Michael gripped the thick sticks that imprisoned him and looked between them at the men who stood staring at him. These were different ones from the loud-voiced leader or his dangerous helper. They were

marking on paper with pens such as James had taught him to use. He sniffed the air, smelling their man smell, and wished he was back with the apes. He’d fought with all his strength when the dark-skinned men untied him to put him into this enclosure. But there had been too many of them and the dangerous, evil-eyed one had hit him in the head again, stunning him with a blow. He’d awakened in this prison of sticks. No matter how he threw his body against them, they wouldn’t break. He’d finally stopped trying and curled up on the uneven bars of wood. Closing his eyes tight, he’d tried to pretend he was somewhere else. The lonely days of being outcast by the apes were forgotten as he remembered only the good times when he’d still been small and treated like any of the other little ones. He missed Grub Picker and even Old Grunt. He missed all of his tribe. And he missed James. After he’d slept for a while, he woke to find these new men watching him and talking together. He stared back at them, but not one tried to communicate with him. Another man came into the white cave and Michael recognized him as the one who’d argued with Dangerous Man when Michael had carried James into the camp. He would know what had happened to James and maybe even take Michael to him. Sitting up straighter, Michael grasped the bars and stared hard at him, meeting his gaze through the shiny circles covering the man’s eyes. Round-eyed Man smiled at Michael. He turned to speak to the others. Soon after, they left, leaving Michael alone with him. Crouching by the cage, he tapped his chest. “Blake. Blake.” Michael repeated the name in his mind but made no sound. He wasn’t ready to trust this stranger yet. “James.” Blake pushed a piece of paper between the bars. It fluttered to Michael’s feet. He stared at the picture of apes James had once shown him. Picking up the paper, he held it to his nose and breathed deeply. James’s smell was strong on the paper. His heart lifted as he became certain James still lived and was sending him a message. Blake spoke more and gestured with his hands. Michael strained to understand what he was saying. Would he let him out now and take him to James? Would James come to him? Why were the men keeping him here? Maybe they thought he’d hurt James and this was their punishment. He wished he knew what was in their minds and what he could do to convince them he wasn’t dangerous. His fingers curled around one of the bars again. Blake patted the back of his hand and offered him water from a canteen like James had. The canteen wouldn’t fit between the bars, but Michael brought his face to the space between them and drank. From throwing his body against the bars, he’d spilled the container of water they’d set beside him and he was quite thirsty. “Michael,” Blake said. Michael looked up sharply, surprised at the use of James’s name for him. “James. Will. Come.” Blake spoke each word very slowly. Michael nodded although he had no idea what the man was saying, and Blake seemed pleased. He smiled again, showing all his teeth, and patted Michael’s hand. “James will come.”

Chapter Twelve James wished to hell he could have privacy for his meeting with Michael, especially when he entered the tent and Michael stared at him with such transparent joy lighting his face. James’s heart pounded with a bewildering mixture of pleasure, excitement and dismay. He was happy to see Michael, but couldn’t show much emotion in front of Rutherford and Smythe lest the men guess exactly how close they’d become. Meanwhile, Michael’s expression of hope nearly tore his heart out. James crouched so his back was to the two watchers and faced Michael through the bars of the cage. “Hello, Michael.” Michael whimpered and reached between the bars, his fingers an accusation. This man who’d spent his life in complete freedom had been bound then caged for days while James drifted in and out of fever dreams. He wished he could’ve come sooner, done something to help, but he’d simply been too ill and Michael had suffered for it. Damned if he’d refuse to take his hand now, no matter what the watching men might think. James gripped Michael’s fingers and felt the strength in them as they curled around his hand. “It’s all right. Don’t be afraid,” he murmured as though soothing a child. But Michael was no child and even in this dire situation, James couldn’t stop the thrill of desire that shot through him at the mere touch of his hand. He glanced up at Rutherford. “Please, sir. I can’t work with him like this. You must let me free him from this cage.” Smythe scowled, the thick brush of his moustache drawing down. “He’s a wild animal. Nearly broke the arm of one of the blackies and left tooth-and-claw marks on a few of ’em when they put him in here.” “You would fight if someone was trying to lock you up,” James argued. “But he trusts me. He won’t run away.” “Perhaps you’re too confident of your ability to control him,” Rutherford said. “No. The man will stay caged until we’ve transported him downriver and on board the ship back to England. I’m not taking a chance of losing such a find.” James worried about the sea voyage ahead of them. Even now artifacts scavenged from the ruins were being boxed for transportation, and the expedition was preparing earlier than planned for the journey home. How could he explain ships, oceans and foreign countries to Michael or make him understand why it wasn’t in his power to set him free? James gazed into blue eyes that regarded him with unwavering trust. Michael looked, if possible, even thinner, and his cage stank. The conditions were intolerable. “Sir Lewis, you don’t wish to make him ill. Has anyone cleaned this cage since you put him in it? Has he been eating and drinking? As you say, he’s valuable. At least allow me to take him out of here and stay with him while the cage is cleaned. Smythe can stand by to quell him if he tries to escape.” The bruise at Michael’s temple showed him how Smythe had kept him under control thus far. He’d like to take that pistol and smash the butt into the guide’s face. “Very well. Get a couple of the bearers in here to clean up,” Rutherford ordered Smythe, then turned to James. “And you get him to eat something. He’s only had water and a little fruit this week.”

“He’s used to the gorillas’ diet.” James didn’t believe that was the problem at all since Michael had displayed an omnivorous appetite. Michael was mourning the loss of his freedom. “Then find him something hewill ingest,” Rutherford trumpeted. He strode from the tent and Smythe followed to summon workers, leaving James alone with Michael for a few moments at last. James held his hand and gazed into his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He grasped a bar of the cage and shook his head. The thing had been constructed of lengths of stripped tree limbs, lashed tightly together. It looked flimsy but felt solid. A hasp and padlock held the door shut. Even if he wanted to free Michael now while the tent was empty, he couldn’t, and there were armed men outside who’d make sure they never left camp. “I can’t help you. That man—” he jerked his head toward the tent flap, “—has all the power. Like your leader. Besides, you don’t really want to go back to the apes, do you? It’s time for you to return to your own world. I just didn’t mean for it to happen like this. In time I hope to convince Rutherford to set you free.” He stared into Michael’s uncomprehending face. “You must think I’m in collusion with them and it couldn’t be farther from the truth.” Michael drew James’s hand between the bars and brought it to his mouth. He pressed his lips against the back of it. They were warm and soft and sent tremors through James. “Oh, no. We can’t have this.” He gently detached his hand from Michael’s grip. “I should never have allowed that night to happen. Now how can I explain to you why it’s wrong?” Guilt flooded him. He felt helpless, frustrated and wished he’d never disturbed Michael’s peace, had never torn him from his jungle life and tried to teach him what it meant to be a man—not ifthis was the lesson Michael had learned. He shook his head. “When they come back, I’m going to let you out of this cage, but you can’t kiss or touch me. It’s not allowed.” Pain twisted his guts as he spoke those words which had shaped his life. He’d lived without connection to another man because he knew it was what he must do. But now he’d discovered what it felt like to lie next to someone and be held by him all night long, the realization of what he’d been missing all his life washed over him. Knowledge wasn’t always freedom. Sometimes it was sheer pain. There was no more time for talking as the tent flap opened and two very angry-looking Africans followed Smythe inside. One had a half-healed scratch scarring his arm. James could guess where he’d got it. Grumbling to each other in their native tongue, the two carried buckets of water and a shovel to clear away the filth Michael had left in a corner of the cage. Smythe produced the key to the padlock from his pocket and crossed to the door of the cage. He paused before opening it. “I don’t agree with this and if the animal starts to beat you, don’t expect me to stop him right away.” He opened the lock and pulled it free of the hasp. James held the cage door open and offered a hand to Michael. “It’s all right. You can come out. Come to me, Michael.” Warily, with an eye on the other three men in the cramped quarters, Michael emerged from the cage and took his hand. James led him to the opposite corner of the tent and urged him to sit, offering him his canteen of water as he’d done so many times before. Michael drank from it with practiced ease now and

James remembered how awkward he’d been the first time he’d tried to sip from the container. James looked at Smythe, who glared back at him. “I’m going to need fruit and whatever vegetables you can manage. He eats some meat, but is used to living on a mostly vegetarian diet. I don’t want to upset his digestion with too much rich food.” He enjoyed tossing the order at Smythe and watching him reluctantly turn to obey. “Bring chicken if there is any.” With Smythe out of the tent again and the two servants intent on cleaning the cage, James focused on Michael. “We will leave here soon. You. Me. Go.” His accompanying gestures with each word left a smile on Michael’s face. James realized his mistake. Michael thought they were going to run away together. “Far away from here, but I will be with you.” Damn, it was frustrating not to be able to explain. But the concept of an ocean voyage was too vast to convey with a few simple words and gestures. Better to keep to the task at hand. “You eat now.” James squeezed his hand in encouragement. They both watched the disgusted bearers tasked with cleaning the cage. The scratched one glanced often at Michael, as though to make sure he wouldn’t suddenly attack. He kept up a steady stream of angry words in his native tongue. “I think you were a little rough on that man,” James said. “They were only doing their job, you know. Everyone serves someone else.” How he hated that he had to scrape and bow before bloody Sir Lewis Rutherford. Michael grasped James’s hand, kissed his palm and pressed it to his cheek. James’s heart jolted. For one moment he left his hand there, feeling the soft stubble of Michael’s new beard, and then he quickly jerked his hand away. “No, Michael.” He spoke much more harshly than he’d intended, but he had to make him understand such touching was not allowed. He darted a glance at the workers. Luckily they were intent on their task and had missed the tender moment. James looked back at Michael. The hurt in his eyes tore at his heart. “I’m sorry.” He lowered his voice and gestured back and forth between them. “No touch. Not here.” There was no time to explain further as Smythe returned with some fruit and a bowl of gluey porridge which he thrust at James. “This is what there is. Up to you to make him eat it.” Smythe stood with his arms folded, watching James offer the food to Michael. “Please, eat,” he cajoled softly. Michael accepted the fruit and ate it, but sniffed at the bowl of oats before pushing it away. “It’s not good but it is edible.” James proved it by taking a bite then held out a spoonful to Michael. “You need to eat.” Michael grunted and opened his mouth. James stuck the spoon in and pulled it out, empty. Michael swallowed without an expression of disgust at the gummy texture. Considering what he was used to eating, the porridge probably wasn’t bad. He took the bowl from James and scooped the rest of the cereal into his mouth with his fingers then handed the empty bowl to James.

By this time the natives had finished their job and left. Smythe still hovered nearby, alert and with his pistol in hand. James felt the tension in him and knew he’d like any excuse to hurt Michael. For some reason, he took the ape-man’s very existence as a personal affront. James reviewed with Michael the words he’d already taught him. Michael remembered and pronounced most of them. The rest he quickly relearned. “Hair. Eyes. Nose. Mouth. Teeth. Neck. Chest. Stomach. Arm. Leg.” Michael repeated the litany with a touch of each body part. Then he listed the words again using James’s body for demonstration. Each light touch of Michael’s hand, even through his clothes, made James’s skin burn. He couldn’t stop thinking about that time by the pool when Michael had explored his face, stroked a hand down his chest and grasped his cock. At the memory, his erection swelled and he shifted so his arm covered the telltale bulge in his trousers. James lifted Michael’s hand from his thigh and shook it. Michael was not learning the lesson about not touching very well. “Good. Let’s learn more words.” He taught himbowl, spoon, tent andcage before Smythe announced it was time for the lesson to be over. “I can’t stand here all day guarding you. I’ve work to do.” “I think Rutherford would like me to keep teaching him.” James tried for more time, but Smythe gestured with his pistol for Michael to go back into the cage. Michael stared at him with narrowed eyes and growled deep in his throat, sounding very like the leopard which had attacked James. The hair on James’s nape rose at the threatening sound. He could see something bad flaring up very quickly between the aggressive Smythe and volatile Michael. The muscles in Michael’s shoulders and arms rippled as if he was about to leap toward Smythe. “All right, Michael,” James said. “It’s time for you to go back into the cage.” Michael’s gaze snapped from Smythe to James. He frowned and whimpered, a soft, pleading sound of disbelief. “I’m sorry. It can’t be helped for now. Please, Michael. Go in.” He pointed at the open cage door, feeling like Brutus with a dripping knife in his hand. Michael hesitated. Smythe started to move toward him. It would be disastrous if he grabbed at Michael to try to force him inside. One lunge and Michael would have him by the throat, then Smythe would finally have an excuse to shoot him, which James had no doubt he wanted to do. “Michael. Go,” James demanded more forcefully. He rose to his feet, inserting his body between the two men. “Go into the cage.” He nearly shouted, desperate to diffuse the situation. His stomach churned as Michael slowly rose and moved to obey him. He gave James one long look before crouching to enter the small enclosure. He couldn’t even stand upright in there. It was terrible. As soon as he was inside, Smythe closed the door, snapped the padlock on and pocketed the key. He faced James. “Well done, Litchfield. You’ve fed the animal and taught it to mimic a few words.” James glared at him, biting back his retort to the vile man. He stooped to look at Michael through the

bars and reached toward him, but Michael didn’t take his hand this time. “Goodbye. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” James carried the pain in Michael’s eyes in his own heart as he walked away.

Michael listened to the sounds of the camp settling down for the night. They were familiar now. He’d listened to them for more nights than he could mark with his fingers as he waited to find out what would happen next. The light was nearly gone from the tent. The afternoon glow had darkened to twilight. He leaned against the bars of the cage and closed his eyes, dreaming again of green leaves and hot sun and the apes foraging nearby. When he’d watched the man camp at night and spun stories in his mind about joining them, he hadn’t imagined it would turn out like this. They must know by now he hadn’t hurt James so why did they keep him in a cage? What had he done to offend them? He didn’t know their rules or how their minds worked and he was beginning to think he never would understand them—not even James, who had told him to go into the cage and then left him. Anger, disappointment and confusion swirled in him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. A day had passed and James hadn’t returned. Michael began to doubt him. If he were the one outside this cage and James inside, Michael would have torn the bars apart to free him. He would’ve killed anyone who stood in his way. Maybe James didn’t know how to fight, but he could at least come and see him. But as upset as he was with James, Michael couldn’t stop wanting him. He hugged his arms around his body, trying to relive how it had felt to have James’s arms wrapped around him. He touched his mouth, recalling the press of lips, the glide of tongue over tongue. That night in the jungle had meant everything to him. Had it meant nothing to James? Even though he felt betrayed and sad, his cock rose at the memories of touching and being touched. Michael slid his hand down his chest and belly, through the hair on his groin. He grasped his cock and pretended it was James’s hand wrapped around it as he rubbed up and down. His palm moved briskly over his solid erection, building up heat. He came very quickly, falling back against the bars with a gasp as he released. The surge of pleasure lasted for an instant, but as soon as it was over, despair filled him again. He was still alone.

The next morning Michael woke to a flurry of activity. Something was happening. The sounds were different. The camp was moving. He sat up and watched through the bars of the cage as the tent came down around him. Then he could see the rest of the camp and the dark-skinned ones doing all the work of getting ready to leave. It would be too difficult to take this cage along with them. They would have to let him go at last. But he was wrong. They constructed something with poles that carried the cage with him in it. Four of the workers lifted and bore him along the path that snaked down the mountain. Michael felt sick from the lurching, swaying motion, but supposed it was harder for the men who carried him. Different ones took turns, straining and sweating and chattering to one another.

He gripped the bars and watched the jungle move past. His stomach felt filled with stones as he moved farther away from where the apes lived. They no longer belonged to him or he to them. Maybe he never had, but they were all he knew and now they were gone. Michael tried to catch sight of James in the column of men making its way through the forest but couldn’t find him. He’d looked very pale when he came to see Michael. Maybe he was sick again, or worse. Perhaps Michael had been angry at him for something he couldn’t help. The idea of being left alone with these strangers was terrifying. If James was dead, he’d rather continue to live in the jungle as an outcast than with creatures he didn’t understand, heading toward someplace he couldn’t imagine. As the rocking motion continued, Michael half closed his eyes and watched the blur of green that was his past fading away and his future unfolding.

Chapter Thirteen James drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes aware of voices and people around him, of his body being lifted and carried, the uneven jolting tread of those bearing him on a litter. Anxious dreams haunted him. He knew he must awaken and take care of something very important, but couldn’t get his eyelids unstuck or his body to move. Only his thoughts flowed freely, out of control, and it took him some time to extract the piece of crucial information that he was sick with malaria. That was why his head was an anvil, his body a stone statue with immovable limbs. When at last the fever abated and he woke with a clear mind, he found the swaying sensation wasn’t all fever-induced. He lay in a cabin on board a steamer heading upriver. They would dock in Leopoldville to prepare for the ocean voyage back to England. Although weak as a newborn kitten, he felt much better. He believed he’d made it through the worst of the fever and prayed he would not relapse this time. He sat and waited for the dizziness to subside before rising carefully from the bottom berth, holding on to the upper one while his legs steadied. He drank water from the pitcher on the nightstand, relieved himself in the chamber pot and found his shirt, trousers and shoes in his trunk. After putting them on, he walked from the tiny cabin, down the narrow hall to the stairs leading to the upper deck. As James reached topside, the smell of the river was strong, rich and fertile. The boat plowed steadily through brown, murky water, leaving shimmering ripples in its wake. The deck was alive with movement. Native carriers and James’s colleagues milled around crates and boxes lashed to the deck in chaotic array. Albermarle, Blake, Langley, Crate and Ramsay were clustered near the railing, talking together. When they caught sight of James, they came to congratulate him on his return to health. “Thought we’d lost you there for a bit, my lad,” Albermarle said. The man’s clap on his shoulder was enough to convince James he’d nearly been a goner. Such a friendly demonstration was not in character for the gruff zoologist. James nodded and smiled as he accepted handshakes and well wishes, but he made eye contact with Blake.Where’s Michael? Crate answered his unasked question. “Yournovus hominus is in the hold in a cage so he doesn’t jump overboard and swim to shore.”

“Or run amok and kill us all,” George Langley added. Albermarle scowled. “Rutherford’s determined to shut us out from this find when clearly the lost man should be taken to the university for further study.” James wasn’t about to get caught up in the feud over who “owned” Michael. All he cared about was seeing him. “Rutherford said to bring you to him when you woke. Are you feeling up for it?” Blake asked. Seeing the loud, obnoxious nobleman? No. But Rutherford was a gate James had to pass through to get to Michael so he went with Blake. Sir Lewis Rutherford sat in a deck chair in the rear of the steamer, watching the plume of coal smoke from the stack trail away over the river. He had a glass in one hand, a bottle of whiskey on the deck beside him and from his glazed gaze when he focused on James, he was already well into his cups. “You’ve survived. Bravo. Now perhaps you can get your pet to eat again. He hasn’t touched a mouthful since before we began the journey.” How many days? James wanted to ask, but kept silent, letting Rutherford take charge of the conversation. Arrogant men like him didn’t like to be questioned. “Your academic cronies are eager to get at him, but as they say, too many cooks spoil the broth. Since you’ve had the most contact and he seems to trust you, I want you to continue teaching him as we discussed. But first get some food into him.” “He’ll have to come out of the cage,” James bargained. “I can’t do anything with him down in the hold.” Rutherford waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. Smythe will stand by to make sure he doesn’t escape.” “No. He’s afraid of Smythe. We have to have some privacy. As you say, it’s a matter of trust. Perhaps in my cabin.” Rutherford glared down his blotchy nose at James, but produced a key from his waistcoat pocket and handed it over. “All right then. Just get the job done. And remember, Litchfield, I want him civilized enough to take out in public, but not so polished he asks for scones with his tea. People want to see a wild man who’s still wild.” “Yes, sir.” As they walked away, Blake muttered, “A thoroughly unpleasant fellow our Lewis Rutherford. P’raps he’ll drink so much he’ll fall overboard and feed the crocodiles.” Perhaps with a little push,James thought. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly four days this time. Must be starving. Rations are low—again. There’s hardly anything worth eating, but we’d better get something in you as well as your friend Michael. Looking forward to having a steak and kidney pie and a cold glass of ale at the first pub I come across after we land on English soil.”

“There are many days’ journey yet.” James considered the upcoming ocean voyage and wondered how Michael could possibly handle it. Blake went to procure food while James went down into the hold. The odors of pickling brine and urine assaulted him as he opened the door and lifted the lantern to illuminate the contents of the lowest level of the steamboat. Crates and kegs containing food and water vied for space with other crates holding African acquisitions. The space was windowless, the air stale. If this was where Michael had been kept the past days, it was a wonder he’d survived at all. James saw the makeshift wooden cage half-hidden behind a canvas-wrapped bale. There was no movement inside. He hurried to the cage and knelt to unlock the padlock and open the door. “Michael?” The shaggy-haired man inside lifted his face to stare at James with dull eyes that brightened only a little on seeing him. Michael crawled toward him. James took his hand and helped him from the cage. James held Michael’s hand and gazed into his eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. I’ve been very ill. But I’m better now and I’ll take care of you.” Michael returned his stare. For the first time since their first days together, James imagined he saw a lack of trust in the other man’s eyes. Perhaps he was translating his own sense of guilt into an expression that wasn’t there, but he believed Michael’s absolute faith in him had been broken. He could swear he saw the jagged edge of doubt in Michael’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, helpless to explain any more clearly. “Please come with me now.” As he guided Michael from the hold to his cabin, the man didn’t try to escape, but gazed curiously at the corridor, the stairs and all the manmade things surrounding him. The cabin was scarcely larger than the cage, but it was clean, quiet and with all the amenities a riverboat cabin had to offer—two berths, two lockers and a washstand. Blake returned with rations and appeared ready to stay with them. James gently asked him to leave. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but for now I think it’s best if I see Michael alone. He’s probably upset at my having abandoned him. After we’ve reestablished a relationship I’ll introduce him to you.” Blake’s expression of eager interest crumbled. He adjusted his spectacles. “Yes, of course. I see.” “Might I ask one more favor of you? Would you send servants with wash water?” James felt badly, not only banishing Blake from their shared cabin but sending him on an errand. “Absolutely. Your wish is, as always, my command.” Blake gave a mock courtly bow before leaving the room. After he was gone, Michael sat beside James on the berth and they shared food and drink in silence. Still James felt—or imagined—a constraint between them that hadn’t been there in the jungle. Nostalgia for those early times together swept through him. “I swear, whatever it takes, I won’t let them cage you again.” He promised what he feared he might not be able to deliver. Michael chewed and swallowed a bit of meat and gazed at him with blank incomprehension.

When a servant arrived with a couple of buckets full of water, he stared curiously at the infamous ape-man before James shooed him from the room. James dipped a cloth in one of the buckets and lathered soap onto it. He beckoned Michael to him. “Please, if you’ll permit me…” Michael approached him cautiously, frowning at the buckets and the soapy cloth. But he submitted to James washing him, starting with his face and moving down his neck to his chest. James wished he could arrange a long soak in a hot tub, but none of them had had a proper wash up since they’d begun this African adventure. Getting off the worst of the grime and sweat was the best he could do. By the time, he’d rinsed Michael from head to toe with water poured from the pitcher, they were both damp. “If you put your head over the bucket, I’ll wash your hair.” He stroked Michael’s head. The man looked at him with his beautiful, vivid blue eyes and James swallowed hard, trying to squelch his growing arousal. “Like this.” He demonstrated and soon Michael knelt with his head bent over one of the buckets. James wet his hair and washed the long strands as best he could with the coarse soap. Then he rinsed, rubbing his hand against Michael’s scalp and turning his head gently as he poured water over it. “There. That’s the best we can do.” James toweled his hair dry then knelt by his footlocker to get out some clothes. “I think it’s time for you to at least wear some underlinens.” Michael stood beside him. James cast a sideways glance at his cock, which dangled near eye level before pulling his attention firmly back to the chest of clothes. He pulled out a pair of drawers and a vest and helped Michael put them on. The cotton undershirt stretched tight over Michael’s chest. Although lean, he was a bigger man than James. He probably should’ve borrowed baggy undergarments from overweight Blake. The stark white cloth made Michael’s tan skin appear darker. James was struck anew by his almost otherworldly beauty. He definitely looked like a painting of the warrior angel Michael. “You look very presentable. Put a tuxedo on you and I imagine you could parade around in a ballroom with none the wiser. Except for that flowing hair. Not at all the fashion. If you’ll permit me, I’ll see if I can at least brush some of the snarls from it.” He indicated Michael should sit on the floor while he sat on the bunk behind him and worked a comb carefully through his knotted hair. It took some time and several whines of protest from Michael before James finished untangling the locks that hung halfway down the man’s back. They were a tawny blend of gold and brown. With Michael’s blond beard beginning to grow back in, it gave him a handsome, leonine appearance. “Now what am I to do with you?” James grasped Michael’s shoulders and lightly squeezed them. “I won’t take you back to that cage, but I’m not sure I’ll be allowed to keep you here unless we’re both under lock and key.” There was a possibility. He’d convince Rutherford such an arrangement made sense with James working intensively on teaching Michael how to act “human.” But he feared the close proximity. If they were locked in here together for days, he didn’t know if he could manage to maintain his distance, especially if

Michael gave him very many of those looks he was shooting over his shoulder right now. The hungry gaze said he wanted James to be massaging more than his shoulders. If he’d been angry with him, there was no sign of it now. James patted his shoulders and rose. “Enough now. We mustn’t be too friendly. I know you don’t understand and it doesn’t help that I’ve given you mixed signals. But someday you will meet women and then you will find your desire lies in a different direction.” That sparked an idea and James dug through his footlocker to pull out a few books. He’d shown Michael illustrations of animals he was familiar with. Now it was time for him to see pictures of the world he was about to enter.

Michael could feel James’s heat and smell his body as the other man sat close beside him. He wanted to lean into him or bump against him. He’d often watched the claiming ritual of the apes as they took a mate and wondered now if he should show James he had no anger toward him about the caging and that he wanted to mate with him. But James seemed interested in showing Michael images on paper. A book, Michael recalled the word. This time instead of animals the pictures were of men. “Man.” James pointed at one of the dark-garbed figures. “Men.” He counted out several of them wearing layers of clothing and coverings on their heads—hats. Michael was slowly beginning to understand there were different words for a single item and a different word for many. Human talk was a difficult and confusing thing which took all his concentration to understand. James turned the page. There were several figures wearing clothes that completely covered their bodies, hiding their shapes. “Women.” James pointed back and forth between the two examples. “Men and women.” These were the females, the mates, women, Michael realized. He gazed at a picture of one in particular with dark eyes and hair. Something tickled at the edge of his memory. He knew eyes like that. He’d seen a creature like this before. She’d looked down at him as she sang the star song. “Man. Woman.” James wanted him to repeat the words. Michael obediently copied him, but he stared at the dark-eyed woman, trying to remember more details. James turned another page. There were big structures, much bigger than tents, with men and women walking into them. “Buildings.” Then James gestured at the space around them. “We are on a boat.” He repeated the word boat and Michael said it, too. “Bo.” When the men carrying his cage had stopped near the river and he’d first beheld this huge thing sitting in the water, Michael had been shocked. He’d known right away it wasn’t alive but was something made by men. It was an astonishing example of how much more clever men were than the apes. He’d been impressed right up until they’d carried him below into the dark place and left him there. Michael continued looking at everything James showed him, but what he really wanted was to go back

to the picture of the woman with the dark eyes. James stopped at a picture of a man and woman holding hands. He pointed at their joined hands—also covered by material. Why did they cover every part of their bodies? Standing beside the man and woman were smaller versions of them. “Boy. Girl.” James traced a circle around the man and woman and their children with his finger. “Family.” Michael understood. Males and females mated and made small ones. He’d wondered where all the females of James’s tribe were. How could the men produce offspring without them? Now he thought he understood. Their females were somewhere else—perhaps the place they were traveling to now. James might have a female there who was special to him. Maybe he had children. Michael frowned. He didn’t like the idea. He wanted James for himself. “Family,” James said again, and Michael repeated it. “Family.” Another memory flashed in his mind. He pointed at the woman holding the little girl child by the hand. “Mama.” “Yes!” James cried. “Mama. You remember.” He put an arm around Michael’s shoulders and hugged him. Michael turned to him and slid a hand around his waist, ready to press mouths together as they’d done before. But James froze, staring into his eyes. For a long moment, they remained looking at each other. Michael bent toward James with his lips slightly parted. Then a knock on the door made James spring away from him and up to his feet. The door opened and Loud Man filled the room with his noise. Dangerous One was with him. Michael’s hair bristled at the nape and he growled low, prepared to attack if either of them approached him. He wouldnot be put into the cage again. James spoke almost as loudly as the red-nosed man, challenging him. Michael had seen several young males try to stand against Old Grunt and get beaten down or driven away. He’d never tried to cross the leader since he had no status in the group and never would. His heart raced now and he stood, ready to fight if either of these men hit James. But after a little more shouting, Loud Man backed down. It appeared from the shift in their postures that James had won the fight without either of them striking a blow. James gestured at Michael and said a few words Michael recognized, his name, “no”, “apes” and “cage.” Dangerous One said things too, but even though he held the weapon he’d hit Michael with, the other two men ignored him. Neither seemed to recognize him as having any power. They didn’t see his sly nature and how dangerous he truly was. But Michael could see it and feel it in the air around Dangerous One. He was one who would hurt weaker creatures because he enjoyed having power over them. There’d once been a male like that among the apes, the one who’d constantly harassed Michael, but Old Grunt had driven him away. The men left. James closed the door behind them and turned to Michael. His smile was warm and comforting. “It’s all right. You can stay here.”

Only then did Michael realize he was trembling, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He relaxed and exhaled. The two bad men were gone without trying to cage him again. He walked over to James and pulled him into his arms. At first James’s body was stiff, but after a moment, he relaxed and put his arms around Michael, holding him hard. “It’s all right,” he whispered again, his breath tickling Michael’s neck. Michael turned his face, seeking James’s lips. Their mouths pressed together, warm and soft, tongues searching for and finding each other. The excitement he’d felt the first time they’d done this was nothing compared to the surge of joy he experienced now. During their separation, he’d thought they might never be together again, that James was dead—or worse, that he might have abandoned him to die alone in a cage. The time apart and the doubting made this moment all the more precious. Michael stroked his hands down James’s back, feeling the heat and muscle of his body. He tilted his face to deepen the joining of their mouths, and his cock swelled, pressing into James’s groin. Michael pulled at the other man’s clothes. He had to have them off, had to have James naked and feel his skin all over. But James grasped his arms and pushed him away, breaking the contact of their mouths. “No, Michael.” His words were choked, his breathing heavy and his eyes dark with the desire to mate, so what was holding him back? “You sleep.” He pushed Michael toward the sleeping nest. Michael didn’t want to stop what they’d been doing. He considered ignoring James’s order and taking what he wanted. James aroused strong, dominating feelings in him. But he obeyed and lay down. The bedding was soft and comfortable after days of lying on the uneven bars of the cage floor. James bent over him and touched his cheek. “Sleep.” With a full belly and free of the horrible cage, Michael found hewas tired, but he was afraid to close his eyes and wake to find James gone again. At long last he’d found one of his own kind to be his mate, yet James kept turning him away. Michael was tired of being rejected, tired of being always an outsider. He knew what he was and what he wanted now, and he would find a way to make James his.

Chapter Fourteen James grew stronger every day. He didn’t have another relapse of fever, but the malaria had taken away much of his strength and vigor so he was content to spend a lot of his time in the cabin with Michael. Blake hadn’t been happy about being booted from his berth but understood the practicality of it. Getting Rutherford to approve keeping Michael in the cabin rather than the cage had been a hard-won concession. Blake graciously moved out.

Now that he no longer had to slip away to meet Michael or contend with tropical conditions, James had plenty of time and materials with which to teach. He showed Michael all the illustrated books he could obtain from the rest of the academic team. He taught him words for every object in sight. Nouns were easy, as were some basic verbs. Then he began working on more esoteric concepts like feelings—happy, sad, hungry, tired. Michael’s skill at mimicry made it easy for him to copy James’s words. Making certain he understood their meanings was trickier. Singing was an effective tool in teaching him to speak. James made up silly ditties about whatever he was doing, pouring water into a glass, making the bed, shaving his face. The combination of music with words caught Michael’s interest and seemed to help him remember the words easier. James urged Michael to draw and soon had a sheaf of pages of primitive illustrations of jungle life. He worked on his own notebook as well, rewriting all that had transpired during his initial meetings with Michael, except the unmentionable parts. James had agreed with Rutherford to remain locked in the cabin except for a few hours every day. During his free time, he updated Rutherford on his progress and shared his notes with the university staff. Blake continued to be indispensable, acquiring for James whatever teaching props he needed as well as making certain servants provided for all his and Michael’s basic needs. Blake visited the cabin a bit each day and shared news James couldn’t learn for himself. At first hesitant to trust anyone but James, Michael had grown accustomed to Blake’s presence although he remained mute and observant whenever Blake was in the room. “Rutherford’s worse—drinking all day and into the evenings. One would think the success of the expedition would uplift him. Maybe this is his way of celebrating.” Blake shrugged. “Albermarle and the others are planning strategy to win custody of Michael from him. When we reach the last port before England, they’ll cable a message to the university explaining everything so they can prepare a legal defense.” James glanced at Michael sitting silently on the upper berth, watching their visitor. “I’m at a loss, Blake,” James admitted. “There doesn’t seem to be any good solution. Michael couldn’t have stayed in the jungle yet the idea of Rutherford showing him off to crowds of strangers is unacceptable. But keeping him contained in a laboratory for study or exhibiting him in a lecture hall is nearly as distasteful.” “At some point you’ll have to choose a side. I’d pick whichever will allow you to stay close to Michael. He can’t survive without you, I think.” Blake paused then added, “Talk to a newspaperman as soon as we reach England. Let the world know it was you who discovered him. Perhaps you can win custody of him yourself.” “Do you really think so?” For the first time James felt a ray of hope piercing the fog he couldn’t see his way clear of. Blake frowned. “I don’t know. Public opinion is all very well, but men like Rutherford tend to arrange life to their liking.” Just then Smythe unlocked and opened the door to glare in at them. “Time’s up, Blake. Get out or stay locked in with the animals for the night.”

They both ignored Smythe’s jibes, which had become as expected as the sunrise. “They say we’ll reach Leopoldville by tomorrow,” Blake informed James. “Do you think Michael’s ready for an ocean voyage?” “I guess he’ll have to be.” When the door closed behind his friend, James turned to Michael, who’d slipped silently off the upper berth to land soft-footed on the floor. “You have no idea what’s in store for you and I have no way to explain it to you. I wish I could. I sometimes think you’d be better off if you’d never met me, but it’s too late to go back now, isn’t it? You’re entering the nineteenth century whether you like it or not.” “James.” Michael’s low voice speaking his name sent a delicious shiver through him. He spoke slowly, choosing each word and placing it like a jeweler designing a necklace with precious stones. “We. Go.” “Yes. We will go on a different ship. A bigger one.” James demonstrated distance with his hands. “We will go far away.” He picked up the book of London street scenes and pointed at the illustrations of people and buildings. “We will go here.” Michael nodded. “Men. Women. Family.” “Maybe we can even find out about your family, who they were and what happened to them.” It was an idea no one had discussed, so caught up were they in their arguments over who “owned” Michael. James was ashamed to admit he hadn’t really considered it himself. He guessed Michael was English rather than Belgian or German simply because he recognized the tune of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Perhaps there were family members, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins who would welcome the return of their long-lost relative. Michael flipped through the book of pictures and his shoulders tensed. He might not understand everything James said, but he sensed a change coming. James patted his back once before pulling his hand away. “Tomorrow we go,” he reiterated. “But together. I promise.”

Later that evening as they were dressed for bed and settling down to sleep, the motion of the riverboat finally ceased. The steamer was docking. James finished shaving at the washstand and dried his face then glanced at Michael lying in the bottom bunk. Michael sat up and gazed at the door, as though expecting Smythe to come and drag him from the room. He still didn’t trust the man and growled every time he came near. Not surprising after the way Smythe had abused him. “It’s all right.” James sat beside him on the lower bunk and pushed him gently back onto the cot. “No one will come before morning. We can sleep now.” Michael grasped his hand as he started to pull it away from his chest. “No, James. You. Stay.” He pronounced each word with a gravity that made them feel like commands.

Even as his insides melted at the low, gruff order, James hardened his resolve to resist. The fight against too much closeness had been ongoing ever since they’d been locked in this room together. The teaching, talking, eating, singing and smiling had all been like colorful leaves floating on the surface of a deep and powerful current of desire. The attraction between them was always there. James had been careful to avoid any physical contact with Michael that would turn into something he could no longer resist. He tried to pull his hand away now. “I sleep up there.” He pointed at the upper berth. “And you, here.” Michael’s grip tightened. He wouldn’t let him go. His eyes nearly glowed as they focused intently on James. Their hold on him was almost stronger than Michael’s grasp. “No. You stay.” He pulled James onto the bunk with him, his inexorable hold dragging James down. “We can’t,” James whispered, but the words were lost before they’d left his mouth, swallowed up in Michael’s kiss. The other man’s hand slipped around the back of his neck, holding him so he couldn’t escape the bruising intensity of the kiss. James’s will was usurped and all his carefully enumerated reasons for keeping apart from Michael, forgotten. He couldn’t resist the hands that held him, the mouth that claimed him or Michael’s strongly focused will. The other man released his lips only long enough to let him draw breath and then attacked him again, kissing and kissing him into submission. Good God, he’d believed himself to be the one in control, the master, the teacher, the mentor, but here in this bed, all power belonged to Michael, who’d apparently had enough of waiting for what he wanted. And what he wanted was James. James was still sitting on the edge of the bunk, his torso sprawled on top of Michael. He drew his legs onto the bed too and stretched full length alongside him. The bunk was too narrow to hold two men so by necessity they were tangled together, limbs entwining. The sheet was in the way. Their clothes were in the way. James was desperate to feel all of Michael’s hot, smooth skin gliding over his. He couldn’t wait for it any longer. He pulled away from Michael’s searing kiss and quickly removed his undergarments. Michael was already shirtless. He pushed the sheet to the foot of the bed and removed his drawers. Although James had seen him naked more often than dressed, he’d become accustomed to the newly civilized Michael wearing clothes. It was arousing to see him strip off the drawers and toss them casually aside before settling back onto the bed in glorious nudity. He reached for James again and pulled him on top of his body. Ah God, the heat was searing as their bodies pressed together from chest to toe. So much naked skin against his, so much solid erection pushing into his groin. James thrust his hips, rubbing his cock alongside Michael’s. His heart pounded and his penis throbbed. This was what he’d wanted for so long and thought never to have. It was one thing to have a casual encounter with a stranger, a furtive grasping and sucking before both men separated and went on with their lives. To lie together completely naked with another man was a desire James hadn’t imagined he’d ever fulfill, but here he was with Michael. Under the strangest and most unlikely of circumstances he’d found the one man he wanted to be his lover in every sense of the word. Whether it was right or wrong no longer seemed to matter. All he could feel was deep pleasure and gratitude that this beautiful man was kissing and holding him.

He moved his mouth from Michael’s lips to his jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble against his lips, tasting the salty essence of skin and smelling a trace of soap. James kissed his way down Michael’s throat to dip his tongue into the hollow where his pulse steadily pumped. Michael hummed in pleasure, his throat vibrating against James’s mouth. James moved lower, spreading his hands across Michael’s chest and feeling solid pectoral muscle. He circled his mouth around one dusky nipple then flicked his tongue over it. Michael lifted his chest, wanting more. After worrying at the erect bud, James kissed his way across downy chest hair to the other nipple and gave it the same treatment. Excitement percolated through him at the taste and texture of Michael’s skin. It amplified when Michael showed his desire for more by moaning and lifting his chest to James’s mouth. Long fingers combed through his hair and lightly cradled his skull. James loved the feeling of Michael’s big hand cupping the back of his head, urging him lower. He licked and kissed his way down the taut stomach. Michael’s cock was there to greet him, thrusting precociously from a thatch of light brown hair. The round head already protruded from its red cowl of foreskin. James seized the thick, veined shaft and brought the tip to his mouth. Grunting, Michael pushed up on his elbows to watch James as he slowly drew the cockhead into his mouth. His eyes were heavy-lidded and darkened by lust. They gleamed in the dim light. Having him watch ratcheted James’s arousal to a new level of tension. He wondered what Michael was thinking and feeling. Did gorillas indulge in such foreplay or go straight to the mating act? Had Michael only relieved his sexual urges with his hand or had he occasionally mounted one of the animals? It wasn’t something James wanted to consider so he banished the question from his mind. Instead, he concentrated on licking, sucking and massaging Michael’s cock until he groaned and thrust. Michael held James’s head between his hands as he pumped into his mouth. His pleasured groans were satisfying to hear. James loved bringing him to the brink of orgasm, holding the other man’s bliss in his hands. Michael moaned even louder, and a swell passed through the rigid shaft in James’s hand. Come spurted on the back of his tongue and he swallowed. His own cock ached with the need for release. When the last of Michael’s tremors had passed through him, James released his cock and climbed up to lie beside him, the wooden frame of the bed creaking beneath their combined weight. Michael turned on his side to face him, holding him close in the narrow bunk. For a moment, his solemn eyes met James’s and then he kissed him, a soft, sensual exploration that made his heart stutter. James closed his eyes and sighed, content to be held close. The intimacy of their bodies pressed together in the darkness, breaths mingling, hands stroking, forged a strong connection. While communicating with Michael might be difficult and sometimes his thought process was hard to understand, James had never felt this close to anyone before. Without words, simply looking into Michael’s eyes he felt as if he recognized his soul. It was a profound and alarming feeling. Perhaps he was confusing satisfying sex with deeper emotions. Michael released his lips and, following James’s example, kissed and licked James’s throat and over his chest. He pushed him flat on his back and crouched over him. He stroked James’s arms and torso with his hands as he continued kissing his way down James’s body. Michael’s long hair trailing over his skin sent minnows of pleasure darting through him. His mouth settled on one nipple, licking then biting lightly. James sucked in his breath and gazed at Michael’s profile, the tip of his pink tongue flicking the nipple

before moving lower. His stomach leaped as the other man licked his groin then reached for his cock and trailed a thumbnail up its length. The tickling scratch made him squirm. Michael encircled James’s cock in one warm palm and glided his hand up and down. James watched his cockhead emerge from and disappear into the cowl of foreskin. His hips lifted as his body reached for more of the wonderful sensation. Michael looked up at him and lowered his face to James’s erection, slowly taking the tip into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it and sucked in the length without taking his gaze from James’s face. Exhaling a shaky breath, James tensed his groin, willing himself to hold on a little longer. He wanted this perfect moment to last, but he’d waited so long and was so eager, he didn’t know if he could hold out for long. Especially when Michael abruptly swallowed him deep, engulfing his cock nearly to the root as he splayed his hands over James’s hips, pinning him to the cot. James groaned, struggling to pump his hips but Michael held him down. He bobbed his head up and down, sucking hard, surrounding James in heat and wetness. James reached out to touch his lover’s head. He threaded his fingers through soft strands of hair and curved them around the hardness of Michael’s skull, feeling the dipping motion of the other man’s head. The erotic image of Michael sucking him in deeply enhanced the feelings coursing through him. Suddenly the growing tension inside him broke free and ricocheted through his body. Gripping Michael’s head between his hands, he bucked against the hard hands pinning him down. Michael allowed James to fly free, his body rising up from the bed as the tremors of climax overcame him. James closed his eyes and entered the whirling universe outside, and inside, himself. “Oh. Oh God,” he muttered a benediction as lights flashed in the darkness behind his closed eyelids. This pleasure was so much deeper and more powerful than one brought about by his own hand. He cradled Michael’s head as the last peak passed through him and his body went still. When he looked down once more, it was to find Michael looking up at him. He released James’s spent cock from his mouth and smiled, a cat-eating-the-canary smile that made James laugh. “You may not have done this before, but you know exactly what you’re doing.” He smoothed his hands over that long shiny hair and sighed. “I should tell you this is wrong. Once you’ve met a woman you may find out what your cock is really meant for. But I can’t bring myself to stop this. Not now. Not tonight.” Tomorrow the entire expedition would move from this small river steamer to an ocean-bound vessel. Rutherford might want to cage Michael again until they’d put him on board, but James would fight for his freedom. He’d explain that Michael wouldn’t try to escape but would stay close to his teacher. “Lord, I’ve become Mr. Bellham,” he murmured as Michael laid James’s flagging cock against his belly and moved up to lie beside and half on top of him. “Bellham was a teacher at my boarding school. There were rumors about what he did after hours in his classroom when he called a boy to task for some misadventure. He left the school midyear with no explanation but plenty of rumors whirling around. Here I am taking advantage of my pupil just like him.” But James didn’t truly believe his own words. Michael was no pubescent schoolboy, but a full-grown man, who leaned over him now and kissed him with soft, sweet pecks at the edge of his mouth. James closed his eyes, curved a hand around the other’s neck and surrendered to his kisses. Michael nestled against him, pinning him beneath an arm and leg. James slid a hand over his hip and around his waist, relishing the warmth of his skin.

“No matter what happens next,” he whispered, “we’ll always remember this night. I want you to know I care for you and wish the best for you. I’ll fight to keep you safe as best I can, even if you don’t always know it.” It was a promise only he understood, but he made it nevertheless. Michael seemed to understand the gravity of his tone and feel the need to reply. He rubbed his hand in a circle on James’s chest. “Good, James.” James’s heart clenched at the soft, loving sound of those two simple words.

Michael listened to the sound of James’s breathing deepen as he slept. He felt the man’s heartbeat beneath his palm, steady and strong, and he was content. This was what he’d wanted. He was glad he’d stopped waiting for James to reach out to him and had forced him to surrender. Sometimes a mate just needed strong encouragement. When he’d grabbed James’s wrist and pulled him down onto the bed, James had given in easily enough. Whatever ties had been holding him back had broken and he’d embraced the desires Michael knew he’d been feeling. Michael listened to the night sounds of the river and the boat, which had stopped moving. Change was coming. He could feel it but didn’t know what was going to happen. They might try to put him in the cage again. He must be ready for whatever happened. He patted James’s chest and made a promise to him.I will not let them take you from me. I’ll fight and kill if I have to, but we will not be parted. Michael lay quietly for a long while but didn’t sleep. Restless, he finally rose, drank water from the pitcher and relieved himself in the chamber pot as James had taught him. He tested the door and found it sealed as always. During the day, whenever James left, he always locked the door behind him. Michael wondered where he went and why he never took Michael with him. Although he was growing increasingly impatient with being kept a prisoner, he had to trust James knew what he was doing. Not to trust James would mean doubting him, and he couldn’t stand to do that. Returning to the edge of the bed, he gazed at his mate sleeping, one hand beside his cheek, the other on his chest. Michael grew hard simply from watching his eyelashes flutter and his throat move as he swallowed. Michael placed a hand over James’s for a moment, then slid his palm all the way down his body to his cock. A few gentle pulls and it grew thick and solid in his grasp. He massaged it until James shifted and groaned and opened his eyes. Michael continued to rub, but he wanted more. This time he wanted to turn James over and mate with him as the apes did with each other. Did James want that too or would he reject Michael if he tried to mount him? The berth was too narrow and the upper bunk too close for Michael to climb on top of James. Michael took his hand and drew him from the bed and into his arms. He hugged him close and pressed his lips against his shoulder then put his hands on James’s waist and turned him around. Nudging his cock into the groove of his rear, Michael let James feel how very much he wanted him. He placed his hand on the other man’s back, urging him down with light pressure. James obeyed his silent command, sinking to his knees and bending over the bottom bunk. Michael crouched behind him and rubbed his hand down the line of his back before testing the tautness of his rear. He felt for his opening, teasing the tip of his finger inside.

James gasped and his body clenched around Michael’s finger. Michael licked his lips. He was nervous, afraid to do this part wrong, to hurt James or displease him. He didn’t know if man sex was different from ape sex, which included a lot of screeching, grunting and a quick mounting before the mates went off in separate directions. He didn’t know how his cock would fit into that tight hole. “Wait.” James held up his hand. Michael’s stomach dropped. He was going to push him away now and say they couldn’t do this. Instead James rose, saying, “Wait” again. He went to the cupboard and came back with the jar of ointment he usually used on his sunburned face. He smeared the fragrant, oily stuff on Michael’s cock, which jerked at his touch. James’s gliding hand felt so good, Michael closed his eyes and groaned. James gave him the ointment, then turned around and bent over the bed again. His raised bottom was an exciting sight. Understanding what he was meant to do now, Michael smeared some of the ointment between James’s cheeks and into his opening. The entry of his fingers was much easier this time. James gave a low groan, the hungry sound sending an excited shiver through Michael. He was seized by the need to bury himself balls deep in his mate. The primal urge to claim him for his own swept through him with the force of a gale. He removed his finger from the entrance, guided his cockhead there and pressed inside. He grasped James’s hips, flesh filling his hands and surrounding his cock, and felt he was where he belonged at last. No longer alone or outside, he was deep within James, nearly a part of him. Michael sighed in contentment and stayed for a moment, buried in his mate before beginning to rock gently in and out. James’s body tightened around his cock, rubbing the sensitive skin with each thrust. It was a glorious feeling, better even than James sucking him. Michael wanted to cry out from happiness, screech and hoot with joy, but human instinct held him back. Those were the sounds apes made and he was no longer one of them. With every thrust, James pushed back against him, welcoming him inside. The slap of Michael’s groin against his rear, the front of his thighs against the back of James’s legs, and their quiet, contented groans were the only sounds in the room. The darkness made every touch, smell and sound seem more vital. As Michael curved his body over James’s and gripped his arms, he felt he was reaching for something beyond the release of his cock. There was something big happening here, a bonding that could not be broken. Michael felt it and hoped James felt it, too. As his tension grew, he pushed harder and faster, grunting with each plunge, and when his climax crashed through him, he did cry out, not with the bellow of an ape, but with the one human word that meant the most to him. “James!”

Chapter Fifteen The move from one ship to the other at Leopoldville was as bad as James had feared. Rutherford insisted Smythe cage Michael again until they were underway, and Michael didn’t react submissively. He’d struggled and fought the grip of the African bearers forcing him into the cage, while James tried to

calm him with his voice. Michael was a strong and fierce fighter, as James knew from having seen him attack a jungle cat with only a sharp stick and solid muscle. But seeing Michael kicking, biting and scratching like a wild thing himself ripped at James’s heart. He complained to Rutherford. “You can’t seesaw back and forth between treating him as a man and locking him in a cage like an animal. It will make him untrusting and angry.” But his plea fell on deaf ears. “When the ship is safely at sea and there’s no place to go except overboard, your ape-man can be free of his cage again, but limited to a cabin. I won’t have him taking an unexpected dive into the sea.” Frustrated but powerless, James could do nothing except try to get Michael to hear him. All his entreaties earned him was a hurt, angry glare. The ship left the harbor and entered the heaving gray waters of the Atlantic to travel up the continent. Smythe grudgingly moved Michael to James’s cabin, making an obligatory comment about animals belonging down in the hold with the rest of the cargo. Perhaps Michael might have shown James anger at his apparent complicity with Rutherford, but his case of seasickness was so bad all he could do was wretch and moan. James didn’t feel much better as he tended Michael, holding his hair back when he vomited and feeding him a little broth or water once he could hold it down. Michael’s reaction to the rocking motion of the steamship didn’t subside until they reached the calm waters of the next port, Accra. Most of the tribesmen they’d hired had been paid off in Leopoldville. As the organizer of the expedition, Smythe had overseen all aspects from securing supplies and workers to maintaining safety. He should have disembarked with the others, but as they lingered in the harbor at Accra, restocking the ship, it became clear he wasn’t going anywhere. “Rutherford’s guard dog,” Blake said to James as he sat with him and Michael over tea in their cabin late one afternoon. “He’s convinced his lordship his services are needed to keep our prisoner under control.” “And me.” James poured a second cup of tea for Blake and passed it to him. Michael was pale and barely sipped his tea, instead cradling the cup between his hands. He’d been so ill James hadn’t had a chance to talk with him about the night they’d had sex or the subsequent caging. Michael seemed remote, his attention turned inward. James didn’t know if he blamed him for not saving him from being imprisoned or if he was merely weak and tired after days of nausea and vomiting. “I despise Smythe,” James said to Blake. “Rutherford may be arrogant and selfish, but Smythe has a streak of cruelty running through him.” “No doubt he was the kind of lad who pulled the legs off grasshoppers to watch them flop about and beat boys like me to a bloody pulp when the headmaster wasn’t looking,” Blake added as he reached for another biscuit. Blake’s cast-iron stomach hadn’t been affected in the slightest by motion sickness and he’d been a great help to James once again during their days at sea, making certain he and Michael were provided with everything they needed. “I’m not looking forward to this voyage,” James said, “but especially not locked in this cabin with

Smythe as our guard.” After Blake left them alone once more, James studied Michael, who’d put the teacup down and sat staring at his hands lying loosely on the table. His demeanor worried James. He leaned over to touch his arm. “Are you all right?” Michael gazed at him, expressionless. “Are you angry with me, missing home, or simply not feeling well? I wish you could tell me.” James felt as awful as he used to as a boy when he’d persecuted his sister and felt guilty afterward. He’d once beheaded her best doll with a homemade guillotine while reenacting the French Revolution. Other times he’d gone rambling in the woods while she was forced to stay at home and practice embroidery. Whatever he’d done, Margaret had always paid him back by skewering him with her wounded gaze. Michael wouldn’t even give him that right now. He remained silent and unresponsive. “Please look at me.” James slid his hand down Michael’s forearm to hold his hand. “I know it’s been an awful time for you. I wish I could make it better.” He wanted nothing more than to enfold Michael in his arms and hold him as they’d done that wonderful last night on the river. Michael looked at his hand, but his own lay limply in James’s grasp. “You think I abandoned you, letting Smythe lock you up again, but you don’t understand. There’s very little I can do. Rutherford has the power. I’m doing all I can just to keep in contact with you.” He gazed in frustration at their joined hands. “Would you have me help you escape the ship so you could return home? I doubt you’d even find your way now. And really, would you want to continue to live like an animal? No matter how hard these changes are or how badly you’ve been treated, wouldn’t you rather be with your own kind?” With a sigh, James rose from his seat and started to pull his hand from Michael’s. Michael gripped his hand at last—hard—and looked up at him. “James. Not go.” Startled at the sudden response, James gestured toward the washstand. “I was just going to wash up the tea things.” “No.” Michael stood to face him, gazing into his eyes with a powerful look that made James’s body go weak. “Stay. With. Me.” Each carefully chosen word was placed before James like a tangible object to consider. “I’m so sorry.” He stepped into Michael’s crushing embrace and wrapped his arms around him. Holding him felt so good. James’s voice was muffled by Michael’s shoulder. “And I’m sorry we’re going to be back at sea soon on an even longer voyage. If they’d only let me take you on deck, I’m certain you’d get your sea legs and your nausea would dissipate.” He closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of Michael’s skin and felt good for the first time in days. After a moment, Michael pulled away to look into James’s eyes. Cupping the side of his face, he leaned in to place one soft kiss on his lips then drew back again. James listened to the distant din of working men on their ship and others. In this quiet space it was hard to believe that outside was a busy harbor. They were so isolated here in their own special world.

It was his turn to lean in, slip a hand around the back of Michael’s neck and kiss him. More than a soft peck, he let his mouth mold to Michael’s and teased his tongue between parted lips. In seconds, the kiss went from gentle exploration to aggressive passion, mouths fused together and hands grasping at each other’s bodies. Heat bloomed through James like some fast-growing tropical plant shooting vines and tendrils throughout his nervous system. He ground his crotch against Michael’s, clutching his rear to hold him close, and his kisses grew ever deeper as if he would devour the other man. The door opened and a voice thundered through the room. “Holy Christ!” James tore away from Michael as if he’d been burned and whirled to face Smythe in the doorway. “What the bloody hell is this?” The man strode into the room with his cudgel drawn, letting the door close behind him. “I knew there was something off about you, Litchfield, you bloody perverted bastard. Jesus!” His thick moustache quivered as his lip curled in disgust. In an instant, James went from blazing hot to ice cold, both his body and mind frozen in shock. There was no denying what Smythe had seen. James couldn’t think of any response whatsoever. “When Rutherford finds out about this, it’s back into the cage for this filthy animal, back where he’s always belonged. And you—” he glowered at James as he came closer, “—won’t be interfering with him again or anyone else. I’ll make certain of that. I’ll make sure everyone knows about you.” James’s frozen brain unthawed as a thousand thoughts broke through the ice, scenarios of what would happen to Michael without his protection, what would happen to himself and to his career when Smythe smeared his name. Everything he’d worked for crumbled in the blink of an eye. His future—finished. His relationship with Michael—destroyed. Only one serviceable idea bobbed to the surface like a piece of wreckage which James desperately grabbed for. “I’ll pay you to keep quiet. I haven’t much, not here, but when we reach England, I have access to a small inheritance.” As Smythe continued to advance toward them, he laughed, a humorless, sneering chuckle. “You misunderstand me entirely, Litchfield. I’m already well-paid and soon to do better thanks to Rutherford. I’ve no interest in blackmailing you. I want to see you and this creature get your just deserts.” “Why?” James whispered. It was a pointless question under the dire circumstances, but in that moment he desperately wanted to know what made men like Smythe so hateful, so eager to pull the legs off grasshoppers. “Because you’re both disgusting abominations and it satisfies me to see you put in your proper place.” Smythe was nearly chest to chest with James now, close enough that James could smell the man’s meaty breath and see a dark spot in one gray iris. His cudgel was threateningly raised but the real danger lay not in the weapon but in the potent threat of exposure Smythe represented. James inhaled a shaky breath. “Look—” Michael barreled into Smythe with a growl, knocking him to the floor and pinning him there. He wrestled the club from his hand and tossed it away, then began to hit him over and over, his arm moving like a

steam engine’s piston—punch-punch-punch—into Smythe’s face. A crack of bone and the squelching sound of flesh hitting flesh resounded through the cabin. Blood spurted from Smythe’s nose. “Wait,” James gasped, but both men were beyond hearing. With a violent twist of his body, Smythe unseated Michael, pushed him onto his back, climbed on top of him and pounded him with his fists. But even as James reached to pull Smythe away, Michael shoved his assailant off him. As he was thrown, Smythe’s out-flung arm hit James in the chest, nearly knocking him off his feet. Michael struggled to stand and so did Smythe, pulling himself up by the edge of the bunk. Then they were at each other again. They sprang forward and clashed together so fast and fierce James didn’t dare interfere lest he get in Michael’s way and make things worse. Instead, he crouched and picked up Smythe’s cudgel from the floor. Michael bent low and drove his shoulder into his opponent’s stomach, knocking the breath from him. Smythe grunted and brought his joined fists down on Michael’s back, hitting hard. The enclosed space gave them little room in which to maneuver. The two fought close together, clinging to one another and delivering blow after blow like boxers who refused to go down. Blood trickled from above Michael’s eye and gushed from Smythe’s nose, turning his moustache red as they continued to grunt and punch. Smythe abruptly pulled free from Michael’s grip and staggered backward, practically running into James again. Reacting on instinct, James raised the club and brought it down on the back of Smythe’s head, driving the man to his knees. Michael sprang on his persecutor and knocked him the rest of the way to the floor. Smythe tried to crawl out from under the other man, but Michael grabbed hold of his head and jerked it to the left. His neck gave a horrible cracking sound like a branch breaking, and Smythe stopped moving. James cursed. For a moment the cabin was silent except for Michael’s heavy breathing as he knelt over Smythe. James crouched beside them and touched the guide’s shoulder then put a tentative hand on his neck, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. He looked at Michael’s bloodied face and heaving chest. In a heartbeat, everything had changed again. “He’s dead.” The horror of the words rushed over James like a tidal wave. Smythe wasn’t merely dead. Michael had killed him, and perhaps James had too from that blow to the head. With a dead man in their cabin, no one would want to hear a story of self-defense. They’d believe the wild ape-man from Africa had gone berserk and broken Smythe’s neck, that he was dangerous and should be caged and maybe even destroyed. James had to get rid of the body. Outdoors it would still be light out. Blake had said the ship would be underway soon. He would have to wait until night and throw Smythe’s body overboard into the ocean, letting the sea carry him away. James had gained the impression Smythe was a man with no family or other ties, which was why he was free to leave Africa to travel to Europe with them. So, let Rutherford think the man had changed his mind and stayed in Accra. No one would ever miss him or know what had happened to him. Except me.James glanced at Michael, who’d risen to his feet, wiping blood from his face and spitting a mouthful onto the floor.Except us.

James wet a rag at the washbasin and dabbed at Michael’s face, cleaning off most of the blood. More kept trickling from his cheekbone. James handed him the cloth to hold against the wound and stared down at Smythe’s still body. “Michael, did you have to kill him?” he muttered. But the other scenario played out in his head with equally bad ramifications. Smythe walking away from the fight alive and making certain Michael was permanently caged, James exposed for a homosexual, his life in ruins. He didn’t wish Smythe dead, but the alternative would’ve been nearly as terrible for Michael and himself. James shook off his trance. “All right. Someone could come here looking for him. We’ve got to move him right now.” He reached into Smythe’s jacket pocket for the skeleton key, wincing at how lifeless the body felt beneath his searching hands. If anyone came to the room, they’d expect to find the door locked so James locked it from the inside and pocketed the key. Then he grasped Michael’s shoulders and stared into his face. “This is bad. Understand? We must hide him.” Michael looked at the sprawled body on the floor and then at James before nodding. Whether he felt any guilt over eliminating Smythe was doubtful, but he seemed to understand that a dead Smythe could mean trouble for them. Michael helped him roll the body onto a blanket and wrap it. Together they pushed the corpse into the narrow space below the bottom berth. James draped a blanket from the bed to hide the compartment below and turned his attention to scrubbing every trace of blood from the floor. Other than the droplets scattered from Smythe’s broken nose there was little. The man’s broken neck had left no evidence behind at all. What an easy and efficient way to die.The cool thought floated through his mind. James searched for guilt, horror or panic and found he felt none of them. His brain was frozen again, dealing with the situation in the only way it could, step by step, covering up the death. James looked at Michael, whose injured eye was rapidly swelling closed. “We’ve got to have an excuse for the damage to your face. You tripped and fell, hitting your cheek on the corner of this chair. All right? Just let me explain it. You keep quiet.” As if Michael would do anything else. He didn’t talk to anyone but James, not even Blake. James glanced around. The room was as austere as before. He could do nothing but wait for nightfall and try not to think of the horrible secret that lay beneath the bed. He sank to the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs and pressing his forehead to his knees, his eyes closed tightly. Maybe when he opened them, this would all be a nightmare from which he would awaken.

Michael sat on the floor near James, watching him, wanting to reach out and touch him but sensing he wanted to be left alone. He didn’t understand why James was so upset. The dangerous man was dead. There was no threat to either of them any more. It was a good thing. He glanced at the spot where they’d put the body and wondered why James had hidden it there.

Anyone who walked into the room could still smell blood and death in the air. Even though the floor was washed clean, the odor was strong to Michael. But sometimes men seemed unaware of things he took for granted, so maybe they would not notice the smell. Michael wasn’t sorry about killing Smythe. The man had attacked both James and himself. But he could understand there might be consequences in the man tribe, as there would be among the apes if a member were killed. Perhaps if they showed the body to Rutherford, he might banish them from the group. Michael wouldn’t mind that. But James understood how men’s minds worked better than he did. Michael must follow James’s directions, even when he didn’t understand them. Michael was exhausted from days of being sick and from trying to learn everything he must know about living among the humans. Every day he spent inside a cage or cabin sapped his strength. After a lifetime spent roaming the forest, being enclosed in small spaces was draining his energy. He shifted to a more comfortable position, leaning his back against the wall. He missed the outdoors, missed the smells, sights and sounds of the jungle, and he missed the time he’d spent with James in his own world, where he understood how things worked. A quiet whimper of distress escaped him. James didn’t look up. Was he angry with Michael for the killing? Michael began to feel worried. He was not afraid of any punishment men might give him but he couldn’t bear to lose James’s affection. He wanted to move close, to sit shoulder to shoulder with him and feel the warmth of his body, but he stayed where he was, waiting for whatever would happen next. A long time passed before someone tried to open the door. Both men roused with a start. James’s blue eyes were wide and frightened.Calm yourself, Michael wanted to tell him.Don’t let them see your fear. James rose, rubbing his palms against the sides of his trousers and staring at the door. There was the scraping sound Michael had come to recognize as the key in the lock and one of the dark-skinned men came into the room carrying a tray of food. He set the tray down with a curious glance at them and left, locking the door behind him. James collapsed onto the floor again, pressing a hand to his mouth as though he wanted to be sick. The thought of vomiting started Michael’s stomach rolling again. The memory of his illness was too close. But he was also very hungry and the food smelled good. Besides, he needed to build up his strength in case he had to fight again. He went to the tray and scooped up some of the food from the bowl with his fingers. At first the men’s food had made him feel queasy after he ate it, but he’d become used to the new diet. It was filling in a way forest food hadn’t been. He ate quite a lot before carrying the bowl to James and holding it out to him. James shook his head. He wasn’t really meeting Michael’s eyes. Michael set the bowl down and crouched on the floor by James, hoping he’d reach out and touch his hair. Some time passed. The dim sounds from up above and below them changed into a roaring noise as the ship came to life. The ship was about to start moving again. Michael braced himself for the rolling motion that made him so ill. The unsteady feeling made him rise and nervously pace the room. He desperately wanted out of here and understood James had the way in his pocket—Smythe’s key—but still he sat and waited.

Michael strode to James and tugged on his arm. He pointed at the door. “Go.” “No.” James shook his head. “Not yet.” The ship plowed through the water and Michael continued to walk around the cabin. More time passed before James looked at the little gold circle he carried in his pocket, snapped it shut and stood up. He grasped Michael’s arm and looked into his eyes. “You stay here.” Michael wasn’t happy as he watched James open the door and leave, but he waited. A short time later, James returned. He went to the bed and Michael helped him take the body out from beneath it. They started to lift it together, but Michael knew he was much stronger than James. He slung Smythe’s body over his shoulders and carried it that way. James led the way out of the room and up some stairs, moving fast, stopping at the top and checking for anyone passing by. Michael hadn’t yet seen anything outside of the cabin and the ship was an amazing sight to him. They emerged beneath a black, starry sky. The body started to slip from Michael’s shoulder. He hoisted it up and followed James. He understood they were going to do something with the body but still wasn’t sure what James had in mind. Not until he followed him across a flat area and stopped at a low wall made of something like sticks. Michael caught his breath when he saw what was on the other side far below and spread out as far as he could see. Although the night was dark, moonlight illuminated water that stretched from the ship all the way to the horizon. James had told him about the sea. He’d showed Michael pictures of water with ships on it. But until now it had been impossible for him to imagine so much water. James tugged at the burden on Michael’s shoulder. Together they grasped the heavy bundle at either end and lifted it over the top of the low wall, flinging the body out and away from the ship. It hit the water far below with a splash. Michael watched as Smythe spun away in the wake of the ship then disappeared from sight. James pulled on his arm. “Come. We must go back.” Michael hesitated. He didn’t want to go into the rank, stuffy cabin again. The air was salty and fresh out here. A light mist of water cooled his face. He could breathe at last and his belly no longer growled and churned. James tugged insistently. “We have to go.” Reluctantly Michael went with him, crouching low as he ran to the open door leading to the lower levels of the ship. His heart sank as they went back downstairs, past several other closed doors and into their prison. James locked the door and leaned his forehead against it, breathing hard and muttering. Michael hesitated then put a hand on his shoulder. “James?” He looked up and patted Michael’s hand. “It’s all right.”

“Good.” Michael drew James against him and hugged him, feeling the tension in his sweating body. “Good.”

Chapter Sixteen The ease with which Smythe disappeared from their lives and from everyone else’s consciousness astonished James. A servant came the next day to change the dinner tray for a breakfast one and asked about Smythe. James said he hadn’t been there for over a day. The servant must have reported back to Rutherford because later the man came to call. He seemed only mildly annoyed or surprised that Smythe had left ship in Africa rather than accompany them back to England. “Worthless lout probably drank himself into a stupor and missed the boat. Never mind. Guess I don’t really need him now.” He studied Michael with a critical eye. “Rather hard to tell he’s even a wild man now except for the long hair, isn’t it? I hope he’ll be the sensation I expect him to be.” “Sir,” James said, “Michael was very seasick during the first part of the voyage. I hope you’ll permit me to take him on deck now. He must have fresh air and exercise if you don’t want him ill when we arrive in England. A pale, sickly man would hardly make for a good spectacle.” He added the last bit dryly, but Rutherford didn’t appear to notice his sarcastic tone. “Very well.” The man seemed to be in an affable, generous mood today. Perhaps leaving the hot climate of Africa behind for the bracing ocean air had cheered him. “Take him topside a bit each day, and I’ll let you keep a key to the cabin. You’ve proven a useful caretaker. We’ll settle on wages after we return to London.” With that, Rutherford left. They’d won their freedom at last. At least as long as they were on board this ship. James clapped Michael on the back. “Are you ready to go on deck and take a look around?” James would’ve been quite happy if not for his worries about what the future held and his vivid images of the man who’d died.Whom Michael had killed. He couldn’t stop thinking about the negligent ease with which Michael had snapped the man’s neck and how he’d shown no remorse for it. Of course in the jungle the strong survived and the weak died. Smythe had proven weaker in the fight, thus he’d died. Knowing he’d been a horrible man helped James to accept it to an extent, but he was still shocked and unsettled. Would Michael as easily kill anyone who crossed him? He really was wild at heart. As days passed, James increasingly put the incident behind him. Having fresh air and exercise lifted his mood as well. He took Michael around the entire ship, showing him every aspect of it and teaching him the name and function of its parts. Michael was fascinated by the stacks from which steam billowed across the sky and even more impressed by the raging furnaces in the depths of the ship where sweating men constantly shoveled coal. The crew was intrigued with Michael, his story having spread among them. After an initial period of wariness, they came to accept the jungle man’s presence and to call out greetings whenever he and James passed by. And of course Michael was of great interest to the Oxford dons, who were glad to

finally have access to “their” discovery. They questioned him through James and jotted notes about him with academic glee. Watching Michael interact for the first time with others was a revelation to James. From day to day he saw the man inside unfolding as Michael listened and learned from every person he encountered. Soon his protégé could string his newly learned words into short sentences. One could carry on a limited conversation with him. He amused James with his ability to mimic different speech patterns from the precise enunciation of the scholarly set to the rough brogues or foreign accents of the sailors. James’s own Scottish burr was Michael’s default manner of speech. He copied the cadence so perfectly that soon James thought he could fit in on the streets of Langholm—if he didn’t say too much. Blake insisted on proofing James’s notes about Africa and writing new notes as James dictated. Whenever he thanked Blake for helping, the man simply reminded him he wanted a writing credit when James’s memoirs were put in print. James thought of how Hatchett would have been thrilled by this living example of an untouched man and astounded by how quickly Michael had adjusted to his strange new world. In the few accounts of feral children James had read during his studies, it seemed a child raised in complete isolation was usually unable to ever learn to socialize properly. Either Michael was a uniquely intelligent man or he’d spent enough formative years in his parents’ company to maintain a memory of his humanity. Michael might need help in learning to speak but was better able than James to decipher the nonverbal cues people transmitted. “Blake is sad,” he announced one evening after Blake had dined with them and then left to retire to his room. “What?” “Sad?” Michael turned down the corners of his mouth. “Why do you think he’s sad?” James set his fountain pen aside and blew on the page of his notebook. Michael shrugged and explained simply, “He is.” James thought back over Blake’s behavior during the meal and realized his usual river of speech had been somewhat dammed and his great appetite had diminished. “You’re right. He does seem upset about something. I wonder what it is.” He would be certain to ask Blake. It suddenly occurred to him he gave very little thought to the particulars of Blake’s life when the man had proven a trusty and valuable friend to him. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” And then there was another night to be faced. On this second leg of the voyage, their innate attraction swelled again. A tangible force shimmered between them which was nearly impossible to fight against when living in such close quarters. James rebuffed Michael’s repeated attempts to reach out to him since he believed Michael was mostly attracted to him because he had no other experience to measure his feelings against. Then there was the

fear someone might interrupt them as Smythe had, even in the dead of night when such a thing was completely unlikely. But beneath those fears was a more personal one. James was afraid he’d come to care for Michael too much. On the inevitable day when they were pulled apart, he didn’t know if he could bear it if he allowed himself to grow even more attached to him. Thus, he struggled to reestablish the distance of teacher to student, ignoring the undeniable sense they were something much more than that to each other. But every night was a struggle as Michael looked at him with yearning eyes, or reached out to touch him, pat his hair or stroke his arm, silently cajoling him to come to bed with him. Nightly, James’s will was weakening more. “I believe I’ll walk on deck.” James rose, closed his notebook and capped his pen. Michael came with him. He’d hardly expected him to stay behind. Now that he was allowed the liberty of being above board, Michael took every opportunity to enjoy it. James would’ve liked some time alone. But it really was very pleasant to stroll with Michael by the railing and watch the sun sink into the ocean with a dramatic final flare of color, like a diva singing her last aria. They watched, breathing in the invigorating, salty air, until the sky changed from rose to lilac and at last to gray. Stars emerged as the sky darkened. They shone brighter and brighter until they sparkled like the diamonds hewn from African soil. The breeze was quite cold now. James hugged his arms around his body and wished he’d worn his jacket. He glanced at Michael to find him gazing up at the sky, transfixed. His long hair whipped around his face, inviting James to reach out and tuck strands behind an ear. James gripped the railing tighter to keep from doing so. After a few quiet moments, Michael murmured, “Stars.” “That’s right,” James said. “Beautiful, aren’t they.” Michael tested the sound of the word on his tongue. “Beau-ti-ful.” His gaze moved down from the heavens to settle on James, drilling into him with the dark intensity of the night sky. “Beautiful,” he drawled, his voice a long, low purr that made James’s skin prickle. The hairs on his arms were already standing upright from the chill. Michael’s voice sent a different sort of chill shivering through him. The man glided toward him, standing in front of him and trapping his body against the railing. Michael reached out a hand to take James’s in his hard grip. James tore his gaze away from those mesmerizing eyes to search the deck for anyone who might be looking. This corner of the ship was empty, but he tried to pull his hand away anyway. “No, Michael. Not here.”Not anywhere. Not again. “Yes, James.” There was no questioning in Michael’s voice or manner. He was stating a fact and to prove it, he stepped closer and slid his hands around his waist. “Here.” Before James could protest again, Michael leaned in and took his lips in a languorous, breath-stealing kiss. James closed his eyes and opened his mouth, surrendering to the heat and passion of his untamable jungle man. He breathed in the scent of the ocean and of Michael, so close and warm. He pressed his

hands to Michael’s chest, feeling his steady heartbeat against his palms. But after a moment reason surfaced and he pushed Michael away, breaking off the kiss. “No. Not here.” He looked furtively around the dark, quiet deck. “You must learn. This—” he gestured between them, “—is not good. For you and me, yes, but for others, no.” Michael stared at him. James drew a breath and tried again, unintentionally slipping into Michael’s primitive speech pattern. “Man and man not good. People don’t like.” He put his finger to his mouth in a shushing gesture and whispered, “Secret. Like killing Smythe. No one can know. Ever.” He didn’t attempt to explain why homosexuality, or murder, were wrong—perhaps equally wrong in the eyes of society. Such moral debates were far beyond Michael’s comprehension. At this point, James simply wanted to make sure Michael knew enough to keep certain things private. As he led the way back down to the cabin, James knew the days of resisting this attraction between them were over. The moment the door closed behind them, he was back in Michael’s arms. Their bodies pressed as close together as they could be with their clothes still on. James plunged his hands into the silken strands of Michael’s hair, letting them slip sensuously between his fingers before finding purchase on the hard skull beneath. He held him steady as their mouths crashed together, hot and sweet, a fervent meshing of lips and tongue that said so much more than words ever could. I want you, need you, can’t stand to be without you,every kiss proclaimed. Soon, kisses weren’t enough. Michael plucked at James’s shirtfront, his unskilled fingers still clumsy with buttons. James impatiently pushed his hands away and quickly stripped off his shirt then did the same for Michael. Undershirts followed, and braces, trousers, shoes and socks, scattering in all directions. Michael grunted in satisfaction as he pulled James to him again. The heat of his skin seared James’s flesh, and the satiny smoothness of his long, muscular back and tight buttocks beneath James’s hands made his palms catch fire. Standing together totally nude for the first time in days, James was so desperate for release he feared his aching cock would fizz and pop like a dud firework before they’d had a chance to do anything. He forced himself to slow down, control his breathing and master himself. He wanted to explore Michael’s body from head to toe, every nook and cranny, and he’d be damned if he’d rush. Taking the other man’s lightly stubbled cheeks between his hands, James tipped his head so he could kiss Michael’s forehead, the curve of his brow and each eyelid. His lips whispered over cheekbones and jaw and plucked at Michael’s soft mouth. He kissed the tender column of his throat and along his collarbones to his shoulder—such fine, muscular shoulders. He stroked the length of Michael’s arms and entwined their fingers together as his mouth dipped to take the man’s nipple between his teeth. James worried it with sharp little nips followed by gentle caresses with his tongue. Michael groaned and shifted, his pectoral muscles flexing intriguingly beneath James’s mouth. Sliding his hands down Michael’s sides, James dropped to his knees in front of him, skating his mouth down his rippling belly to the equally twitching cock that jutted eagerly toward him. He paused before taking it into his hands to look up at Michael’s face. One heavy hand curved warmly

around the back of James’s head—not pressing him to do anything, but merely resting there. Michael’s little smile was as mischievous as that of a boy who’d convinced his friend into an escapade they both knew would get them into trouble. He was pleased with himself for getting James to submit to desire at last. James couldn’t resist that dimpled grin and he returned Michael’s smile before leaning forward and taking the tip of his cock into his mouth. He grasped the long, thick girth in his fist and moved it up and down while he tasted the salty tang. He rolled his tongue around and over the head then sucked it in deep, pleased at the quiet moan of satisfaction he elicited from Michael. Kneeling before the other man and servicing him like this sent a sharp thrill through him. The pose was so submissive and the act so forbidden. He continued sucking and stroking while Michael’s hand on his head grew heavier and the thrust of his hips became more urgent. Abruptly James stopped and rose to his feet. “Come.” He took Michael’s hand and drew him over to the bed. “I want you inside me now.” How sexual and bold those words sounded. They excited him. He lay back on the narrow bunk and pulled Michael down on top of him. The weight of his body was wonderful. He wished to be pinned under him this way every night. Michael sucked lightly on his lower lip then covered his mouth as he slid his tongue inside. For long minutes, they indulged in sweet, simple kissing, then Michael went lower, kissing James’s neck, chest, nipples, stomach and cock. James closed his eyes and relished the sensation of Michael’s hot mouth surrounding him, the strong suction nearly pulling him over the edge. He’d like to take that plunge, but first he wanted something else. James nudged Michael’s head off of him. “Wait.” He reached beneath the thin mattress for the little jar of ointment he’d placed there some time ago. How he’d tried to convince himself he’d forgotten he put it there and he’d never intended to use it again. Such a hypocritical charade, for somewhere deep inside he’d always known he and Michael weren’t finished with one another. Therewould be another time. And here it was at last. He uncapped the jar and smoothed some of the ointment on his fingers. Michael knelt above him and James rubbed the cool lubricant down his shaft, making him quiver. Tilting his pelvis, James reached between his legs, behind his scrotum. His hole clenched and eased spasmodically in anticipation. James frigged himself with one finger then several, stretching and widening the hole in preparation for Michael’s cock. His heart pounded with excitement and he swallowed hard. They were going to make love face to face. He would look into Michael’s eyes as the other man filled him and see how it felt to him. Michael would see him too and know how much he enjoyed it. They would truly share the experience with both lust and emotion. That was why his heart thundered. Michael lowered himself over James, his hips in the cradle of James’s thighs. He guided his cock to his entrance and slowly pushed inside. James held his breath as his body stretched around the man’s girth and accepted his fullness. The slightly painful burning sensation evolved into pleasure. He stroked his hands over Michael’s chest and curved them around his shoulders, holding on as Michael filled him. A sense of completion surged through James and he stared into his partner’s eyes, holding his gaze as strongly as he held his body. Michael pulled his length out and pushed in again, a long, easy glide that increased the mounting pressure inside James.

He appreciated the care Michael took with him, moving deliberately. His frown of concentration and the flexing of his taut muscles showed how much he was holding back. But James didn’t need him to be so gentle. He reached around Michael’s waist to grip his buttocks and drive him faster, harder. With an exhalation of relief, Michael obeyed his silent command and thrust more powerfully, his body slamming against James’s. The sound of flesh hitting flesh and Michael’s contented grunts with every push stoked James’s rising excitement. Deep inside him, Michael’s cock hit a spot that made him nearly cry out with ecstasy. James’s eyes were half closed, but he kept them focused on Michael’s face framed by the long tangle of hair. The scruff of several days’ growth of beard suited him, adding a rakish charm to his already handsome face. His eyes were darkened by lust and his lips parted. His gaze remained trained on James with matching intensity right up until he came, then he closed his eyes as he was transported by bliss. Michael groaned loudly. His body froze and his cock spilled. James gave a quiet hum of appreciation. His own orgasm still eluded him but he’d stopped seeking it as he grabbed Michael’s hips with both hands and held on. As his climax receded, Michael collapsed onto James, a heaving, heavy slab of man. James hugged him and kissed his shoulder, long strands of Michael’s hair falling over his face.Mine, all mine, the joyous thought filled him with effervescence that was quickly followed by a melancholy chaser,But not for long. Michael felt the change in James’s body, the sudden tension that tightened his relaxed muscles. He lifted off him and looked into his face with a questioning tilt of his eyebrows. “James, good?” “Yes. Fine.” He nodded but Michael didn’t believe him. He sensed sadness in his expression and in that tense body. Well, he would do what he could to make him happy. He pulled out of James and moved down in the bed, feeling the other man’s erection slide against his belly then his chest. He crouched between his legs and brought James’s cock to his mouth, kissing the tip as he looked up at him. The sadness he’d seen, or imagined, was replaced by desire. James lifted his hips, begging for more, and Michael gave it to him. He engulfed his erection, sucking it deep in one gulp. He circled the base in his hand and bobbed his head up and down on the smooth, thick length of cock. He enjoyed giving James pleasure, listening to his quiet groans and feeling the reactions of his body. When James’s balls drew tight, Michael stopped sucking. He pumped with his fist and caught the spurts of come on his tongue as they burst forth, all the while staring into James’s narrowed eyes, which glittered back at him. Michael swallowed and kissed the glistening head of his mate’s cock before placing it gently against his belly. He crawled up to face James. “Good now, James?” “Yes.” He grinned. “Very good now.” Michael grunted in satisfaction. He pushed the other man onto his side and curled up behind him, legs curved together, one arm tucked beneath his head and the other holding James close. He sighed and relaxed. This was what he’d wanted for days and hadn’t understood why James denied it to both of them. Heknew James wanted him, could see it in his face, hear it in his voice and smell it on his body. Michael could never understand why James desired to mate with him yet kept pushing him away.

He guessed it had something to do with Smythe. James had been very upset by his death although the man had needed to be put down. That was the way of the jungle, but apparently not man’s way. Or maybe James thought Michael still acted too much like an animal. If he were more like a man, would James touch him in front of them and claim him as a mate? But then he remembered what James had told him on deck: “Man and man not good. People don’t like.” There were things about men and how they viewed mating that Michael simply couldn’t understand. So if James thought they should keep their coupling hidden, he must know best. Michael exhaled, pushing all the confusing thoughts from his mind and enjoying the simple pleasure of lying with James. He was doing everything he could to improve himself, learning to speak and copy men’s ways as closely as possible. It was all he could do, so there was no point in worrying about trying to do better. “Good night, James.” He remembered to say his part of their nightly ritual. “Good night, Michael,” came the softly whispered reply.

Chapter Seventeen The voyage passed too quickly. James didn’t want this idyll to end. His apprehension mounted every day that brought them closer to English shores. The port of Madeira was the last foreign stop before they would reach England. Rutherford had given him almost free rein with Michael on board the ship, but he didn’t know what the man planned after they returned home. James certainly couldn’t envision a scenario in which he and Michael shared a private cabin and many glorious nights. Other than an occasional visit to check on his investment, Rutherford kept to himself. From the gossip Blake brought to James, Rutherford and the captain of the ship seemed locked into a contest over who could consume the most alcohol before the ship docked. According to reports from Rutherford’s valet via Albermarle’s servant and from him to the rest of the expedition, the pair spent many a day in Captain Reardon’s cabin indulging their vice and playing cards. “Rutherford should know there are no secrets on a ship this size,” Blake remarked one sunny afternoon as he stood beside James and Michael watching seagulls swoop for scraps tossed from the steamer’s galley. If you only knew the secrets thatarekept. James glanced at Michael, remembering the previous night of unrestrained passion…and the one horrible night which he must put behind him forever. Unfortunately, watching the seagulls dive for tidbits roused images of what Smythe’s body probably looked like by now, after several weeks in the ocean. “Well, anyway, we’re nearly home,” Blake added. “And then we shall see some fireworks. Neither Rutherford nor Oxford is going to give in easily. Poor Michael, caught in the middle like a dog’s bone.” Poor Michael, indeed.James leaned against the railing and stared into the tossing waves, sparkling so brightly in the sunlight they nearly blinded him. “Blake, you seem to know a bit about the law.”

“I should. My father made me study for nearly a year before I convinced him to allow me to pursue my own interests.” “What are the chances the court might allow Michael to be recognized as an individual in his own right? Why should anyone have custody over him as if he was incapacitated?” As he turned toward James, Blake’s lenses caught the light and turned a bright gold. “I should say slim. With no family, no finances, no skills and hardly any speech he’s clearly not competent to survive in our society without a guardian.” He held up a hand, silencing James before he could protest. “I’m not saying Michael’s an imbecile. I’m just telling you how the judge might view the situation. This is a man who needs a caretaker. My money’s on Rutherford to win the case. You and I should support him if we want to come down on the winning side and continue to stay with Michael.” James cast another sideways glance at his protégé. Michael knew they were talking about him. James could tell by his intent expression. His vocabulary had grown greatly during the course of this trip and he understood much more than most people thought he did. Not an imbecile, not an ape, but not a fully realized man able to stand up for himself, Michael existed in a strange limbo. James wished he could save him from it. “Ah, look!” Blake exclaimed. “Is that land?” James shaded his eyes and stared at the horizon where Blake was pointing. The thin dark line separating sea from sky could be solid earth or just an illusion. It was hard to tell. Right now he’d like to pretend it was an illusion and that this floating world was he and Michael’s only reality. “I think so,” he admitted. The future was coming at them much sooner than he’d hoped. They watched as the shimmering line solidified and became definite. Professor Crate joined them at the railing. He said the chief officer estimated they’d dock in the Port of London sometime the next day. James’s stomach lurched as if he was seasick again. Would Rutherford deem it necessary to cage Michael again? Perhaps not. He’d seen how compliant Michael was during the voyage. Surely he’d trust James to look after him now. He cast another glance at Michael, who also stared at the horizon and the growing slab of land emerging from the ocean. He had no idea what they were about to face. This ship had been revelation enough. Now he would have to come to terms with one of the busiest cities in the world and an onslaught of noise and confusion that could be overwhelming to a civilized man, let alone one who’d lived his life in isolation. That evening James tried to communicate to Michael what he could expect in England. Again he showed him the pictures of buildings, streets and people in the illustrated book and talked about the noise and sights he would encounter. Michael listened and looked with intent concentration, but James knew he couldn’t begin to imagine a world he’d never seen. “I don’t know what will happen next.” James closed the book and reached for Michael’s hand. “Try to be patient and do as you’re told. I’ll do my utmost to convince Rutherford you don’t need to be restrained.” Michael rose, tugging on James’s hand to lead him to bed, but James pulled away, shaking his head. “Not tonight. I don’t know how early we land tomorrow and we wouldn’t want someone walking in on

us.” It killed him to refuse. He wanted to hold Michael one last night. They’d become accustomed to sleeping entwined together in a single berth, and James had felt safe lying together as long as he moved to his own bunk by morning. But he had no idea what tomorrow might bring, and it was long past time he distanced himself from Michael sexually. He must end a relationship he should’ve never allowed to begin. “We must be friends only now, Michael. Friends. Not lovers.” He nodded toward the bed. “No more sleeping together. No more kissing or touching. Understand?” Michael frowned and hesitated a long time before producing a single word. “Why?” James exhaled slowly. “Because it’s wrong. I told you before. Men can’t be together like that.” He pointed at the bed. “People think it’s not good.” “Secret.” Michael put his finger to his lips as James had when he’d explained about keeping quiet. “Like Smythe. No one must know.” “Oh, Lord, how can I explain? It’s more than that. It’s hard to explain but some day you’ll understand. Maybe once you see women. That is who you’re supposed to want to be with.” James’s frustration mounted, especially since this was a lesson he didn’t want to teach. “We just can’t, all right?” he snapped. Michael frowned. “No,” he stated flatly. He turned away and went to lie down, his back to the room and to James. James climbed to the upper berth and lay for a long time brooding about the future. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to make Michael feel like more of an outsider than he already did. This was the worst time to be pushing him away yet he couldn’t see any other solution. He’d simply have to do his best to show friendliness without crossing that blurred line into something more. How many times had he told himselfthat before? It was a vow he seemed destined to keep breaking.But not this time, he told himself.Not this time.

The following day the ship steamed into the busy waters of the Port of London, but James and Michael weren’t on deck to watch the show. Rutherford had stopped by the cabin earlier in the morning to personally issue his instructions. “I expect a crowd of newspapermen, periodical journalists and photographers will be at the Royal Albert Dock to greet us. I telegraphed ahead when we anchored in Madeira with our expected arrival date and a promise of news of an exciting discovery, enough to titillate the media.” Despite his permanently red nose, Rutherford appeared clear-eyed and sober today—and eager. He looked from James to Michael, who stood near the wall, watching him warily. “I’ve taken to heart what you said about not caging the man, Litchfield, and decided you’re right. It won’t do at all. It would appear heartless to introduce him as some sideshow wild man. No, we want to go with a different tack here: a son of England returned to the bosom of his loving family after rescue from darkest Africa by Sir Lewis Rutherford’s Expedition of 1888.” “Do you plan to search for Michael’s family?”

“The search is already underway. I telegraphed instructions to my solicitor at the same time I contacted the papers.” Rutherford touched a finger to his temple. “Foresight and planning, my boy. That’s what separates the successful man from the average.” James felt like he was inside a snow globe someone had shaken, his entire view shifting and whirling. Perhaps Rutherford wasn’t completely insufferable after all. But then he was hardly searching for Michael’s family with Michael’s interests in mind. This was all about seeking fame and public esteem for himself. “At any rate, I want ournovus hominus cleaned, pressed and dressed in his best for the photographers.” Rutherford turned his keen gaze on James and for the first time he could see how the man might have looked before dissipation ruined his features. “Do you have control over him? Honest answer, Litchfield. I can’t have him running amok in front of a crowd of reporters. Although a story like that might have its own appeal, it doesn’t illustrate what I’m trying to promote.” “Yes,” James swore, ready to promise anything. “As long as I’m beside him, I believe Michael will be all right. Look how well he’s acclimated during his days on board the ship.” “Very well. I’ll send servants here with a bath and plenty of water, and you prepare him to meet the public.” Soon after, Michael watched with interest as Rutherford’s menservants brought a copper tub to the room and went back and forth, filling it with hot water. He removed his clothes at James’s urging, but balked at setting foot into the water. He’d only had sponge baths up until now. James remembered Michael’s hesitation to enter the jungle pool, although of course, there’d been a crocodile to deter him. But it seemed he was afraid of immersing himself in water. James disrobed and demonstrated, sinking into the tub with a sigh of satisfaction and quickly washing up so the water wouldn’t cool too much before Michael had a turn. He rose from the tub and splashed his wet feet onto the floor as he wrapped a towel around his hips. He was acutely aware of and trying to ignore Michael’s erection as the naked man stood watching him. “Your turn. Don’t be afraid. It feels wonderful.” James pushed a hand through his dripping mop of hair. Reluctantly, Michael placed a tentative foot in the water. He gave a hoot of dismay, but climbed over the edge and folded his long, lean body into the small tub. He splashed his hands in the water, submerging them then letting them bob to the top. His play made James smile. “I’ll do your back and your hair,” he volunteered, repeating over and over to himself that there was nothing sexually charged about performing this service. The back washing wasn’t a problem, except for James’s libido as he soaped and rinsed Michael’s glistening skin, but washing his hair was another matter. Michael was adamant about not putting his head underwater. James had to scoop and pour, soap and rinse, as the water grew cooler. He wished he had fresh water to rinse with, but the servants didn’t return—just as well since both of them were naked. After the bath, dried, combed and dressed in a nearly new suit Rutherford had provided from God knew where on this ship, Michael stood ready to be presented to the world. James stepped back to admire

him. There was much to admire. The black suit over a pristine white shirt couldn’t have fit Michael better if it had been tailored for him. His shiny black shoes were also a close fit. A subdued gray tie was knotted at his throat and tucked into a darker gray waistcoat. All this dark garb only served to make the blond strands in his flowing hair appear brighter. He gazed back at James with his unearthly blue eyes and the overall effect was breath-stealing. James felt his heart stumble in his chest before it began pumping again. “You’ll be society’s darling,” he murmured, picturing how the ladies would fawn over Michael and vie to have Rutherford present the jungle man and his thrilling story at their salons. The savagery of wild Africa presented in this genteel and beautiful package would be the talk of the season. But poor Michael would never be more than a passing fascination and an intriguing oddity to those people. They’d certainly never consider him an equal or possible match for one of their daughters. No one will ever care for him as I do,James realized with sudden, stunning clarity. He turned away to dress himself and finished just in time as there was a knock on the door and Rutherford’s valet poked his head in. “Sir Lewis requires your presence on deck with him.” “We’ll be right along.” James dismissed him then turned to Michael, reaching out and taking his hands just for a moment. “Are you ready? There will be a lot of people, a lot of noise.” But he’d prepared him all he could. There was really nothing more to say. James led the way through the door, taking a last look at the cabin that had been their prison and their paradise. That time was past. He closed the door behind him.

As Michael followed James upstairs to the deck, he felt something big was about to happen. There was tension in the air, different sounds and foreign odors coming from up above, and the ship had stopped moving, which always signaled change. Michael knew he was about to see a whole new world—the world of men pictured in James’s books: big buildings, men, women and children, and rolling boxes pulled by strange animals. He would see some of the things the men on the ship had attempted to explain to him with many words and lots of hand gestures. In his time spent on board this floating vessel, he’d become friendly with some of the crew and with James’s friends, who had all been eager to share information with him, even though he rarely understood what they were talking about. Now he was both excited and afraid to see the things they’d tried to describe. At least it seemed the leader, Rutherford, was going to allow him to be with James and not in a cage, so he wasn’t as nervous as he might have been. As they climbed the stairs, his gaze focused on James’s backside, his hand swinging beside him as he walked. Michael wanted to reach out and grab it. However, he’d learned well the lesson that touching was not allowed so he clenched his fingers into a fist by his side. Reaching the top of the dark staircase, he squinted in the sudden sunlight. He followed James across the deck to where a group of men stood. He knew some of their names now, Rutherford and Blake, of

course, and Albermarle, Crate and Langley. He also knew a little bit about each man’s personality—controlling, cheerful, irritable, anxious, shy. Michael stood beside James and looked where the others were looking, over the lower deck to the water beyond. He gasped in shock. He’d been impressed by the steamship as he’d explored it and came to vaguely understand how it worked. Now, lying before him, were many, many ships, some like this one and others completely different in shape. The vast water of the ocean was gone. Instead, water was contained in channels and ships were drawn up near shore with planks connecting them to the land. Men swarmed all over the ships, moving containers on or off them. On land, many more men carried loads, like busy driver ants. The animals that he’d seen in pictures—horses—pulled carts. Buildings taller than trees filled the land as far as he could see in either direction. Michael realized what was missing in this busy scene—trees. He didn’t see one amidst the buildings and streets, although he’d seen forested land from a distance on the ship. Where was the jungle? How did these men live without trees for shelter and plants to eat? He shivered and hugged his arms around himself, his nose twitching as he inhaled all the many strange smells. He’d become used to the briny scent of the ocean during the long trip, but here the smell of water was mixed with fouler odors: feces, rotted fish, decaying wood and other things Michael couldn’t place. He glanced at James to see his reaction to the crowded scene before them. James was watching a group of men standing on the land near the ship. Michael could tell from his steady stare they were important so he watched them, too. Perhaps those men were going to attack. Rutherford spoke to James, who nodded and turned to Michael. “Are you ready? We’re going to meet some people. They want to learn about you. They’ll ask questions but you don’t have to answer.” Michael understood the gist of his words. He nodded although inside he fought a strong urge to run back downstairs to the cabin and burrow under the covers of the bed. The small space he’d found so confining now seemed a safe haven. There he’d been free to be with James. He had no idea what he faced now. James put a hand on his elbow and guided him to the gangplank that led from the upper deck to the shore. Together they walked down it into the busy world of the harbor. Michael felt he was entering the lair of a leopard that would play with him for a while then tear him to pieces. His heart raced and his breathing was too fast. Most of the men waiting for them wore suits and the dark, round hats from the photographs. James had called them bowlers. The men pressed close, shouting questions. They reminded Michael of monkeys with their excited chattering. He drew closer to James’s side, ready to protect him if these hungry, eager men got too close. Rutherford held up his hands and called out a command. The men fell silent when he spoke. Michael was amazed by the power of this man who didn’t appear to have any special qualities yet seemed to be in control of many men. He found it hard to believe Rutherford had won that position of power and couldn’t imagine him physically pounding a competitor into submission as Old Grunt had sometimes done. “It’s all right,” James whispered, squeezing Michael’s arm reassuringly. “They want to know about you.” Rutherford talked in his big voice, pointing at Michael every now and then. Trumpeting like an elephant, he walked around Michael and James, while the men with the papers and pencils in their hands asked

questions. A few men stood behind boxes perched on wooden poles. Blinding flashes of light came from the boxes that made Michael blink. The need to run from all this commotion or cover his ears and close his eyes to shut it out was overpowering, but Michael forced himself to stand quietly beside James. He was not an animal. He was a man and this was how men behaved. Whether he felt it inside or not, he would act the part. Now James spoke, telling about how they’d met. Michael heard his name—the name James had given him—repeated over and over and other words he knew likeleopard, jungle, ape, ship, men, but he was hardly listening. There was too much to absorb all at once. Even his beloved James’s voice became a dull buzz of sound adding to the crescendo of noise. The flashing lights from the boxes, the bright sunlight and constant clamor swirled around and through him, hurting his head, filling him up until he couldn’t find the part of him he recognized asself. Michael was lost in a blur of sound, sight and smell that made his head spin. He took a deep breath, ordering himself not to lose consciousness, and closed his eyes until the wave of dizziness passed. James shouted something else to the newsmen then grasped Michael’s arm and pulled him forward. Michael opened his eyes to find people on both sides of him, many pale faces with staring eyes focused on him as James guided him through the crowd. Rutherford walked before them, clearing the way with his loud voice—the first time Michael had ever been grateful for the sound of it. He led them to one of the boxes on wheels—a carriage. Michael’s attention was caught by the horse pulling the vehicle. The animal was unlike any he’d seen before. It stood placidly between the traces, not alarmed by the noise and bustle of men all around it. A man opened the door of the carriage and Rutherford got inside, settling on a seat. The space was as small as a cage. Michael stopped walking. He didn’t want to get into that dark box. He’d had enough of cages. “Go.” James urged him forward. “It’s all right.” So he kept saying, but Michael was beginning to feel like none of this was right. He didn’t belong here in the world of men. He was afraid and miserable and at that moment wanted nothing more than to be running through the forest where he knew what to do and where no one had any expectations of him. The weight of wanting to please James and to fit in among the men was too much. “Please, Michael, don’t balk now. Get in,” James whispered. “It won’t be for long.” The open doorway loomed like the maw of a giant beast which would swallow him whole. He couldn’t shake the sense of being devoured. The human world was too powerful. He would lose himself in it. Already Odd One had transformed into Michael at James’s command. Now he was on the verge of another change. Who would he become this time? When they were all finished with him, would he even know himself?

Chapter Eighteen “There you have it, ‘The Gentleman Ape’ or ‘The Lost Man,’ take your pick.” Rutherford gloated as he

tossed a pair of newspapers on the table of the breakfast room in his London home the following day. “I couldn’t ask for better headlines.” Or pay for them.James dipped a spoon into his coddled egg, trying to avoid looking at the bold words on the newsprint, but he couldn’t keep from seeing the picture of Michael displayed in the right-hand column of text. It wasn’t an artist’s sketch but an actual halftone print from a photograph, a recent development in the newspaper world. In black and white, Michael’s blue eyes became dark, peering at the reader with a deep, soulful expression. Whether or not that look moved the average reader, it certainly tugged on James’s heartstrings. “The top headline!” Rutherford tapped the paper. “We’ve even beat out the damned Ripper.” He flipped the paper to show the news about Jack’s latest victim below the fold. “Now what, sir?” James glanced at Michael awkwardly spooning oatmeal from a bowl in front of him. “Are we to stay at your London house or do you have other plans in mind?” Rutherford grimaced. “Mmph. Depends on your esteemed colleagues, I should say. The university’s solicitor contacted mine while we were still at sea. They’ve been locked in battle over setting a date for a custody hearing. The sooner the better, I say. Any judge would declare me a better choice for guardianship. After all, I’m the one who immediately started a search for Michael’s remaining family members.” He smiled smugly and James marveled at how neatly Rutherford had orchestrated the entire affair to his advantage, making himself a heroic figure all around. He might be a drunken lush but he was also a shrewd manipulator. “We’ll stay in London for now. Our jungle man will be in demand and I intend to give society what she wants, as any man would do for a favored mistress.” His grin was wolfish as he tipped a decanter to his glass, pouring his first drink of the day. “Shall I continue to work with Michael then?” Rutherford barely looked at Michael as he waved a careless hand. “Teach him, entertain him, just keep him docile. We wouldn’t want any untoward incidents to occur in someone’s drawing room. Although, I must say, since Smythe jumped ship, the man has seemed much more malleable. You were right about the cage and the gentle treatment, I suppose.” At the mention of Smythe, James’s stomach almost unseated his breakfast. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the weight of that lifeless body as he’d helped Michael toss the corpse overboard like so much flotsam. “Yes, sir,” he agreed quietly. “Keeping him like an animal was counterproductive. Michael is willing to learn. He wants to be a part of society.” Rutherford tapped a finger thoughtfully against his glass. “Besides, there’s really no place for him to run to now that we’re in England, is there? The world of the gorillas is far behind him.” For the first time, he turned his gaze toward Michael and studied him as if he truly saw him. “In fact, he hardly appears wild at all. There’s not much about the lad to maintain a mystique after the initial excitement has worn off.” Feeling Rutherford was swaying back in the direction of presenting Michael in an animal-skin loincloth, James quickly spoke up. “It’s all in how the story is presented. Sideshow attractions are rarely as exciting

as the barker seduces customers into believing. Tell the tale of how Michael saved me and Hatchett from the leopard to get their attention. Keep it with talk of how far he’s come from his days of living with apes, and then let the people meet him over tea.” Christ, how he hated talking about Michael as if he were no more than a novelty. But for now, that was the role Michael must play and James must act as his agent. He remembered how Evan Blake had first made the suggestion of Michael’s value as an entertainment. They’d come a long way from their days of being reluctant roommates. He’d miss Blake as a friend and ally, but Rutherford had not invited the man to stay at his house. Blake would return with the others from the Oxford contingent to the university town. “Take Michael out in the garden today. Let him enjoy some fresh air and a stroll,” Rutherford advised. “I’ll send for my tailor to come this afternoon to measure him for suits. Otherwise, you may keep yourself entertained however you wish. My butler, Harrison, will show you the library and billiard room, and make sure any teaching supplies you might need are purchased.” With that, Rutherford excused himself from the table and wandered off, glass and decanter in hand. James and Michael sat alone in the well-appointed breakfast chamber while Michael devoured nearly everything on the table from ham and potatoes to scones with jam and clotted cream. He was polishing off a bit more kippered herring when James interrupted him. “Would you like to go outdoors? Let’s walk in the garden for a bit.” Michael grunted an assent and sipped his chocolate. He handled the delicate china cup with precise care, placing it carefully on the saucer when he was finished. Together they rose and walked toward the back of the house and the lovely walled garden beyond. Michael looked around at the orderly garden beds, graveled paths and marble fountain, then at the overhanging branches of several trees and the sky overhead. He sniffed the air before taking a step out of the house, and James realized he was searching the area for danger. Predators had been a constant threat in his life. He would not easily let go of a lifetime’s habits. “There’s nothing here to harm you,” James assured him as Michael remained frozen as still as the Grecian statuary that enhanced the garden. At last he moved, walking with James down the main path between boxwood hedges. He stopped when he reached the white statue of the goddess, Diana. She held a bow and arrow stretched in her strong arms. The folds of her toga bared one breast, a perfectly smooth, chiseled globe topped by an erect nipple. Michael studied the womanly form, examining every curve. James’s heart clutched. His time was over. He’d already known that. But now that Michael was soon to be launched into society and encounter women in all their delicate, feminine beauty, he’d begin to understand where his cock was meant to fit. James shuddered as he realized he’d have to explain a little about sexuality and procreation and the formal mating rituals of human beings. “She’s beautiful,” James remarked, referring to the statue. “Woman.” He indicated her bared breast then patted his own flat chest. “Man. You do understand the difference?” Michael looked back and forth between them. He grunted, then remembered his manners and answered verbally. “Yes.” He thought for a moment and added, “Woman. Mother.” “That’s right. And men are fathers. Together they make children.” James gestured between himself and

Michael and shook his head. “Two men. No babies. No children. Two men should not be together.” Every time he reiterated that lesson it was painful to say the words aloud. The world believed it to be true so it must be, no matter how men like him might feel. If men couldn’t reproduce together, it wasn’t natural. Boarding school boys sometimes had crushes on one another or even secret sexual encounters, but when their school days were over those feelings and memories were buried and they went on with their normal, heterosexual lives. That’s how it would be for Michael. “You will meet women soon. Not dressed like that.” James smiled as he looked at the gracefully draped statue. “Their breasts will be covered, but I’m certain you’ll be aware of them nevertheless. Everything you’ve felt for me will change. You’ll understand your true nature.” His eyes stung and James abruptly turned to lead the way down the path. “Come. Let’s look at the gazebo.” Although the limits of the garden were small compared to roaming an entire mountainside, after a morning spent outdoors Michael looked happier than he had yesterday afternoon. The swaying carriage ride through the smelly city streets coupled with the onslaught of humanity had brought on a recurrence of his shipboard nausea and he’d immediately gone to bed in his room at Rutherford’s house, sleeping nearly sixteen hours. After the long walk in the garden, they returned to the house and spent some time in the library. James hunted for more illustrated books he could show Michael. Following a light luncheon at which Rutherford wasn’t present, the tailor arrived. James reassured Michael it was all right for the man to come close and measure his body. He felt a twinge of loss as he watched the tailor move around Michael’s body clad only in linens, stretching a tape measure and jotting down the figures; waist, chest, neck, arm length, leg from hip to heel. James had stroked each inch of Michael’s body on numerous magical nights, but now could only view from a respectable distance as another man got to be close to him, albeit for a far less intimate purpose. The tailor showed James fabric samples for suits, waistcoats, dinner jackets, afternoon coats and formal evening wear. James accepted all the man’s suggestions, since outfitting Michael wasn’t really his place and he didn’t know what Rutherford expected. The tailor was packing the last of his samples when Rutherford finally breezed into the room, clapping his hands together in exuberance. “Ah, you’ve nearly finished I see. Good, because a flurry of events is about to commence. Already I’ve had invitations to attend Lady Godwin’s Sunday afternoon soiree, an evening party at the Winchesters’, several minor functions which we shallnot attend—there’s no cachet if one makes oneself available to just anybody—and a request to present our man at the Travelers’ Club. I’ve been a member in good standing for years, of course, but this is a chance to present something truly unique, which club members will surely enjoy.” James had heard of the exclusive club in Pall Mall where the main requirement was that the proposed member must have traveled at least five hundred miles from England. Of course, membership was by ballot and excluded any undesirables who might try to finagle their way in among the elite. “Next, Buckingham Palace! I’m certain it’s only a matter of time before the royal family bestows an audience.” Rutherford glowed, but considering he exuded the stench of alcohol from every pore, likely his red complexion had more to do with that. “The social whirl begins tomorrow,” he warned James. “Is the boy ready? Will he behave?”

“I believe so, sir. I can’t vouch for him choosing the correct cutlery at dinner. You must realize his manners will be limited.” “Well, yes, I’m not a fool, Litchfield. That’s part of the charm. If he was too civilized, there’d be no point in showing him off, would there?” James envisioned Michael thrust into one overwhelming social situation after another, alone, afraid, perhaps panicking and reverting to primitive defensive behavior. In his mind the sound of Smythe’s neck breaking cracked like a rifle’s report. James glanced at Michael who stood smoothing a finger over a fabric swatch the tailor had given him. He appeared to be totally focused on the material in his hand, but James knew he was listening intently to their exchange. He knew it from the tension in Michael’s body, the tilt of his head, the set of his jaw. Oh yes, he knew his charge very well, and what he was capable of when cornered. “Sir, considering the close bond I’ve developed with Michael, I believe it would be best if I remain close by.” “Ah Litchfield, I see you’ve realized the ape-man is your entrée into better society. The scholar becomes a social climber. Of course I’ll arrange for your inclusion at these events.”

Later that evening, after a long dinner with too many rich courses followed by brandy and cigars, both of which James detested, he shepherded Michael, coughing from cigar smoke, from Rutherford’s bleary presence upstairs to his room. The previous day Michael had been too ill to do anything but submit when he was shown to the room and put to bed. Tonight was a different matter. When James tried to bid him goodnight, Michael grabbed his arm. “James, stay,” he ordered in that deep, reverberating voice that made James’s legs go weak. His body ached to obey. “No, Michael. I’ve explained several times we can no longer be together like that.” Michael frowned, looking as sullen as a young prince who’d had his wishes thwarted. “Not good. You stay.” James grasped Michael’s wrist and removed his hand from his arm. “I can’t. I won’t be sleeping in the same room, let alone the same bed as you any longer. My room is down the hall. I’ll be nearby if you need something.” James didn’t meet Michael’s eyes as he left the room, closing the door behind him. In the hallway, he paused and stared at the door and the key Rutherford had given him for it. He couldn’t have Michael roaming the house at night or, God forbid, coming to his room and climbing into his bed. For one thing, he didn’t know if he’d have the strength to turn him away. Feeling like devil’s henchman, James slipped the key into the lock and turned it. As he walked to his room, the weight of the heavy meal and guilt filled his stomach like rocks. Where did his allegiance lie?

Whose will was he serving? Should he have taken Michael from his life in the wilderness? But no, if a man never truly knew his full nature as a human being, a higher being than an animal, what was the point of his life? Comforting himself with the knowledge that at least he’d been right in freeing Michael from ignorance, James entered his own bedroom and closed the door behind him—acutely and painfully aware that no one would lock him in.

Michael looked down at his body dressed in the layers of clothes men wore. He knew the names of all the parts of clothing now from linens to topcoat. He stroked his hands over the lapels of his jacket, feeling the cool, smooth material and examined his reflection in the hallway mirror. James stood behind him and Michael met his reflected gaze. It hurt him to see those eyes barely meet his before shifting away, and made him angry, too. He’d done everything James ever asked of him. When would he be allowed to have the one thing he wanted? “You look well, Michael. Don’t be afraid. There will be many people here, but no one will harm you. They all want to meet you and hear your story.” James had repeated these facts in one form or another all day long, until Michael wanted to slap his chest and tell him he wasn’t stupid. The man would talk and talk but not touch or communicate with Michael in the intimate way he used to, even before they’d had sex. These days James was cool and distant, constantly rattling off new things for Michael to remember and correcting every move he made. Michael missed the James he’d known in the jungle, the man who’d laughed and talked with him rather than lecturing him, the man who’d sung and played with him and made it easy to learn. He missed their former closeness terribly. As they stood in the entrance hall of the house where Rutherford’s carriage had brought them, Michael heard many voices coming from several rooms away. He also heard a high, beautiful sound that filled him with unbearable yearning. Music, he recognized. A song such as the ones James had sung for him. But this music wasn’t made by a human voice. Michael couldn’t imagine what created such a sweet, yearning sound. Two young men in blue suits had taken their hats and coats. Another man wearing a dark suit asked them to follow him and led the way into the house. The voices and music grew louder. The man opened a door, announced their arrival and stood aside to let them enter the room, Rutherford first, followed by Michael and James. Michael stopped in the doorway. He wouldn’t go farther until he’d assessed possible danger in the room. It was full of people, men in suits and women wearing long dresses as he’d seen in the pictures James had shown him. But they were colorful, unlike the black-and-white photographs. The women looked like a flock of parrots which had alighted among the black-and-white starkness of fish eagles, and they chattered just as loudly as parrots. All eyes in the room were focused on Michael, staring as if he was a tasty morsel they might dive upon and gobble up. The room was heated by too many bodies and their overpowering smell—like decaying flowers covering the musky tang of sweat—assaulted his nose. Michael stared back, his gaze wandering from one person to the next, studying their expressions, the

messages in their eyes and the way they held their bodies. These people were nervous and excited by him. They looked at him as if they weren’t quite certain whether or not he was a possible predator. A woman came forward and held out her hand to Rutherford, who bent and kissed the air an inch above it. He straightened and greeted her then began to speak in his elephant voice. When he introduced him, Michael remembered James’s instruction and enunciated carefully, “Please to meet you,” as he took the woman’s hand in his for a brief moment. Her eyes gleamed and again he was reminded of a sharp-eyed bird as she spoke in a high-pitched, irritating voice. He tried to focus on her words and only understood they were a welcome, so he repeated his greeting, “Please to meet you,” this time adding a stiff smile. The woman, whom Rutherford introduced as Lady Constance Addington, laughed. Michael wondered what was amusing. He was fairly certain he’d spoken the words correctly. “Charming. Simply charming,” she warbled, then took Rutherford’s arm and led him into the room. “Do share with everyone the story of your amazing African adventure, sir.” Michael exchanged a glance with James and followed their hostess and Rutherford to the far side of the room. A man stood with a wooden thing tucked under his chin, rubbing a stick over it. That was what produced the sweet melody filling the room. Lady Constance bid him end the song. The man lifted the stick from the music maker and the music stopped. Michael huffed a breath of disappointment. He could have listened to the sweet sounds for the rest of the evening. They were certainly better than the voices of the people. “Michael, you’re being introduced,” James whispered. The warm puff of his breath brushed Michael’s cheek. “Just smile at the people and nod.” He turned to face the room. Everyone moved to sit in chairs set in even rows. There weren’t as many people as Michael had thought at first—about as many as his fingers twice over. All eyes were on him. Voices murmured softly as the people leaned to talk to each other, no longer the chatter of parrots, but a quiet ripple of sound. And then Rutherford began to speak. Michael glanced at him, saw the flush of victory in his face and heard it in his blaring tone as he told his tale of how James had found Michael in the jungle. Rutherford told the story of the attack by the leopard with great excitement as if he’d been there himself, as if he was the one who’d discovered Michael. He quickly passed over the time James had spent with Michael and rushed to bring himself into the story. Michael stopped paying attention. He studied the rapt faces before him, especially the females. He hadn’t seen any until now and realized how very different they were from men, smaller, softer and rounder. He could see some of their bodies’ curves despite the concealing clothes they wore. One woman had bright red hair. His attention was drawn to her glowing hair and to her eyes peering at him. They were fringed in dark lashes and they widened when she realized he was staring back at her. She quickly ducked her head and studied her folded hands in her lap. Michael’s gaze roamed to another woman, an older one with dark hair. At the sight of her, the memory he’d been trying to summon from deep within his mind ever since James first sang the star song flashed to the surface again. He could almost grasp it like a fish swimming beneath shimmering water. He had an impression of a voice, a touch, a smell, and then the memory darted away.

After Rutherford had spoken for a while, he finally ended his story. Turning to Michael, he said, “And so I present to you, the so-called Lost Man, whom I have christened Michael.” The people clapped their hands together, a soft pattering like rain on leaves. Several made enthusiastic noises, “Hear, hear. Well done, Rutherford. What an amazing adventure.” The sense he was in a dream from which he’d soon awaken washed over Michael as it had often done in the days since he’d left the apes. Nothing in this world seemed as real as his life in the forest had been. Nor was it as simple. Sometimes man and all his creations were simply too much to comprehend and he needed to close his eyes and shut it all out. But this was not an appropriate time to do that. James had said smile, so he lifted the corners of his mouth. The people responded, smiling back at him or laughing, some of them calling out his name. “Bravo, Michael. Such a heroic figure.” Michael had no idea what they were so excited about, but everyone seemed pleased as they rose from their chairs, clustering in little groups to talk. Lady Constance beckoned several to be introduced personally to Rutherford and Michael. Michael clasped the soft, wrinkled skin of an old man and spoke his greeting words, “Please to meet you.” Following Rutherford’s earlier example with Lady Constance, he bent and kissed the air just above the man’s hand. James would be pleased with him for adding to what he’d already been taught about greetings. The man pulled his hand away. When Michael straightened, the old man’s eyes were wide, the wrinkles at the corners nearly disappearing. “I say!” A woman with bird feathers stuck into her yellow hair laughed, a high, tinkling sound, and covered her mouth with one hand as though to hide her laughter. Michael smiled at the sound of her mirth. It was pleasant, and seemed more real and heartfelt than anything he’d heard come out of these peoples’ mouths so far this evening. Michael repeated his phrase, grabbed her hand and bent to kiss the air above it. He smelled her flowery perfume and felt the softness of her palm before she abruptly pulled away. “My goodness!” He looked up at her startled tone and saw surprise in her eyes, yet they still sparkled with amusement. “Why, youare a Gentleman Ape, just like the papers said.” Her humor suddenly seemed not so much joyous as sneering. He bristled at her chirping tone. Stepping back beside James, Michael regarded her with a hard stare until she looked away. “Well then,” Lady Constance said brightly. “I see others are awaiting their turn to meet Sir Lewis’s remarkable protégé.” She hurried the old man and young woman away and brought over several more people. “No hand kissing,” James whispered. Michael dutifully nodded his head and repeated his “please to meet you” to person after person as they were presented to him. He grew tired of it very quickly, tired of their staring eyes, their smells, the hot

room and all the clothes he had to wear. Then the girl with the bright red hair stood before him, her gaze cast down to the floor. He was pleased to see her and intrigued by her hair color as she stood so close. He wanted to reach out and touch it. “Hello,” he greeted her. The break from his customary phrase caused her to look up at him in surprise. Michael smiled as she studied him with soft brown eyes that reminded him of Grub Picker’s. But his ape mother had never looked at him the way this woman was. There was heat in her eyes, the same attraction he’d often seen in James’s gaze. He didn’t know quite what to think of that. He wasn’t attracted to her and certainly didn’t desire to mount her the way males did with females. Lest he accidentally give her the wrong signal, he quickly turned toward James to show who he was mated to. He found James watching him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. Michael smiled at him and James looked away. A hot flash of annoyance shot through Michael at James’s continued rejection. How long would it take him to realize this foolishness about no longer being together was simply wrong? They were bound together for life. The introductions to the people seemed to go on forever. Michael was sweating and constricted by all the heavy clothing. His feet swelled inside the shoes they’d made him wear and after a while he could stand the discomfort no more. Both Rutherford and James were talking to Lady Constance and another couple of guests. While they were occupied, Michael worked one foot then the other out of the shoes. He sighed in relief when his stocking-clad feet sank into the thick carpet, and then he began struggling to undo the tie that held the stiff white collar around his throat. His fingers fumbled at the knot, unable to loosen it, and he began to panic. He felt if he didn’t get free from this tie and this room soon, he would die. His heart beat faster and his breathing grew more ragged. “Oh dear.” Lady Constance glanced up from her conversation and stared at Michael. “Is he…quite all right? Sir Lewis, I do believe he’s removing his clothing.” Instantly James was at Michael’s side, murmuring near his ear. “Stop it. You mustn’t do that. Leave the tie alone and put your shoes back on.” Michael glared at him, but stopped picking at the tie. “We go now, James,” he half pleaded and half demanded. “I shall ask Rutherford, but please in the meantime, hold steady. Stay calm and don’t take off anything else, all right?” Michael jerked his head in a reluctant nod and watched as James had a hurried conversation with Rutherford. The man frowned at Michael but turned to Lady Constance and the rest of the staring, whispering guests with a big smile on his face. “I’m afraid we must bid you all farewell. As you can see, although he has improved his brutish ways immensely, our jungle man is not completely civilized yet. Michael is an example of English breeding triumphing over primitive savagery, but it will take some time and my intervention for him to be completely reclaimed.”

After they left the room, Rutherford’s smile disappeared and he grabbed Michael’s arm. He blew foul breath into his face as he muttered, “Embarrass me again and you’ll go back in the cage. Do you understand?” Michael met his gaze and a low, rumbling growl vibrated his chest. “Michael!” James’s sharp bark was like Old Grunt’s command to cease, which chastened roughhousing little ones. Michael was no longer a child and he chafed at the restraining tone, but dropped his challenging gaze. “Yes, I understand.” He said what the loud man—and James—wanted to hear.

Chapter Nineteen Rutherford was right; they rode a whirling carousel of parties, soirees and presentations of Michael to polite society, which never seemed to end. James, who’d never been much for socializing, was worn out by the round of events. How much worse must it be for Michael who was used to his nearly solitary life in the jungle? For someone whose time had been measured moment by moment in terms of survival, now Michael’s life was planned days in advance. He had a regimented list of tasks to perform and engagements to attend that bound him as surely as a cage. Sometimes James felt more like a jailer than a friend. Or perhaps he was sharing that cage with Michael. In the days following the Addingtons’ party, James continued to work with him during the mornings and attend the social functions Rutherford arranged for the afternoons and evenings. Michael’s language capacity increased daily, which made communicating easier. In addition to words, James taught him the rudiments of arithmetic, the value of numbers and simple addition and subtraction. Michael caught on to the concept of amounts even quicker than his speech improved. Given Michael’s love of music, James decided he would enjoy playing an instrument and asked Rutherford’s permission to use the piano he never played. Soon Michael was weaving odd melodies or picking out the tune ofTwinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. “Do you remember your mother?” James asked one day as he sat beside him on the piano bench, all too aware of the press of his leg against Michael’s. “This song makes you think of her, doesn’t it?” Michael played the tune again, more smoothly this time. “Mother.” He seemed to be mulling over the word. “Mama. I remember eyes, hands, voice. Blue dress.” He shrugged as if saying, “That was all.” “So you must not have been an infant. You were at least old enough to recall some details about her. How about your father? Any memories?” Michael stopped playing, with his finger poised over a key. He sat still for so long, James thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Moustache and beard. He…throw me.” He glanced at James, checking on the words.

“He threw you?” Michael demonstrated with both hands the act of tossing a child up into the air and catching it. “Threw? Throw?” James imagined a father playing with his little one. Michael had been sung to and played with by his parents. He touched Michael’s arm. “They loved you.” “I remember.” Michael turned to look at him, his eyes rich with feeling. James removed his hand and changed the subject to explain the difference between present and past tense and review verbs like throw and threw.

Late in the evenings, after returning from whatever engagement they’d attended, James often sat alone in his room and wrote letters home or kept up his journal. This time of reflection was sorely needed and he found putting words to paper a meditative exercise. He told his parents more about the expedition and Michael and his new living arrangement. Likely even in Langholm they’d already read the headlines, for news of the man raised by apes was spreading beyond London to become a worldwide phenomenon. He’d received a few letters from his mother, begging him to visit and wanting to make sure he was taking proper care of himself after his bout with malaria. James also worked on the memoir he’d begun on board ship with Blake. But now that he wasn’t dictating to Blake, he kept a much more personal diary. Writing about his feelings for Michael and the intimate times they’d shared was a way for him to examine and exorcise them. At least that was his intent. It didn’t quite work out that way. Instead, as he tried to write he’d recall the taste of Michael’s mouth, the texture of his skin and the overwhelming sense of completeness he’d felt when they’d come together. He found himself wanting Michael more than ever rather than less and thinking of him only a room away—so close, so accessible and yet forbidden. Sometimes James thought about how Michael had looked at Miss Celeste Farmer at Lady Constance’s party. It was inevitable the beautiful redhead would catch his eye. She had the delicate beauty, the pale porcelain skin, the graceful manners and shy demeanor that attracted men like bees to pollen. What better woman to illustrate to Michael how the fairer sex was a world away from coupling with a man? At last Michael must understand what James had been telling him. Knowing this gave James no comfort. Thinking of Celeste Farmer’s downcast gaze and coy, fluttery looks at Michael sent a spear of violent jealousy stabbing through him and he closed his journal after jotting only a few paragraphs.

When James asked Rutherford about the possibility of taking Michael to ride in the park or tour the art museum, the man vetoed the plan.

“If people can see him riding in Hyde Park or bump into him on the street, his prestige is diminished. As it is, the man’s desirability as a novel addition to any drawing room party will only last for a limited time. Society grows jaded and searches for something new to pique its interest.” Rutherford paused then added with a smile that made James’s skin crawl. “Unless, that is, a new element is introduced to breathe life into the harrowing tale of the Lost Man. I feel confident my investigator will soon discover his relatives. That will mean all new headlines and another flurry of invitations.” His smug tone left James with the impression Rutherford would find family members for Michael if it required a troupe of actors to play the parts. He wouldn’t hesitate to go to any lengths to get what he wanted, including convincing said family to surrender custody of their long-lost relative to the very rich man who’d restored him to their loving bosom.

As days passed and Michael behaved flawlessly wherever they took him, Rutherford became confident he’d cooperate in public and began to leave James out of his plans. “You should take tomorrow off,” he informed him the second week after they’d arrived in London. “I’m introducing Michael at the Travelers’ Club. Your presence won’t be needed. You might take a train to Oxford and finish severing your ties there.” James understood this was an order rather than a request. Rutherford wanted to make certain he’d terminated his employment with the university to pursue his new calling as a lackey. The worst part was that James would do it. After all his hard work and particularly now, when he might have at last achieved a position on the faculty, he’d give up everything to stay near Michael. Even though he had no idea how long his precarious employment with Rutherford might last, he would do it to try to keep Michael safe and cared for. The uneventful train ride to Oxford gave him time to think as he watched London and then the countryside roll by before reaching the environs of the university town. Coal smoke blew in through the open windows of the train compartment to mingle with the cigar and cigarette smoke from the passengers, all male. Railway cars had the atmosphere of a gentlemen’s club. Travelers were generally businessmen, or in this case university students returning to school after stealing away to sample London’s delights. The droning hum of conversation was a familiar backdrop to James’s thoughts. He’d never realized before how much people talked and talked about matters both large and inconsequential. But after being in Michael’s silent presence, it became glaringly apparent that men chattered incessantly. He thought about Michael obediently leaping through every hoop Rutherford had placed before him, but seeming more withdrawn with every day that passed. Even his interactions with James were stilted. He did what was asked of him, recited the lessons James demanded of him, but went alone to the garden as soon as James released him from his studies. There was space between them now, just as James had intended. Since he’d determined to establish a student-teacher relationship, he no longer felt able to reach out to Michael on a more personal level. Any gesture would only reawaken the incipient attraction between them. Thus, when Michael needed him most, James held him at arm’s length.

For his own good,he reminded himself. There would not be a lady of Celeste Farmer’s ilk in Michael’s future, but when time had passed, his notoriety had faded, and he’d learned more civilized ways, he could conceivably marry some less refined young woman. He could have a home, a family, a life like other men’s. James wouldn’t keep him from that by allowing their affair to ignite again. But oh, how he missed Michael in his bed, in his arms and in his body. More importantly, how he missed the silent connection that had passed between them when they’d gazed into each other’s eyes in the hushed, dark moments of the night. James tore himself from his memories as the whistle shrieked and the conductor announced their stop. He disembarked from the train and walked to his old boarding house where his landlady, Mrs. Creevey, greeted him with boisterous goodwill. “My goodness, the adventures you’ve had! I’ve read all about them in the papers. Attacked by a leopard—imagine! And a man living with them apes. Such a fantastic tale! Do tell me all about it over a cup of tea.” “Would that I could, Mrs. Creevey, but I have several errands to run today before I must take the train back to London. I believe I won’t need to rent my room any longer so you may rent it out to someone else. I’ll pack the rest of my things today and arrange for them to be shipped to my parents’ home.” “Oh, dear.” Disappointment clouded the old woman’s pie-shaped face. “I was so looking forward to having an illustrious world traveler as a tenant. I want to hear all of your tales of Africa.” James smiled. “I’m writing a memoir. If I ever finish and achieve publication, I’ll be certain to send you a copy.” He started to move toward the stairs, intent on accomplishing the task of packing up his room. Mrs. Creevey led the way upstairs, chattering all the way. “What is he like, really? I’ve read it all in the paper, but tell me the story of how you found him.” With a small sigh, James gave in and recounted the events in the most succinct manner possible with none of Rutherford’s increasingly fictitious embellishments. “And now the lad can speak and behave as a proper Englishman. Amazing!” She unlocked his room for him and preceded him inside. “Good English blood will out. I wonder what the circumstances of his birth were. That’s what everyone is dying to know. Why, he could be the child of nobility! His family might come forward and claim him as the next Earl of Poppycock. Wouldn’t that be a wonder?” Trust Mrs. Creevey to imagine the melodramatic contrivance of a Dickens novel. “Highly unlikely though.” James quickly emptied the rest of his dresser drawers, packing everything in the half-empty trunk at the foot of his former bed. “Earl’s sons don’t accidentally turn up on African shores, not without someone noticing they’ve gone missing.” She laughed. “Quite true, Mr. Litchfield.” He wished she’d leave him in peace to finish the task, but Mrs. Creevey was determined to milk every last bit of story from him she could. She plied him with question after question, not only about Michael but about what Africa was like and about the ruins the expedition had uncovered. That story had received second billing to the discovery of an ape-man, but she deemed it still worth hearing about.

At last James took his leave, after paying his landlady an overly generous sum for one more month’s rent. He was happy to leave the closeness of Mrs. Creevey’s overheated house and walk across town to the university’s administrative offices. He’d already severed his relationship with Oxford by letter, but felt it was only right to see the Dean of Sciences and offer his regrets in person. Although he’d telegraphed his intended visit yesterday, he didn’t find the man in his office. James had secretly hoped he wouldn’t and was relieved to be able to leave another note reiterating his apology for leaving the staff. After that he strode the short distance to Blake’s lodgings, where he’d arranged to meet Blake. He found his old tent-mate eagerly awaiting him. “Come. I’ll stand you a drink and a late lunch and you must catch me up on all that’s happened since I saw you last. How is Michael faring in London?” “Better than expected but not as well as I’d like,” James answered honestly, happy to be able to air his concerns to someone who cared at last. “He does all that’s required of him but I don’t think the city environment agrees with him. He’s developed a small yet persistent cough, perhaps from all the coal smoke in the air. I wish I could persuade Rutherford to remove him to his country estate for a holiday and a reprieve from this constant social flurry.” “Ah, but that’s Michael’s purpose as far as Rutherford is concerned, to bring him fame and glory. The man doesn’t need money and his title earns him respect, but he wants that elusive something more. Rutherford craves the attention of the world. He wants to be viewed as the new Stanley, a larger-than-life adventurer. Forget what part you played in the event or that Rutherford did nothing but drink himself to oblivion during the expedition. This man intends to go down in history as a heroic figure who rescued a fellow Englishman from darkest Africa.” James shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his head down as he strode by Blake’s side on the way to the pub. He knew everything Blake said was true, but that didn’t help him fix anything. “Enough about me. How has your return to Oxford been? Has anything changed?” “My dear fellow,everything’s changed.” Blake adjusted his spectacles on his pug nose. “Those of us who went on the expedition are celebrities here. I’ve been invited to functions at places where I’d never have darkened the door before. On campus, everyone is as interested in the ruined city as they are in the mystery of Michael. The artifacts we brought back are being prepared for display. Everyone’s writing a paper of some sort, including myself.” He grinned. “I’ve recalled my own field of study and am pouring myself into a tome about the animals of the Congo. It’s not as if I discovered any new species, but my book will have something unique, something no other memoir describing the animals has had. I will incorporate the photographs I took. With the new printing processes, it’s possible to illustrate a book with more than line drawings.” “Excellent, Blake. Well done,” James complimented him. “It will be quite an achievement.” “Yes, well, I thought it was time I stopped trying to tag on to your tail and to find my own story about my time in Africa.” They reached the quiet darkness of a local pub and sat for several hours drinking, eating and talking about their unforgettable trip and about mutual acquaintances at the university. “Old Hatchett’s family had a memorial service in his honor. I would’ve informed you about the details,

but guessed your hands were full with Michael.” James choked on his mouthful of ale at the unintended double entendre. Of course his handshadn’t been full of Michael, not since that last time together on the ship, but he’d often dreamed they were. “What’s next for you?” Blake asked as they walked out of the pub much later and a great deal unsteadier on their feet than when they’d entered it. “What will you do when Michael’s star wanes and Rutherford is finished with both him and you?” “I honestly don’t know. I can’t imagine Oxford will hire me back after I resigned to join the enemy camp. I suppose I can teach somewhere.” James gazed up the cobbled street at the ancient buildings that gave this city an air of hallowed gravity. “The more important question is what will become of Michael when Rutherford has lost interest?” “I should think he’ll put him up in one of his houses and give him a stipend to live on. It wouldn’t do for Sir Lewis to show a sudden loss of compassion and cut his ward adrift.” “His ward,” James mused. “The custody hearing is coming up soon. Any news about the university’s suit?” “Nothing of which I’m aware.” Blake added with a smile, “But I’d hardly share such information with you. After all, you’re the enemy now.” “I suppose so.” James smiled back but didn’t feel the humor. The words felt too close to the truth. Was he an enemy to Michael as well? Had he betrayed his trust by teaching him to behave like a trained organ grinder’s monkey? Where would it end? Back in Africa he’d been bold enough to go off on his own to pursue Michael, not giving a damn about the consequences. He’d felt supremely alive, full of passion and drive. The experience of watching the gorillas in their natural habitat was one he’d never forget. Hiking through the jungle, nearly swimming with the crocodiles, sleeping under a forest canopy in Michael’s arms were all moments he’d treasure forever. What had happened to that adventurous man? Now James felt like he was Rutherford’s other monkey, dancing for pennies right alongside Michael. It was time to make some sort of bold move and find a way to get them both free.

Michael was almost too tired to force a smile and repeat his lie, “Pleased to meet you. I’m so happy to be here.” He cut a sideways glance at Rutherford to find the man grinning like a hyena and imagined what would happen if he suddenly turned and pounded a fist into that smiling face. The ladies would screech and scurry away and the gentlemen would shout and shake their fists, but would any of them step forward to stop him? No. Although they were clearly higher up in the huge London tribe than other people he’d seen, none of them was a real leader. Michael continued to greet people as he daydreamed about fighting Rutherford until one of them was vanquished. He was certain he’d win. Rutherford wasn’t as strong or agile as he was. Without Smythe to protect him, he’d be easy to defeat. The only thing that kept Michael from hitting him was knowing James wouldn’t want him to, and because men would eventually subdue him and put him back into a cage.

He understood the way their minds worked now. He was in Man’s world and had to act according to its rules. The longer he lived among them, the more he learned how different they were from apes. From the carriage window, Michael had seen skinny, half-starved children begging for food. Among the gorillas, small ones had been treated with care by the entire tribe, even the very least had received a portion of food and the protection of the group. Once he’d pointed out to James several little boys covered head to toe in black. James had explained they were sooty from climbing up the chimneys of the great houses to clean them. Although one must be strong and quick to survive in the jungle, here the harsh cruelties of life seemed more random and less necessary. Somehow Michael had expected more kindness among human beings. Many days he wished he’d never left the jungle to carry James back to camp. Perhaps James would’ve recovered anyway and lived with him in the forest forever. But he knew that was a foolish dream. And now they were here, it was clear James didn’t want anything more to do with him. Seeing James every day and aching for him so badly hurt like nothing he’d ever felt before. Still he did whatever James asked, learning words and numbers and everything he needed to know to live in the world of men. Maybe if he improved enough, James would care for him again. “Michael.” Rutherford’s sharp voice recalled him to the present moment. “Come along now. They want to take your picture.” Michael heaved a weary breath and walked along with his hated patron. Today they were in a building called a museum. Rutherford had brought Michael but not James. Michael understood he wanted always to be the one people looked at and listened to. Michael was merely a tool for telling his story while James took away from him being the center of attention. The men who wrote in notebooks—the press, James called them—were here today to take more photographs of Michael and write about how he was adjusting to his life among men. Michael didn’t always know every word that was spoken, but to hear Rutherford talk, a person would think he and not James was the one teaching Michael every day. Michael listened to Rutherford talk endlessly as he followed him, several well-dressed ladies and gentlemen, and a few newspapermen past rooms full of strange objects in glass cases. The wooden floor creaked underfoot. There were strange smells in this place. New smells he couldn’t identify and sights he couldn’t begin to understand. He wished James were here to explain some of them. The group entered one of the rooms. Michael halted in the doorway, his attention caught by a snarling leopard poised to leap. He let out a surprised yelp before realizing the animal was dead, frozen in action and placed in one of the glass cases. His gaze swept around the room, taking in birds on perches or hung on wires as though in flight, small monkeys posed on branches, chimpanzees and even a crocodile showing its many sharp teeth. All were encased in glass. The lighting cast shadows that made some of the animals almost appear to move. But Michael understood they were dead although they didn’t smell of decay. Instead there was a strong, sharp odor from whatever men had used to preserve the animals’ bodies. “Here, Michael.” Rutherford snapped his fingers, summoning him from across the room where everyone had gathered. “Come have your photograph taken.” Michael was familiar with the process by now. It took time and adjusting of the camera before the photographer would order Michael to hold absolutely still, then a bright light would blind him. James had

explained his image was being captured in the square contraption. He was getting very tired of the picture taking, but obediently crossed the room, his body tensing and his hair prickling as he walked past the dead leopard. The newsmen moved aside to let him pass by and join Rutherford and his guests. When Michael saw what their bodies had concealed, he stopped dead once more and sucked in a breath. The light illuminated a cluster of fake trees intended to look like a jungle. Posed beneath the trees was a family of gorillas—all dead but posed to look alive. Michael stared at the large male leaning forward on his knuckles, his sharp incisors revealed in a snarl. The animal’s eyes were completely false. He’d never seen an ape with eyes that wide, bulging and glassy. The animal’s fur was dark except for its silver back, like Old Grunt. Another male, smaller than the first, was posed in the act of reaching for a piece of fruit unlike any Michael had ever seen in the jungle. Two more gorillas completed the scene, a female with patchy fur and a baby they had placed high in a tree as if it had climbed there all on its own. Gorilla babies didn’t climb so far from the protection of their mothers. They weren’t like tree-dwelling monkeys. Michael stared in horror at the disturbing display before him, hardly aware of Rutherford still barking a command to join him. He could not move, standing as frozen, as still, as the animals before him. He couldn’t drag his gaze away from the dead baby in the tree. Suddenly this new life and world he’d adapted to came crashing down. Memories of his life in the jungle filled him. He couldn’t reconcile Odd One and Michael. He didn’t know who or what he was. All he knew was that he had to get out of this place right now. Rutherford approached him, tugging on his arm to get him to move. “Come now, Michael. It’s time to get your picture taken. Everyone is waiting.” He smiled his false jackal smile but his eyes told Michael he’d like to hit him for causing a scene in front of these people. Michael grunted and pulled his arm away, easily shaking off Rutherford’s grip. He bared his teeth but not in a smile and beat his chest to show his aggression and bellowed his unhappiness and anger. Rutherford’s eyes widened as he seemed to realize he might not be able to control Michael if he didn’t choose to obey. “Easy now.” He raised both hands. “Just come with me. This will only take a few minutes. Don’t you want your picture taken with the apes and to tell everyone about the new things you’ve been learning?” Michael thumped the man in the chest with both hands, knocking him backward. Rutherford staggered before regaining his balance. “There’s no reason to be upset. We’ll leave. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the murmuring cluster of women and men near the gorilla display, “No photograph today.” He gripped Michael’s forearm. “We’ll go home now.” Michael bellowed again, the sound echoing through the room. He tore his arm from Rutherford’s grasp and struck out at him, driving a fist into his face. The man’s head snapped back. He yelled and staggered backward. Michael hit him again and he fell to the floor. A flash went off as one of the cameramen took a picture.

Michael wanted to leap on top of Rutherford and beat him until he didn’t move again, but the other man wasn’t fighting back. He raised a hand as if to protect himself and cupped the other over his bleeding nose. He was weak, already defeated. Michael wouldn’t hurt him further. Instead, facing the shouting men and screaming women, he beat his chest and gave a last roar to warn them to keep their distance. Lights flashed in his eyes as he turned and fled from the room.

Chapter Twenty “He ran past the doorman so we know he’s not hiding somewhere in the museum collections. Where would he go, Litchfield? You’re supposed to be the man who knows his mind. Tell me where to look.” Rutherford stalked back and forth in the drawing room of his house, his eyes angry above his swollen mouth and battered nose. Fear thundered through James as he imagined Michael lost in London and all the terrible things that could have happened to him by now. This was no time to listen to Rutherford rage. “You’ve informed the police. By tomorrow everyone in the city will have seen his picture and read his story in the paper. Someone will report seeing him.” James started to walk past Rutherford toward the door. “Where do you think you’re going?” “To search for him. I’m not waiting here,” James snapped. After weeks of trying to appease Rutherford, the frustration and anger he’d kept bottled were unleashed. “If you’d told me what you planned to do, I would’ve advised against it. How did you imagine Michael would react to seeing animals he considers akin to family members dead and mounted? It was cruel to show him that display.” He didn’t call Rutherford a damned fool, but the words were implied in his scathing tone. “Since we’ve arrived in London you’ve given him no time to rest. You’ve forced him to perform and pose day after day for your precious public. And now this. Is it any wonder he ran away?” James shut his mouth, clenching his jaw to hold back any further vitriol. It would do no good. Right now finding Michael was all that mattered. He strode from the room before Rutherford could say a word. In the foyer, one of the footmen leaped off his chair, hurrying to hand James his coat and hat and open the door for him. As he trotted down the steps of Rutherford’s house, James felt he was escaping a prison. He’d spent too many days muffled in that velvet-lined box. Suddenly he knew precisely where Michael would have gone, to whatever park was nearest the museum. He would seek some place that looked slightly like home with trees and bushes in which to hide. After hailing a hansom cab, he directed the driver to take him to the British Museum. When they drew close to the sprawling white building, the cab passed Russell Square. It was no Hyde Park but it was the largest patch of green in the area. Michael would’ve headed for this bit of nature. James rapped on the sliding window to get the cabbie’s attention. “Stop here please.” He alighted from the cab, paid the driver and crossed the street then crunched along one of the graveled

paths. It wasn’t too heavily wooded with only a few stately trees among a full complement of hedges and flower beds. If Michael was here, he should be easy to find. James scanned the empty park as he strode quickly along. No nannies sat on the benches watching their charges play. Perhaps it was too close to tea time. James called Michael’s name. Just because he couldn’t see him, didn’t mean he wasn’t within hearing distance of his voice, if he was here at all. The sick feeling swept over him that he was wrong and Michael was lost somewhere in the huge city. Perhaps he’d headed south and reached the dangerous waterfront. He had no money to steal, but thugs wouldn’t know that. They’d see the fine cut of his clothes, the lost look in his eyes and roll him in an alley, perhaps cut his throat and leave him for dead. His anxiety rising, James yelled more frantically. “Michael, where are you?” A quiet hooting noise came from above. James jerked his gaze up from the ground to the trees. Of course, Michael would hide where he had the advantage over any approaching predators, like Rutherford. James searched for him amongst the boughs and foliage and caught the flash of a bare foot disappearing into the leaves. Michael had never liked wearing shoes. James imagined he’d find them discarded in the nearest bin. James walked slowly to stand beneath the tree. He tilted his head back and looked up. About twenty feet above the ground, Michael sat in the fork of two branches. James could only glimpse parts of him between the leaves, enough to see that he’d removed his coat and tie as well as the shoes, enough to see one blue eye peering back at him. He pressed his palm against the trunk, so smooth, straight and wide it was a wonder Michael had been able to climb it. “Will you come down so I can talk to you?” He spoke quietly and calmly, although his pulse was racing. Michael didn’t respond. He must feel angry and abandoned by James, who’d not only stood by and let things happen to him, but had actually participated in Rutherford’s controlling agenda. Now it was time to try to repair their fragile bond. What did Michael need to hear to make him trust James again? “I heard what happened at the museum. Rutherford was wrong to take you there. I’ve been wrong, too. I thought I was doing all I could by teaching you things. I should’ve been helping you escape from a situation that clearly made you unhappy.” He drew a deep breath, considering the possible repercussions of what he planned versus the consequences if he didn’t go through with it. He knew one thing. If he made Michael this offer, he couldn’t take it back without completely destroying his trust. “We don’t have to go back to Rutherford’s house. I’ll take you someplace else, my parents’ home near Langholm. I think you would like it there. Please come down and talk to me.” A jacket and a tie fluttered from the branches to land on the grass near James’s feet. Then Michael climbed down as swiftly as another man might descend a ladder. He reached the lowest branch, hung from it and dropped the rest of the way to the ground. He rose gracefully from his crouch to face James. Clear eyes focused on him and James saw mistrust and anger in them. It hurt like a physical blow to have Michael doubt his intentions. “I know you’ve been unhappy here in London. I’ve put up with Rutherford when I should have tried

harder to get you away from him. I’m sorry.” Michael continued to stare at him, eyes narrowed. James reached out a tentative hand. “Will you go with me? We’ll take a train today.” “Go?” Michael latched onto the one word he knew for sure. “We will go?” “Yes. We’ll go away, if you’ll only trust me again.” A moment later, Michael’s strong, rough hand wrapped around his and grasped it firmly. “Gonow, ” he demanded. “All right.” James smiled. “But I think we’d better take your shoes with us. You might need them, but you don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t wish to any longer.”

Things were changing again, but this time Michael thought it would be good. James explained he needed a few things before they could travel and left Michael at a nearby pub to wait for him. “I’ll be back soon. Trust me.” James bought him a meal and squeezed his shoulder before he left. Michael was nervous watching him walk away, but had no choice except to trust James. He couldn’t survive on his own in this foreign place and didn’t really want to. Without James, either here or in Africa, he was lost and adrift. He watched the other people in the pub eat, drink and talk. They were a different type from the ones he’d been meeting. He guessed they’d be considered less than the fancy-dressed ones at Rutherford’s events, but he’d given up trying to understand men’s social order. There were those who served, like the sailors on the ship or the servants in the houses, and there were those who took everything though they did nothing to earn it. And there was him—Michael the odd one. He didn’t serve a purpose like the workers nor was he one of those in charge. He just was. He wished he could find a place for himself in this world and a purpose beyond being shown off. Michael grew increasingly restless as he finished his food and James had not yet returned. He imagined men bursting through the door at any moment to take him away. A woman came over and asked if he wanted something more to drink. The way she smiled and leaned over him so her breasts were in his face, Michael understood she was suggesting something more than a drink. He wasn’t interested in mounting her and grunted loudly to dismiss her. “All right, love. No need to be rude,” she snapped and left the table in a hurry. Finally, James returned, carrying a couple of suitcases. Michael practically knocked his chair over in his hurry to go to him. “Go now,” he suggested in a low voice. “Yes. Come on.”

Outside, James hailed a cab. He gave directions to the driver and they climbed inside. James sat across from Michael, their knees nearly touching. He explained what had happened at Rutherford’s house. “I told him I was done working for him and that I planned to look for you. I had to say something. If I left without giving notice, he’d be suspicious.” Michael was happy about the abrupt change in his life. He’d have run away days ago if he’d known it would lead to this. The cab pulled to a stop. They got out and walked inside a huge building with a curved roof, which James told him was Euston Station. Michael was overwhelmed by the crowds of people and the sight of great black vehicles with smoking chimneys like steamships. The smell of coal fumes was thick and the press of bodies dense as they made their way to what James called a ticket agent. Men in booths took money and gave out little papers. Michael knew about money now. Apparently people couldn’t have any of the amazing things they had without it. After James bought the tickets, he ushered Michael to a row of chairs to wait for their train. He leaned close to be heard above the echoing din in the station. “Don’t be afraid of the trains. They’re loud, but in a way they’re like carriages, a way to get from one place to another.” Michael wasn’t afraid at all, despite the sheer size of the engines and railway cars. He’d enjoyed the steamship once he got over being sick from the motion, and he expected riding on a train would be equally exciting. Besides, he was with James and they were leaving Rutherford behind forever. What more could he want? Soon after their train arrived they boarded a compartment and found a seat. The train jerked forward and gathered speed as it chugged from the station. Michael watched the buildings flash by outside the window. The city was soon gone and they passed through green countryside. When the tracks curved, Michael pressed his forehead to the glass and saw the rail stretching out before them. The car clicked along with a smooth rhythm that didn’t upset his stomach at all. He decided he loved this way of traveling. After the thrill of watching buildings, trees and fields fly by faded, Michael turned to James, who was staring into the air in front of him. Michael bumped his arm. “What?” James started and looked at him. “What?” “You are sad.” Michael frowned and corrected himself. “No. Afraid. Why? We go. No more Ruth-ford.” When a gorilla male fought the leader and lost, he left the group and traveled alone or started his own clan. It was natural for them to move on. “It’s not that easy,” James said. “The court case is coming up soon. He’ll want you back. If he thinks you’re with me, he’ll send someone after us. Rutherford is very powerful.” “We will go far.” Michael pictured living in the jungle with James, but the idea seemed more like a dream than ever. It was never going to happen. “I think we’ll be safe in Scotland. We’ll stay with my parents until I figure out what to do next.” James

smiled and patted Michael’s knee. Michael grabbed his hand, clasping it firmly in his. Since things were changing, now was a good time to stake his claim again. “We are…” He searched for the word that eluded him. “Together.” James gazed at their joined hands. “Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking.” He drew his hand away and looked into Michael’s eyes. “Didn’t you find Miss Farmer pretty? Women…females are who you must be with.” At last Michael truly understood why James pushed him away. James believed he should find a female to mate with. He didn’t realize Michael was the Odd One, so different from anything normal that one more difference hardly mattered. All of James’s words about men not being with men meant nothing, and Michael would convince him he was wrong. “I don’t want women. I want you.” Michael didn’t take James’s hand again, but caressed him with his low voice and his heavy-lidded gaze, showing James how much he desired him. “I want only you.” James sucked in his breath, and Michael grunted softly in satisfaction. “James.” Michael lowered his voice even more, speaking so quietly the other man had to lean in to hear him over the clattering wheels of the train. “Iwill have you.”

Chapter Twenty-One The line to Glasgow took them right past the small town of Langholm on the River Esk. James experienced a mixture of nostalgia and nerves as familiar landmarks increased and by the time the train screeched to a halt in the station and they disembarked, he was as jumpy as a schoolboy called before the headmaster. His plan to run off with Michael had been quickly and poorly thought out. He hadn’t wired ahead to warn his parents he was coming and had no idea how they would accept his arrival with a fugitive in tow. James had arranged for the rest of his possessions to be shipped from London so he had only two bags to carry. Unfortunately, he’d been forced to leave Michael’s new wardrobe behind since he could hardly make an excuse for taking the clothes with him. Thus the pair of them arrived like exiles in the night—for it was past dusk by the time they reached the station. James considered hiring a carriage from the livery, but in the end decided to walk the two miles to his parents’ home. The exercise and clean country air would clear his mind. Maybe by the time they arrived, he’d think of how to present his case to his father. As the night grew darker, the stars pulsed brighter, a display he’d missed during those dreary days in London. Even here, the night sky was nothing compared to the amazing canopy of stars over the ocean where nothing impeded the view from horizon to horizon. James drew in a deep draught of air and felt some of the weight of nervous tension lifting from him. It would be all right. Somehow everything would work out. Michael strode by his side, a dark silent presence James couldn’t deny. It was as if some invisible energy constantly crackled between them, an energy James had tried and failed to deny for the past few weeks. They turned off the main road onto the drive leading to his father’s house, an estate Dr. Litchfield had

bought when the original family could no longer meet their debts and had to let go of some properties. It was not a manor by any means, but a spacious home suitable for a family of four and a reasonable complement of serving staff. Of course, now that James was off on his own and Margaret had married a Glasgow man, his parents rattled around alone in the big house. Soon the lights shining in the lower windows were visible. The warm yellow glow came from candles and lanterns. His parents had not and probably would not install gaslights, their view being they’d managed all these years without them and didn’t need to change now. Besides, installing the lines would be outrageously expensive. James’s steps slowed as they grew nearer their destination. “My parents’ house,” he announced. Michael set down the carpetbag he carried and grabbed James’s arm, holding him back. “Wait.” James knew what was coming even before Michael slid a hand around his waist to draw him close. He didn’t resist as Michael lowered his face to press a soft kiss to his lips. He was finished fighting what he wanted—what theyboth wanted. For after being given the opportunity to meet women and view their attributes, Michael was still more interested in James. All this time he’d been concerned about taking advantage of Michael’s sexual ignorance, but apparently Michael knew exactly what he wanted. He dropped his portmanteau and slid his hands up Michael’s chest, feeling the solid muscle. Wrapping one hand around the back of Michael’s neck, he pulled him even closer, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss. How good it felt to let his tongue glide over Michael’s once more. It had been weeks since their last kiss on the ship, but seemed much longer since he’d feared it would never happen again. James gripped Michael’s shoulder fiercely and pressed the length of his body to him. His growing erection pushed against his trousers, seeking the heat and contact of his lover. For several moments, they remained locked together, kissing feverishly, hips grinding, hands grasping, and then James pulled away. “Not now,” he whispered. When Michael groaned, he added, “But soon, I promise. Soon.” He reined in his galloping emotions as he stooped to pick up his bag from the dusty drive. It was disconcerting to be filled with sexual longing when he was about to meet with his parents after a long absence. He couldn’t reconcile the two aspects of his personality—fervent lover, devoted son—so he must put one aside for now and embrace the other. James debated knocking at the front door since it wasn’t really his home any longer, but it would be a shame to rouse Parshall from his evening rest to answer it. He could picture the aged butler sitting before a fire in his room, feet up, pipe clamped in his teeth, book open on his lap and eyes closed as he drowsed. Better to simply let himself in than disturb the peace. He drew a steadying breath and opened the unlocked door. In this little corner of the world one could take such liberties as leaving one’s house open. The first thing that struck him was the familiar smell of the house, slightly musty from sheer age overlain with the sweetness of beeswax and the sharp tang of vinegar. His mother was a firm believer in cleaning everything possible with vinegar. In the light of a low-turned lamp, he saw the foyer was unchanged. He hung his jacket and hat on the coat rack and left his portmanteau on the floor beside it. Michael placed his bag there as well. Glancing at Michael’s dirty bare feet, James considered asking him to put on his shoes before being introduced to his parents. But they’d come this far without them, through Euston Station and the entire

train ride. He was done trying to mold Michael into a proper Englishman. If he preferred not to wear shoes, James wouldn’t bother him about it. He led the way along the corridor to the sitting room from which a light beckoned. James paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of his mother and father in their chairs on either side of the fireplace. Mother was reading aloud from a naturalist’s memoirs while Father tied fishing flies with the aid of the magnifying lenses he wore over his spectacles. James’s father noticed the movement in the doorway first and looked up from his meticulous task. “My goodness.” In typical Dr. Litchfield fashion his surprise barely registered in his voice, which remained level and conversational. “James.” “James?” Mother echoed. When she caught sight of him, she made up for her husband’s bland reception by shrieking and jumping up from her chair. “James!” She rushed across the room and gathered him into her arms. She exuded the scent of roses like some hothouse bouquet, and he smiled as he inhaled her familiar smell. A moment later, she pushed him to arm’s length and began to scold. “Look at you. Thin as a rake. You haven’t properly recovered from your fever. You should’ve come straight home to us so your father and I could tend you properly. Ah, but here you are now, at last. Why didn’t you send a telegram? I had no idea you’d be coming. I haven’t rooms aired or a proper meal ready for you. And who is this? Is thishim, the man from Africa that all the fuss has been about? My word, such an astonishing story.” She turned so abruptly toward Michael that James feared she might frighten him, and in fact, Michael stepped back a pace as she approached. Undeterred, she took both of his hands in hers and held them. “My poor boy, what an ordeal you’ve been through. Probably even more so in London from the newspaper accounts I’ve read. Caught in the social whirl of that awful city. I can’t think of anything more upsetting. I know I wouldn’t like it. You must both be hungry and exhausted after that long, terrible railway journey. I want to hear everything, but first I’ll prepare rooms for you and you can refresh yourselves.” She tossed an order at her husband. “Archie, summon Parshall and Mrs. Crocket. I’ll want fires laid in the bedrooms and a cold supper set on the table.” “Your servant, madam.” He and James exchanged an amused glance and the elder Litchfield added, “Welcome home, son. I’m glad you’re feeling better. I, too, look forward to hearing your account of your travels and subsequent stay in London as soon as your mother sees fit to allow us to sit and talk.” Mother led the way upstairs still expounding on the horrors of London, of railway travel, steamship travel and tropical diseases. “Honestly, James, I couldn’t believe the light tone of your letter. Your life was in danger. We’re lucky to have you still with us.” It was true. He’d downplayed how serious his illness had been, focusing instead on the story of Michael. “I wish you’d come home immediately upon returning to England,” she repeated as she bustled down the hallway to James’s old room and opened the door. “Did it not occur to you that your mother might wish to see you again?” “I couldn’t leave Michael alone in London with our host,” James explained. “Sir Lewis Rutherford is not an appropriate guardian or a good man. He doesn’t know how to communicate with Michael nor does

he take any trouble to understand him. It was important I stay close, especially while he was adjusting to his new life.” “Yes, I suppose I can understand that.” She lit the lamp and turned the flame high. His boyhood room was just as he remembered yet completely different. It was like looking through the long end of a telescope, the room perfectly rendered down to the tiniest detail, but so much smaller. Mother pulled the white dust sheet off the bed, casting a shrewd glance at Michael. “How is it that he is with you now, son?” “Well, Mother, remember how you always scolded me for being rash and impulsive?” “Oh, no, you haven’t run off with him.” She straightened and stared at him, the sheet trailing from her hand. “Do you recall addle-pated Dickie Abernathy and how the other boys picked on him until the day I stood up for him in the schoolyard?” “It’s like that, is it? In that case, I shall be happy to host your guest for as long as you wish to stay here.” She paused and added, “Regardless of what your father has to say on the matter.” She smacked the mattress with her hand and decided the cloth had kept it sufficiently dust free. Moving to the window, she opened the casement wide to let in the strengthening breeze. “You’ll need to fill the pitchers from the pump.” She indicated the pitcher in its basin on the nightstand. “We’re short-staffed these days. A maid comes in to do the day work, but at night we fend for ourselves and I wouldn’t ask Mrs. Crocket to go out in the dark to pump water.” James was a bit surprised at the changes in the household. “So it’s down to just Parshall and Crocket? Is father’s practice not doing well?” Mother waved a dismissive hand as she led the way to the adjoining room. “It’s simply that with only the two of us here now, there’s no point in having extra servants clattering about. We get along fine with the small staff.” James glanced at Michael, checking the other man’s reaction to his vociferous mother. Michael watched her closely with an intent expression on his face. “Ah, how I miss the days when you children were here.” She headed toward the window and struggled to open it. James hurried to help her, fighting the swollen wood of the frame until he’d raised it a few inches. “I wish Margaret could have married a local man. She had offers, you know. It tears my heart out to have her miles away in Glasgow—another horrible city.” “Mother, Glasgow’s a perfectly lovely place and you can get there by railway in a few hours’ time.” “Trains,” she grumbled. “I just wish things were as they used to be.” James turned from the window to find Michael had stripped the dust cover from the bed and bundled it in his arms. He silently handed it to Mrs. Litchfield.

“Thank you, dear. Aren’t you a polite, well-mannered lad? Not wild at all.” She glanced at James. “Has there been any attempt to find his family? Someone somewhere must know about his parents.” “Rutherford has a man pursuing leads, but he hasn’t come up with anything yet.” She patted Michael’s cheek and smiled. “Dear boy, you’re welcome here.” She clicked her tongue. “We should do something about that hair. You require a good cut. I shall attend to that in the morning.” It was like watching a house cat grooming a tiger, seeing his mother stroke Michael’s long hair. He was just another kitten to her. The quizzical look Michael shot him over her shoulder nearly made James snort with laughter. He ducked his head to hide his smile. “How is Margaret anyway?” He changed the subject. “And Phillip.” Mother turned to him so quickly her jet earrings swayed, twinkling in the candlelight. “So your sister hasn’t written you? I thought as much. She should tell her own news but if she hasn’t by now I guess that right is mine. We shall have our first grandchild by early next spring!” “Why that’s marvelous news, Mother.” James tried to imagine his sister plump with child or carrying a babe in her arms, but all he could see was the scrape-kneed girl who used to follow him around. “I shall send her my congratulations tomorrow.” James was quite exhausted now and could see Michael was drooping as well, but his mother insisted they eat. Mrs. Crocket had laid out mutton pies filled with potatoes, carrots and peas, followed by spice cake drenched in cream. The two men ate as if they hadn’t had food in weeks, and indeed James felt as if he’d been long starved for the hearty fare he’d grown up on. After they’d eaten, his mother ushered them back to the parlor where his father was busy tending the fire. Father insisted Michael take his chair and if the sight of the young man’s bare feet propped on his ottoman surprised him, he gave no indication. “We’ve read all the newspapers have to say about your friend here, as well as the parts you shared with us in your letter, but I doubt that is the entire story.” The elder Litchfield’s sharp look gave James the feeling he knew much more than what he’d read. But then Father’s incisive stares always had tended to make him feel exposed. “There is much I can tell you about the sights in Africa, but the papers have been fairly accurate in relaying Michael’s story. Both Rutherford and Oxford claim him as their discovery. There’s to be a custody hearing soon. But no one has ever asked Michael what he wants to do with his life.” “So you’ve taken matters into your own hands and brought him here. Do you think that’s wise?” “It’s not illegal.” James sat straight in his chair, feeling the familiar sense of unease his father’s voice tended to rouse in him. As a boy it had usually been because hewas guilty of something. “As far as I can tell, neither party has any particular right to possess Michael.” Father made a business of lighting his pipe, a delaying tactic James was well familiar with. Once he’d drawn a good smoke from it, he continued, “As your mother says, you’re welcome here. But you must realize you can’t hide away forever. You will have to return for that hearing.” “Yes, sir.” James was too tired to argue and his father was right. They couldn’t hide indefinitely.

But they were here now. He breathed a sigh of contentment as the warmth of the fire spread through him and the weight of a good meal settled in his stomach.Home . “What about you, young man?” Father turned his gaze on Michael. “Do you feel as though you’d been kidnapped, eh? I imagine you do.” He shook his head. “What a sad case, torn between two worlds and fitting in neither.” A moment of silence followed his words. A log on the fire gave a sharp crack and sparks shot up the chimney. Then Michael leaned forward and gazed gravely at his host. “I am not an ape. I am a man.” “Yes, of course you are.” James’s mother hurried to assure him. “I like James,” Michael added, the simplicity of his statement giving a solemn weight to the words. “As you should. He’s been a good friend to you,” Mother replied. His throat constricting, James watched his father. The older man’s eyes narrowed as his gaze shot back and forth between the pair of them before he gave a small, silent nod of acknowledgement. “I see.” James felt his heart would beat a hole through his chest. That was it. In one nearly silent and completely understated moment, years of secrecy and fear were blown apart. He believed his shrewd father understood the exact nature of their friendship, although his innocent mother never would. Yet Father was not turning away in disgust. Instead, he leaned back in his chair. “You boys must be tired from your long railway journey, and James, you should take extra care to rest lest you spark a recurrence of your fever. Why don’t you both get some sleep now?” With that casual benediction, Father dismissed them for the night.

Michael was happier than he’d been since the days spent with James in the jungle, foraging together and learning to communicate. This place, Langholm, was good. There were big hills, many trees and few houses and people. The air smelled fresh, the ground fertile and he could even detect the faint muddy scent of the nearby river. The day after they arrived, he went with James on a long walk past fields and farms and up the slope of one of the great, rolling hills that sheltered the river valley. When Michael pointed out a herd of whitish-gray animals cropping grass in the near distance, James said, “Sheep. See the dogs driving them.” Michael watched in fascination as two tan-and-white dogs ran around the edge of the herd, prompting the sheep to go where they wanted. A man whistled commands, which the dogs obeyed. Together they herded the sheep down the slope. James and Michael watched until they’d passed through a break in a stone wall and disappeared behind some trees, one of the dogs running back to nip at the heels of a straggling sheep. “I like dogs.” Michael thought about the few he’d seen in the city—little barking things wearing jeweled collars and held in ladies’ arms, so different from the snarling packs of wild dogs he’d occasionally encountered in Africa. He could see that these were a different sort of dog altogether. He imagined the

people here were different too. Again he considered the great difference between those who worked and those who ordered them about. Man was a strange animal indeed. “I like dogs, too.” James turned to lead the way uphill again. “We used to have one, a terrier named Max. He died just before I left home. My mother should think about getting another pet. It might cheer her up.” “Your mother is sad?” “She misses me and my sister.” “Mm,” he grunted and thought about his mother, who had sung the star song. If she hadn’t died, would she be somewhere missing him now? As they ascended higher up the hill, the tightness in Michael’s muscles and in his mind loosened. His legs felt good, stretched and strong once more, and his mind was free of worry. No more Rutherford. No more strangers and “pleased to meet you.” It was back to only him and James the way he liked it. The land grew wilder and the way rougher as they clambered around huge stones jutting from the ground. At last they reached the treeless peak from where they could look out across the surrounding countryside. Houses and other buildings dotted the landscape and tilled fields contrasted with clumps of forest. The river coiled through it all like a silver snake. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I’d forgotten how lovely.” James gazed over the land in which he’d been born and, for one brief moment, sorrow stabbed through Michael as he thought of his land and his tribe, neither of which he would ever see again. He’d known it was so, but until that moment hadn’t really felt the truth of it. “Yes. Beautiful.” He looked at James’s happy face and his sorrow quickly left him. “Come. I want to show you one more thing.” James took his hand, freely, without hesitation, and led Michael a little way down the other side of the hill and into a stand of trees. He searched for something and at last pulled aside the drooping branch to expose a small cave. “It’s much smaller than I remember. I used to play here with my friends when I was a boy. It was a soldier fort, a robber’s hideaway, a pirate treasure trove.” He went inside, dropped to his knees and began moving rocks from a pile by the wall. Michael squatted beside him to watch. He didn’t know all of James’s words but understood he’d played here with other children like Michael had played with youngsters in the gorilla clan, until they grew old enough to realize how very different he was and excluded him from their play. “Ah, here!” James laughed as he produced a rusty box. “Locked of course and the key long gone.” He broke the hasp with a rock and opened the lid. He continued to smile as he drew out the treasures inside. A bit of paper crumbled as he tried to unfold it. James glanced up at Michael. “Our pledge to keep the secret of the cave forever—signed in blood. I guess I failed to keep that promise.” “What is this?” Michael indicated the little man in the palm of James’s hand. “A lead soldier from my friend Jack’s toy army. Sad to say, he did become a soldier and died in battle a few years ago.” James handed him the small man and Michael stared at it, fascinated by the details of its

tiny face and red coat. “We each left an item—Jack, Alan, Chauncey and me. Mine was this.” James offered Michael a heavy gray disc. “A gold sovereign given me by my grandfather on one of my birthdays. An extraordinary amount to entrust to a young boy. Mother wanted to keep it safe for me, but I had other ideas. It seemed much more romantic to bury it for someone far in the future to find. I was always fascinated by how life flows on into the future.” Michael felt sadness in James’s tone. He offered the tokens back to him and when James took them, Michael held on to his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Things change.” James met his gaze. “And sometimes that’s very good.” He dropped the boyhood tokens back in the tin box, leaned in and pressed a kiss to Michael’s mouth. Michael pulled James toward him and cupped his other hand around the back of James’s neck. He deepened the kiss with languid strokes of his tongue, feeling the heaviness of desire swelling in his groin. James reached for Michael with both hands. There in the dark, earthy chamber they came together, lips pressed, tongues seeking, hands touching, bodies molding. But the cave was too small for two grown men to lie down together and Michael wanted for once to be with James not in some dark, cramped space but under the open sky. He pulled away and ordered, “Come,” before crawling from the cave. Outside, he took James’s hand and drew him upright, leading him to the peak of the hill. Clouds gusted overhead in the blue sky and wind ruffled the long grass. Here was where he wanted to claim his mate, right here where the world could see them. Michael stood behind James, both of them facing the view of the valley. He wrapped his arms around him, kissed the side of his jaw and whispered the words he’d practiced, which reflected his thought every time he saw James. “You are mine.” “Yes,” James agreed, his voice low and rough. “I am.” He held on to Michael’s arm clamped around his chest and for several moments they simply stood gazing at the world below them. Then Michael couldn’t bear all the clothing that kept them apart. He needed to feel James’s smooth skin against his, the soft hair on his legs and his chest. He began to unfasten the buttons on the front of the other man’s shirt. James helped. He didn’t protest about someone seeing them or that this was wrong for two men to do. He simply shed his clothes, his shoes, his undergarments and turned to help Michael do the same. The breeze played over Michael’s skin and the sun warmed it. He was happy. He’d grown so tired of wearing clothes. When they were both naked, they embraced, chests rubbing together, cocks pressing into each other’s bodies. Michael closed his eyes and breathed in James’s scent rising from his hair and skin. It was the best thing he’d ever smelled and made him hungry in a way the scent of food didn’t. He rocked his hips, pushing his cock into the crisp hair covering James’s groin. Cupping James’s face between his palms, he gave him a slow, searching kiss that rekindled the bond between them. He’d begun to doubt he and James would ever be together again. In London, he’d even

begun to doubt that James cared for him. But now the kiss told him they belonged together. James’s fingers threaded through his hair, gripping the long strands as he kissed Michael with a fierce passion, holding nothing back. When at last he pulled away, his blue eyes were dark and glazed with lust. Michael turned him around so they both faced the valley once more. He wrapped an arm around James’s chest, his free hand around his cock and began to pump with long strokes. His shaft settled between James’s buttocks and Michael thrust against him. A pleasured growl rumbled through his chest as he held his lover’s body in his arms. This moment was everything he’d wanted and needed. The sun weighed heavily on his head and shoulders. Sweat collected between his shoulder blades but the wind instantly dried it, leaving his skin cool. Michael rocked against his mate, rubbing the length of his shaft in the groove that seemed made to hold it. He would have liked to bury himself in James’s body, but for now, this would be enough—his hand pulling pleasure from James, while his cock thrust between those taut cheeks. Michael rested his chin on James’s shoulder, gazed at the glittering sunlight on the river below and lost himself in the sensations building inside him. Even as his tension strengthened and his thrusting grew faster and more insistent, he didn’t stop the rhythm of his fist pumping James’s cock. They would come together. He would make it so. He clenched his jaw, holding back his need to release, and listened to James’s rapid breathing and the words bursting from between his lips. “Oh God. Yes. Now.” Only when he felt James reach his peak, his head falling back against Michael’s shoulder, his cock pulsing, did he allow his own climax to swell through him. The heat between their bodies set him on fire as jets of come spilled from his cock onto James’s lower back. The slippery fluid trapped between them, melding them together. Michael held James upright, supporting his weight as he groaned in pleasure, and then finally he allowed his knees to buckle. They sank down to the ground together and lay hidden in the grass, protected from the breeze, seared by the blazing sun and bound together in a strong embrace. Michael let go a little and James shifted to lie beside him, an arm and leg thrown over him. He remembered the night they’d slept together in the jungle—the night before James had become so sick and everything had changed. James was right. Sometimes change was good even if a person couldn’t see the good until later. The caging, Smythe hurting him, the seasickness and the misery of London had all been worth it because they’d led to this moment. Michael was content. He and James were truly together at last. No one would bother them again.

Chapter Twenty-Two The time spent at his family home was healing in ways both physical and spiritual. James felt as if he was on a religious retreat—quiet, introspective, contemplative—but filled with much more sex than the

prayerful were meant to get up to. The day after their arrival at Langholm, theLondon Times included an article about the Gentleman Ape’s not-so-gentlemanly behavior at the museum. The account of his attack on his guardian and subsequent disappearance might have been the main headline except for the fact that Jack had been slicing again. A new Ripper murder trumped an ape-man run amok and the article about Michael was printed below the fold. Knowing their idyll might be short-lived made his liaisons with Michael all the sweeter. They spent all their time together, talking, learning, sharing, but also lovemaking at every opportunity, and itwas lovemaking, not coupling for pleasure’s sake. They spent hours climbing the hillsides, fishing or rowing on the river. A glimpse of Michael’s strong forearm or the ripple of his shoulders even beneath a shirt was enough to make James hard and to start him planning their next tryst. His mother followed through on her intent to cut Michael’s hair. Although James missed the flowing mane, he had to admit Michael appeared perhaps even more attractive with the severe cut that emphasized the lines of his face. And all that handsome masculinity belonged to James. He was insatiably hungry for his lover and never left home without a small jar of ointment in his jacket pocket. Opportunities for open-air encounters were numerous. The second day after their arrival he took Michael rowing on the river. Despite his general fear of water, Michael was intrigued by the small boat. James demonstrated how the oars worked and Michael insisted on taking over, stripping off his shirt before he did so, which gave James a stunning view of his bulging biceps all the way upriver. They got out of the boat in the shallow water of a cove. Michael had scarcely pulled the craft on shore before James threw his arms around him and devoured his mouth with passionate kisses. Then he dragged Michael into the seclusion of some bushes to have his way with him. For the first time, Michael took the submissive position, dropping his trousers and going down on hands and knees. He cast a heated glance over his shoulder, encouraging James to do what he wanted. Blood raged through James’s veins, engorging his cock as he slicked it with ointment. He knelt behind Michael, his heart pounding at the thought of filling him. After exploring his tight opening, stretching it wider with his greased fingers, he pressed the tip of his cock inside. James caught his breath as heat surrounded him and flesh stretched to fit him like a second skin. He gripped Michael’s hips and pushed deeper until he was fully sheathed. Only then did he release his breath with a soft huff. He didn’t move for several moments, simply reveling in the sense of completion. Michael groaned and tensed his muscles, squeezing his cock in an even tighter grip. James pulled out slowly, watching his glistening length emerge. As he thrust again, Michael rocked back on his hands and knees, accepting him inside, pushing onto his shaft. Their thrusting bodies set a sweet, steady rhythm. James held Michael’s hip with one hand and stroked the other down the length of his spine. He fell in love with the vulnerable back of Michael’s neck beneath the straight edge of his newly shorn hair. He mentally chanted with every thrust,Mine, mine, mine. And when he came at last he called out the name with which he’d christened the other man. “Oh, God,

Michael.” The hungry need of that riverside encounter was leavened by other, slower unions. When their initial fierce need to copulate at every stolen opportunity abated, they enjoyed longer sessions of simply kissing or touching one another’s bodies, exchanging long looks or intimate confidences. One day as they lay on their backs on a grassy hillside and gazed at the sky overhead, Michael spoke about his life with the gorillas. “I have…had?…a mother. An ape mother. She was…” James turned his head to gaze at Michael’s profile as he struggled for words. He gave a grunt of annoyance before continuing. “She was good. She care…cared for me. Teach me to find food and water. But I remember a woman mother. Brown hair and blue eyes. A ring on her finger I turn and turn…” He made a motion to illustrate his words. “She sang the star song,” James said. “Yes. And there was Father. He have a beard.” “Do you remember what happened to them?” Michael paused a long time before nodding. “When I live with the apes, I put them out of my head. But now I remember. I was hungry. Father was gone. Mother not wake.” James held perfectly still. It was like watching a butterfly laboriously push its way from a cocoon. He wanted to help, but Michael must emerge alone. His brow furrowed and his lips were tight as he pulled the memories from deep within. “I ate the food in the house. Drink all the water. Then I go—went outside to find more.” He deteriorated into single words to convey his memories. “Trees. Night. Lost. I cry and she came. The ape mother.” “She heard you crying.” Michael nodded. “I forgot being man. I was ape.” His smile was sad as he turned to look at James at last. “But not an ape. Different always.” James held Michael’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the back. “I understand. I’ve always been different, too.” Michael’s smile brightened and speared through James like shafts of sunlight. James’s heart was so full of feeling it spilled over and poured through him. He couldn’t contain so much joy and knew at that moment, as if there’d been any doubt, that he was in love. One day, James’s father took time off from his practice to go fishing with them. “My nurse knows where to find me if there’s an emergency,” he said as they hiked to the river. “Everyone knows my favorite spot, which isn’t good news for a fisherman.” James could rarely remember his father bringing home fish. Enjoying the solitude of the river as he stood

in knee-deep water and cast his line over and over was a restorative exercise for him. As a youth James had never understood the attraction of the dull sport, but now could appreciate the soothing qualities of flowing water and repetitive motion. He watched his father teach Michael to tie on the fly and cast the line. As with most physical things, Michael caught on quickly, copying the older man’s motion and soon throwing the line more elegantly than James ever had. After he’d set Michael loose to fish on his own, Father came over to where James stood sorting through the tackle box, searching for nothing in particular. “I’m going to be retiring from my practice soon,” he said without preamble. “A young doctor from Edinburgh will be coming soon to work with me. By spring, the practice will be his.” James remembered their heated discussions when he’d first told his father he would not follow his footsteps into the medical profession. Residual guilt flared through him. “That’s good. It’s time you enjoyed retirement.” “Your mother thinks so. She wants us to move closer to Margaret in Glasgow although we would both dearly miss this place.” “Maggie would like that. A grandchild should have its grandparents nearby.” James wondered what had prompted this sudden announcement. With his father there was always a point to be made. The older man nodded toward Michael, who put his whole body into casting the fishing line. “I can see your friend is very happy here. I imagine London was dreadful for someone raised in the wild and under such unique circumstances.” “Yes. It was bad for him. I appreciate you and Mother letting us visit for a while. I know we’ll have to go back for Michael’s custody hearing, that we can’t stay here.” James didn’t give his father a chance to remind him of his obligation or that their stay must be temporary. Father frowned, his grizzled eyebrows drawing together into one long caterpillar. “You misunderstand me, son. My intent is not to prompt you to leave. You are quite correct about attending the hearing, but I believe the judge will find Michael is not an imbecile and should be allowed to choose his own future. My suggestion is that you offer him a home here. If he is ever to be able to function on his own, he should begin in a protected environment. Perhaps he could live in the gardener’s house since it’s no longer occupied.” “Oh.” James was so taken by surprise he was incapable of adding anything more. “That young man will need your help in continuing to learn the ways of our world, but have you considered your own future?” His father fixed him with a hard gaze. “Now that you’ve severed your connection with Oxford, what do you intend to do next beyond being Michael’s caretaker?” “I—I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.” Was it possible to talk to his father without feeling like a foolish boy prone to ill-conceived plans? “So it appears. I propose you live here in the main house, which your mother and I will leave in your care when we lease a house near your sister in spring. This will give us time to decide if we’d care to relocate there and someone we can trust to look after our home. If you should decide you wish to return to academic life, the University of Edinburgh is only hours away by train. Such an arrangement provides

some flexibility in what you might choose to do with your life.” James was speechless. His father had clearly given the matter serious consideration. He was neither berating him for kidnapping Michael nor making veiled comments about their inappropriate relationship. Instead, he offered solid, practical advice. “That sounds…like an excellent idea, Father. Thank you,” he managed at last. His father stooped to select a fly from the tackle box. “Have you spoken with Michael about his future? Does he know he must go back and face Rutherford again?” “I haven’t yet,” James admitted. “You should explain it soon and prepare him for what the hearing will entail. Prepare him to present himself as a capable, independently thinking individual.” “You’re right, of course.” “And James, if you want Michael to become a man, give him some space in which to do so. Don’t hover too much.” “I’m not—” He bit off his automatic denial. “Yes, sir.” With that final piece of advice, his father turned and sloshed off into the river to begin casting. He called out to Michael and demonstrated his particular technique again. Michael nodded and duplicated the movement. James smiled as he watched them. Mother might be the champion talker and a font of unasked-for opinions, but Father could hold his own when he finally chose to speak. As for the dawning understanding he’d seen in his father’s eyes that first night, it seemed the subject of James and Michael’s relationship would be silently acknowledged but never discussed. That was a perfect arrangement as far as he was concerned.

That afternoon James went to the village and sent a telegram to Rutherford informing him Michael was safe and would be at the hearing three days hence. Later that evening, a boy knocked on the door with a reply in hand. James read the terse missive while the boy waited to see if he would send a response.Family located. Eager to meet lost nephew. Hearing will proceed as scheduled. Be there or expect arrest for kidnapping. James paid the courier and sent him away without a reply. His mind was in a whirl at Rutherford’s announcement about finding Michael’s family. If he had living blood relatives, everything would change. A family claim would weigh heavily with the judge and perhaps Michael would want to make a connection with his flesh and blood. Everything hinged on whether they were really his relatives. Several parties had already claimed kinship in hopes of earning monetary reward or to bask in the reflected glory of the Lost Man’s notoriety. All of these claims had been proven false. But James wouldn’t put it past Rutherford to pay someone to pose as a loving family.

After taking a moment to adjust to the news, James reluctantly shared the contents of the telegram with Michael. “It seems your family has been found. A sister or brother of one of your parents, Rutherford’s telegram isn’t clear. These people may be your relatives, Michael.” James could tell he understood. He’d become adept at reading those expressive eyes and knew when Michael fully realized a concept or when he gave an amiable nod without quite understanding. “It could be exciting to meet people who can tell you about your parents. If they truly are your family, they may want you to live with them.” Michael shook his head and stated flatly, “No. I will stay with you.” James didn’t explain he might not have a choice. Although he hoped the judge would see Michael as a competent individual, anything could happen in that courtroom. Just thinking about being separated from Michael gave him almost physical pain. “We should pack now and travel tomorrow, giving us extra time in London to prepare for the hearing. A new suit for you and a professional barbering.” James concentrated on details so he wouldn’t have to think of the possible negative outcome of the court date. Although he tried not to transmit his feelings to Michael, his sensitive lover easily read his mood. While James packed his bag, Michael leaned against the bed post, arms folded over his chest, watching. After a moment, he stopped James with a hand on his arm. “You are afraid.” James met those intense cerulean eyes. “A little. Things might not go our way. You might not have a choice in where you live.” Michael frowned and grunted. “I will fight the leader and then we will go away.” James took his hand and uncurled his fist. “No. Fighting willnot help. You must not hit anyone. That’s the worst thing you can do. But I promise we’ll find a way. I won’t let you be taken from me.” He hoped he wasn’t lying.

The next day at breakfast, his father made another surprising announcement. “I will attend this hearing with you. As a medical doctor, I can attest to Michael’s mental acuity. My word should carry some weight with the judge.” “You’d go down to London with us?” James paused with a bite of toast halfway to his mouth. “You needn’t sound so shocked. Of course, I would support you. There are certainly enough forces arrayed against you. I rather think we should have arranged for a lawyer to speak on Michael’s behalf, but it’s a bit late for that now.” Tears stung James’s eyes. Setting down the toast, he sipped his tea before replying. “Thank you, Father. Your support would be very much appreciated.” How little credit he’d given this man. Keeping the secret of his homosexuality all these years, he’d never imagined his father capable of understanding let alone accepting the truth about him. Yet, here he was,

offering to help the man he guessed was his son’s lover. His compassion touched James deeply. “I would travel with you, too, but you know how I feel about the city,” his mother added. “But I shall pray for a good outcome and that all of you will return home soon.” She stressed the wordall with a tender smile at Michael, who had charmed her with his quiet manner. The three men set out for the station after breakfast and within the hour were rattling southward in a swaying compartment. With every mile that passed, worry weighed more heavily on James. He sat next to Michael and facing his father, who’d fallen asleep with his newspaper draped across his lap and his mouth open. James brought out the book of African wildlife from which he’d first taught Michael and opened it. Their legs and hips pressed warmly together and their fingers occasionally grazed as they leafed through the pages. Small touches compared to what they’d indulged in over the past days, but James was so aroused by Michael’s mere presence beside him he was grateful for the book shielding his lap. Michael pointed to an illustration of a gibbon, its tiny face like a shriveled old man’s. “One time I found a monkey baby on the ground. I gave him food, water, and hold him.” He shook his head. “But the baby can not live with no mother.” “I’m sorry,” James said. “It’s hard to lose a pet.” “Mm.” Michael turned the page. James felt he’d answered too glibly. The adoption of a monkey baby had had greater significance to Michael than a child taking home some stray pup. He may have remembered how his gorilla mother had once rescued him and looked on the infant as a child he’d been unable to save. “I’m sorry,” James repeated, but this time met Michael’s gaze and let him know he understood the depth of his feeling. Michael nodded. “All things die.” “Which is why we must make every moment of life count, I suppose.” James felt almost a sense of peace as he resolved that whatever happened at the hearing, he’d refuse to be separated from Michael. Somehow he’d keep his promise and find a way for them to be together. The train pulled into Euston Station the following morning. The three men took a cab to a hotel and checked in then went to a tailor, all the while peppering Michael with questions the judge might ask and helping him formulate answers. At this informal hearing there would only be the judge, lawyers and representatives from each of the interested parties: Oxford, Rutherford, Michael’s possible family, the Litchfields and of course, Michael himself. As they walked down the street back to the hotel, a newsboy sauntered past announcing the headlines in a pubescent screech. “The Whitechapel fiend slashes again. Get your Ripper news from theEvening Star right here. Wild Ape-man still missing. Long-lost family distraught.” “Here, boy.” James’s father gave the lad a coin and took a tabloid. TheLondon Evening Star was no Times , but focused on the most sensational news its reporters could find presented in the most colorful terms.

“Hey, that’s him, innit? The Ape-man.” The boy’s eyes widened as his gaze fixed on Michael. “He’s cut his hair off, but I seen his picture and I never forget a face.” His high-pitched voice caught the attention of passing pedestrians and cart-wielding vendors. Soon murmuring clusters of people around them were debating Michael’s identity, while James urged the others to walk faster. The crowd of gawkers grew as if a wind had swept through the busy streets, whispering the gossip faster than word of mouth could ever spread it. Ragged urchins popped up seemingly from nowhere to tag after them. “Is it true? Did he really attack a man and try to bite a chunk outta his throat?” “Do these people have no work to accomplish?” James’s father grumbled as he used his walking stick to nudge aside a man who blocked his path and refused to move. “Make way, please.” James glanced at Michael, growing tense as people pushed closer. “They’re only curious. They don’t mean any harm.” But Michael warily watched the people as though ready to leap into action. One wrong move by some overeager curiosity seeker and he might turn violent. No matter that he intended only to defend the Litchfields. The public would see him once more as a wild beast. “Where has he been hiding? Are you the one what found him in Africa? Why have you kept him from his family? Is it true he eats bugs?” Questions came from all around them. “Stand back, please,” James ordered loudly, pulling Michael’s arm to get him moving again. “Yes, this is the man you’ve all read about in the papers. He is not violent, but please let us through.” They’d nearly reached the safety of the hotel when a pair of uniformed policemen joined the pandemonium, pushing their way through the crowd. They were accompanied by the newsboy. “There, see? I told you it were him.” The lad pointed to Michael. “I get a reward, don’t I?” The burlier of the two officers cuffed him out of the way and the men moved toward Michael with truncheons drawn. James inserted himself between them and Michael. “This man is with us. He is not a danger to anyone.” “There’s a warrant for his arrest. Stand aside so we can do our job.” The man who’d shoved the newsboy aside looked like he’d like to do the same to James. “Arrest on what charges?” James’s father brandished his walking stick, not quite threatening the men with it. “Assault. He attacked a man. We’re to bring him in if we find him,” the other man explained. “We can do it easy or hard. It’s up to you.” James’s stomach pitched. Everything had spun out of control so quickly, and it was about to get much worse if these men used their truncheons. Right now there was no choice but to convince Michael to go with them peaceably. He turned to grasp his arm, feeling the muscles knotted with tension beneath his broadcloth jacket. “Michael, look at me.” He grasped his chin and forced the other man to meet his gaze. “You have to do

what they say. We can’t fight them. Not the police. You must go with them.” “No.” His protest was loud and firm. “I stay with you.” “Not right now.” James’s heart wrenched at the dawning dismay in Michael’s eyes. His accusing gaze reminded James he was breaking a promise and begged him not to betray him yet again. There was no time to explain about laws and policemen and things beyond his control. “I’ll come to you soon. But you must let these men take you. Donot fight them,” he commanded. “All right, enough chatter. Step outta the way.” The burly cop started toward Michael. Dr. Litchfield took his time moving aside, giving James another moment with Michael. He pitched his voice lower, whispering urgently, “I’m sorry. It has to be this way for now. Trust me. Please.” But Michael’s eyes went dark as if shutters had been drawn over them. He stared at James then past him at the approaching policeman. James held his breath, waiting for hell to break loose. If Michael snapped and fought the men, James wouldn’t abandon him to being pounded by their clubs. He’d have to fight alongside him, using his father’s walking stick if necessary. They’d both end up in jail. “Please, will you allow me to go with him?” he asked. “No,” the burly one answered bluntly. He pushed past him and grabbed Michael’s arm, snapping a handcuff on one wrist then the other. Michael didn’t struggle. He stood still until the other officer took his arm and urged him forward. “Come on now. Off you go. No harm will come to you.” The man appeared to be kinder than his partner and James prayed he’d look after the prisoner. James considered throwing a punch to get himself arrested, but that wouldn’t help get Michael free and would only place the burden on his father to bail them both out. He could do more good for Michael from outside a jail cell. Michael walked docilely between the two men as they led him away through the excited crowd. “I’ll come for you soon,” James called after him. But Michael never looked back.

Chapter Twenty-Three Caged again. At first Odd One restlessly walked the perimeter of the cell, sniffing the odors of this new strange place that smelled like urine and sweat. But after a while he sat in a corner on the cold, hard floor with his legs drawn up, his arms around them and his head resting on his knees. There was nothing else to do. He was

at the mercy of men. He couldn’t fight them to get free. All he could do was wait to see what they decided to do with him. Odd One believed an entire day and night had passed since they’d put him in here because they’d shoved several meals into the cage and had turned off the light for a long while. But it was impossible to tell day from night inside this place. He’d had plenty of time to think about how James had betrayed him, plenty of time to grow angrier and angrier. James had promised to stay with him. He’d promised to fight for him, but he hadn’t. And he’d promised to follow him here, but he didn’t come. If Odd One hadn’t driven off the leopard to save James, he’d be dead now. Without a thought for himself he’d charged in to help a stranger. Why couldn’t James do the same for the man he was supposed to care about? Odd One was tired of trying to understand the world of men with all its rules and lies. He was tired of trying to figure out James, who one moment was as close to him as his own heartbeat and the next, pushed him away. He was angry at himself for continuing to trust James every time he made a promise and for wanting to see him again even now. The sound of the outer door opening brought Odd One’s head off his knees. His body stiffened as he saw who the guard had let into the room. Rutherford dismissed the uniformed man and went to stand in front of the bars of Odd One’s new cage. For a long moment they stared at one another. The hair on Odd One’s nape prickled and he stifled a growl that rose inside him. He didn’t know what Rutherford wanted with him yet and didn’t want to antagonize the one man who might have the power to get him out of here. “Hello, Michael.” Rutherford spoke calmly, as if Odd One hadn’t punched him last time they were together. “Do you understand why you’re here?” Odd One didn’t answer, waiting for the man to tell him. “It’s because of what happened in the museum.” He spread his hands wide. “I’m not angry. I made a mistake taking you there. You were upset. I understand that. I’m sorry about this—” he indicated the cage, “—but I knew the police would look harder for you if I charged you with assault. That means hitting, Michael. But I can have those charges dropped. All I wanted was to have you safely home again.” This was the most Rutherford had ever spoken directly to him. Usually he’d talked about him with James as though Odd One wasn’t even present. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I can get you out of here.” “I understand.” He wanted to ask about James, where he was, why he hadn’t come and if he was in trouble, but he waited, silently. Rutherford squatted and held onto the bars, facing him through them. “I know I’ve pushed you too hard, but that won’t happen again. Promise me you won’t run away and I’ll take you home.” Odd One sat up straight, listening, and this time he asked, “James?”

“I know you trust James, but where is he now? Did he stand by you when you were arrested? He is not such a good friend as you think, and he is not your family. But, Michael, I have someone here with me today to meet you—your real family.” Rutherford’s voice was low and caressing instead of his usual loud bray as he tried to seduce Odd One into trusting him. It was obvious what he was doing, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t somewhat right. Odd One couldn’t deny he was curious to see the people who claimed to be related to his mother and father. “Shall I call them in now? They’re waiting right outside.” He hesitated then dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Excellent.” Rutherford stood and went to the door. He spoke to the guard outside and a few moments later a man and woman followed him into the room. Odd One rose to his feet and walked closer to the bars to study them closely. The woman was small with blond hair and bright blue eyes that were very much like his when he looked in the mirror. The man was about the same height as James with brown hair, a thick moustache and a little paunch beneath his waistcoat. The pair gazed at him, appearing nervous but offering small smiles. The man’s hand rested on the woman’s back as they approached the cage together. Suddenly her gloved hand went to her mouth and she gasped, her eyes widening. “His eyes! They are just like Cecelia’s. Could this really be my nephew?” She plucked a handkerchief from her sleeve and covered her eyes as she began to weep. “There, there, my love.” The man patted her shoulder. “Don’t cry. Rejoice for this miracle.” Odd One stared at them then at Rutherford, who was smiling his biggest jackal smile. “Mrs. Rowe’s sister may have been your mother. She went to Africa with her husband and other missionaries to bring Christ to the natives. They disappeared in the Congo region and were never heard of again.” Odd One didn’t know some of the words, but understood the gist of the story. “We never knew my wife’s sister had a child.” The man with the moustache gazed at Odd One. “But there’s no doubt you look much like her. Do you remember anything about your mother?” Michael pictured the hands with the gold ring and heard the voice singing the star song. He shook his head. “That is a tragedy.” The man’s face crumpled and tears sprang to his eyes. He dashed them away. “You see, Michael? Family,” Rutherford said. “They want to get to know you.” The blonde woman stopped crying at last and came very close to the cell. She took off her white glove and put her fingers between the bars, reaching for Odd One. Unconsciously he came nearer and reached out to touch her hand. Her fingers curled around his. They were soft and warm. She smiled at him. “There is no doubt. You simply must be my nephew. I want to tell you everything about your mother.” She squeezed his fingers lightly before letting go. “The hearing is tomorrow. Your future will be decided by a judge who doesn’t even know you. I pray you will tell him you wish to go

with your family.” “Will you come home with us now, Michael?” Rutherford said. “I would hate to leave you here, but I’ll admit I’m a little afraid you might run again. You must promise me you won’t.” When Odd One didn’t answer, Rutherford continued. “James Litchfield has always done what I paid him to do. His job was to teach you human ways and he did so. Now that I am no longer paying him, he has abandoned you…here.” He gestured at the dim, dank room around them. “James hasn’t tried to see you, has he? He didn’t stand up to the police, did he? If he was truly your good friend, he would have done those things.” Again Odd One smelled a pile of dung with nuggets of good berries mixed in it. Of course Rutherford wanted to have his way, as always, but he wasn’t wrong about how James had acted. Meanwhile, the blonde woman gazed at Odd One with pleading eyes that looked so very much like his own, and the man smiled at him like James’s father sometimes smiled at his son. The idea of staying another moment in this prison, let alone another night, was unbearable. Odd One nodded. “I will come with you and I will not run away.”

James spent hours at the police station, talking to one person after another, but his requests to see Michael were repeatedly denied. He was told “No visitors allowed until the prisoner’s been processed” and “Visiting hours are over” and “Get the bleeding hell out of here, before I arrest you, too.” The bureaucratic wall separating him from Michael seemed impenetrable. He suspected Rutherford had paid to make certain Michael remained isolated, but whether it was true or not, James wasn’t allowed to see him. After wasting most of the day arguing, he finally realized there were better ways to spend his time, like getting Michael a lawyer and preparing for the hearing. While James had been getting nowhere at the jail, his father had learned the court date was not cancelled despite the assault charges. One way or another, Rutherford would have his man. “I do have some acquaintances in this town,” Father said as they walked back to the hotel in the twilight. “Let me see what I can do tomorrow to open some doors for you. Also I think it would be wise to find out everything we can about these supposed relatives before the hearing. My friend Mr. Green recommended a good lawyer who can help.” James impulsively grasped his father’s hand and squeezed it. “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t with me. Thank you for coming.” “Well…” He hid his smile by coughing and changing the subject. “I do hope there is a decent dining room at the hotel. I’m rather famished.” For his part, James scarcely touched his food that evening as he considered what Michael might be going through. That night he lay in bed, making endless lists in his mind of possible contacts, courses of action and scenarios in which he freed Michael and they went off together into some impossibly brilliant sunset. But he couldn’t forget the look in Michael’s eyes when he’d told him to go with the police, nor how rigid his back had been as he walked away. Michael was upset, angry, hurt, and his trust in James’s word was severely shaken if not destroyed.

Perhaps James should have been more honest with him about how things really worked, rather than making bold promises he wasn’t certain he could keep. Or maybe they should’ve stayed hidden in Scotland and lived out their lives there. Would Rutherford have eventually tracked them down? It was too late for second guessing now. Dawn came at last and another day of wading through the mire of red tape. They met with Father’s friend and then the friend’s solicitor, Mr. Bagwell. After they explained the entire situation to him, he offered good counsel about their options. That afternoon, as his father went back to the inn for a rest, James returned to the police station and spoke to the man at the front desk. “I’d like to see the prisoner brought in on charges of assault yesterday. I’m not certain what name they put on his paperwork, but his first name is Michael.” He clenched his fingers into fists at his sides as he waited for a response, praying they hadn’t already moved Michael from a holding cell to the city jail. This was a different man from yesterday and he made James explain his relationship to the prisoner all over again. The balding man looked at him curiously. “The Ape-man, eh? I read all about that in the papers. Heard we had him in here. Let’s see…” After shuffling through some files on the desk, he heaved himself to his feet and waddled away to talk to someone else. He returned, shaking his head. “Not here. Charges was dropped earlier today and he’s been released.” “Released? Where to? I mean, did he leave with someone?” “Couldn’t tell you that, sir. Wouldn’t be proper protocol.” The man plunked back down onto his chair and started mucking about with the papers on his desk again. His refusal to meet James’s eyes was telling. He knew exactly who had dropped those charges and taken Michael away. James took a cab to Rutherford’s house, paid the driver and stood for a moment staring at the front of the house he’d lived in for a month. It looked more like a fortress than a house to him, and somehow he didn’t think he’d be allowed inside. Drawing a deep breath, he climbed the stairs and rang the bell. The footman answered the door and his eyes widened in recognition. “Good day, Mr. Litchfield. Sir Lewis is not at home.” He spoke the words as if by rote, clearly instructed to deliver this message if James should show up. “Thomas, is it? It’s not Rutherford I’ve come to see. Is Michael here?” The footman looked flustered. “I couldn’t say, sir.” James nodded. “Please get Harrison. I wish to speak to him.” He doubted the butler would be any more forthcoming, but he was playing for time. “May I wait inside?” It was bad form to leave any guest standing on the doorstep and the footman paled as he denied the request. “I’m afraid not, sir. You may wait here while I speak to him.” The door closed in James’s face and he stood there for some time, waiting, his heart tapping against his

breastbone. He knew with every fiber of his being that Michael was there, so close yet still beyond his reach. When the door opened again, Harrison stood there. Stone-faced as ever, the butler summoned him inside. “Sir Lewis will see you.” James followed him to the small sitting room nearest the foyer. His heart pounded harder than ever as he beheld the bane of his existence resting comfortably in a wingback chair before the fireplace. The man rose to welcome him with false bonhomie. “Litchfield, I thought I might see you today. How was your railway journey?” “Uneventful. Where’s Michael?” “Becoming acquainted with his family. It is most touching to see them together.” “What, no press to record the happy reunion?” James couldn’t resist the dig. Rutherford wagged a finger. “Retract the claws. You’re hardly in a position to judge. After all, you’re the one who kidnapped the man and spirited him off on some kind of holiday. I sometimes question the nature of your close friendship with Michael and whether it has been healthy for him. Perhaps I should mention that at the hearing tomorrow.” The barely veiled threat as he stressed the wordfriendship was a harder dig, rather like the slash of a leopard claw across the jugular. Rutherford stared at James with bleary yet extremely shrewd eyes. “There are worse things that could happen to Michael than being reunited with a loving family. Perhaps you should simply leave him be now and carry on with your life. I think it would be best for him if you don’t come to the hearing.” “I want to see him now,” James demanded, “just for a few minutes.” Rutherford shook his head. “I’m afraid that will not be possible. You’re finished here. Harrison, please see Mr. Litchfield to the door.” To ensure James caused no trouble, both the butler and two of the footmen escorted him outside. His brief and unsettling audience over, James regarded Rutherford’s fortress again. He looked at the upstairs windows and wondered if Michael still occupied the front bedroom. Probably he was locked up to keep him from escaping again. James couldn’t leave without trying again to see him. He didn’t want to face Michael at the hearing with this sense of betrayal driving a wedge between them. He had to let him know he was doing everything he could to ensure a good outcome and that he had a plan. The house might seem impenetrable and the situation hopeless, but this was no prison with armed guards. He might gain entry through the garden. All he had to do was scale the wall and the back door would be open to him. Would Michael have let a little thing like a wall stop him from getting to James? No. Blood pumping, James darted down the side alley to the back of the house past the entrance to the

kitchen. This was where vendors, workmen and servants gained access. But he didn’t believe he could enter there stealthily. The kitchen was a busy place. He faced the brick wall dividing Rutherford’s garden from that of the neighboring house. Wisteria vines sprawled in wild profusion over the top of the wall and halfway down on this side. James pulled the rubbish bin over to the wall, climbed on top of it and grabbed hold of the thickest vines. They started to tear away from the wall as he hoisted up his full weight on them. He scrambled to the top of the wall, scraping his knuckles on brick and snagging his trousers on the vines. Huffing and blowing, he paused there to regard the drop on the other side. Once he was in, there would be no way out except through the house. The sound of laughter and a woman’s light voice followed by the bass hum of a man’s floated through the garden. James caught the flutter of movement in the corner of his eye and flattened himself against the wall, knees clamping on either side. He held absolutely still and willed himself to become one with the vines as he burrowed into the leafy growth. A somewhat portly man with a moustache and a woman with blond hair walked with Michael down the path near the fountain. The woman had her arm linked through Michael’s and pressed close to him as she talked. His head was inclined slightly toward hers and when she finished speaking, he smiled. James’s racing heart skipped a beat at the sight of that smile. Michael wasn’t locked in a room. He was strolling with his newfound family. Happy. Michael spoke to the woman and she laughed. Then the man pointed out something in the garden and they both went over to look at the butterfly or flower or whatever the hell it was. James lay there, breathing hard, torn between jumping down into the garden to confront them and remaining hidden on top of the wall. But what could he say? “Hello. I’m Michael’s friend and I just wanted to see that he’s all right.” And what could he say to Michael? “I’m sorry I let those policemen take you away yesterday. I tried to get to you, but they wouldn’t let me. Here I am now. Oh, but I have to leave again and I can’t take you with me. Maybe after the hearing tomorrow everything will magically change.” He had no business being here. Michael was safe and apparently content. If these people really were his family members, James had no right to come crashing into the middle of their reunion and stir things up. He pictured Rutherford’s servants dragging him away and Michael fighting to help him. Better to leave this peaceful group as it was. He’d see Michael tomorrow at the hearing. And by then maybe he’d know if this happy family reunion was the truth or a sham. James slid off the wall on the outer side, landing on the dustbin and knocking it over. He sprawled flat on his back with the breath knocked out of him. Jumping up, he darted back down the alley to the street.

Chapter Twenty-Four “Do you understand the question, Mr. Abbingdon?” The judge was not calling him the name James had given him. This new one had something to do with the people who claimed they were his family. But they

weren’t family any more than the gorillas or James had been. He had no family and no name. “Yes, sir. I understand.” Odd One spoke carefully, mimicking the judge’s accent then glanced around the long table at the others. It was as if they’d sat down to eat together but had forgotten the food. The judge presided at the head with Odd One on his left and, beside him, Rutherford, Aunt Elizabeth, Uncle Thomas and a man called a lawyer. Arrayed around the rest of the table were several of the professors from the expedition and another lawyer. Directly across from Odd One sat James and Dr Litchfield. From the moment he’d entered the room, Odd One had been careful not to meet James’s gaze. He was still angry and did not want to be swayed from what he planned to say by looking into James’s eyes. But it was like trying not to acknowledge a lion because he could feel James’s presence in every part of his body. “Tell me—” the judge leaned forward to look into Odd One’s eyes, “—what do you remember of your parents?” He glanced at the woman claiming to be his aunt. She’d been kind and talked to him sweetly, but beneath her smiles there was a streak of falseness he could almost smell. And even more so with the man called Thomas. He remembered to meet the judge’s gaze before speaking. “Mother had dark hair. I remember her face, her singing.” “You do?” The judge’s white eyebrows shot up. “You recall your life before the gorillas.” “Yes.” Rutherford’s lawyer called out, “Objection, Your Honor. This man’s memories may have been compromised by Mr. James Litchfield, who has interfered with this find from the beginning.” “Mr. Whiting, this is a hearing, not a trial,” the judge replied. “Everyone will have a chance to air their views. Right now it’s Mr. Abbingdon’s turn to talk. Please, tell us more about your parents.” He didn’t want to. The memories he’d shared only with James were very precious. By saying them aloud he might lose them. But he needed to convince the judge he was a real man so he must answer the questions. “I remember a house. A man with big hands. I had a round…” He showed the shape with his hands. “A ball?” the judge guessed. “Ball.” He nodded. “A blue ball, I remember.” This new image had just emerged from the dark river of his memory to float to the surface. “Mother and father died. I went to look for food. The apes found me.” “And you lived with them until the Rutherford Expedition discovered you.” “Yes. Until James found me.” He resisted the overpowering urge to look at James when he said his name. His body fairly trembled with the need to see him, but he would not give in to trusting him again.

The judge’s grizzled old face reminded him of Old Grunt’s as he turned to James. “I would be interested in hearing the facts of how you discovered this man. All I know is what I’ve read in the paper.” James told about the leopard attack and how Odd One had saved him. He described how they’d become friends and even told about the visit to the gorillas. “They were beautiful, roaming through the forest foraging for food. Because of Michael, the leader allowed me to sit and watch them. But I developed malarial fever that night and the next day Michael carried me back to camp. He must have been terrified of all those strangers, yet he brought me there to save my life. I vouch for the fact that he is in every way a human being, conscious of what is right and good.” “I’ll admit he doesn’t seem to be mentally deficient, but the question is whether he can function on his own,” the judge said. “From the assault on Sir Lewis, it would appear he has a violent streak. And certainly he has no skills with which to earn a living.” “If I may speak, sir,” Thomas Rowe interrupted. “This is a family matter. My wife’s sister, Cecelia, and her husband, John Abbingdon, have been lost to us for years. They were among the pioneering missionaries to the Congo. Now it is as if a piece of our family has been restored to us. Anyone would agree our nephew belongs with us.” Michael stared at him, trying to feel the smallest spark of recognition. But he only felt uneasy. The hair on his nape rose when the man’s gaze flicked over him. “It took you some time to come forward,” the judge said. “We didn’t learn about our nephew’s existence until Sir Lewis’s private investigator found us after researching all expeditions to Africa. He learned of Cecelia and John’s disappearance and contacted us, their nearest living relatives. Needless to say we were shocked to discover they’d had a child. We’re eager to welcome him into our family now.” The judge turned to Rutherford. “And you, sir? In your suit you claim all discoveries on this expedition should be primarily yours.” “That was before I learned Michael has a family. Naturally, I relinquish my claim so Michael may reunite with his family at last. I should hope the learned men from Oxford would do the same.” “The family that is currently staying at your London home,” Professor Albermarle said dryly. “Have these people any proof of their claim to kinship?” Rutherford glared at him. “Do you suggest this is some sort of ruse?” “I suggest their appearance is very convenient and your capitulation is suspect.” The two men bristled as they exchanged words faster than Odd One could decode them. Other voices joined in their argument, the lawyers, the Rowes, the professors and even James, all growling and snapping like animals fighting over territory. He couldn’t understand why they were all so interested in having a piece of him. The judge slammed a fist on the table. “I will have order. The next person to speak without permission

will be dismissed from this proceeding.” He might be old and frail but his voice was fearsome. Everyone fell silent. After he’d glared around the table at all of them, he continued, “Now I will hear from the representative for Oxford. Please state your case…briefly.” The lawyer rose from his chair and spoke loudly as if to a large room full of people rather than the few seated around the table. He moved his hands a lot as if he was nervous, used many words Odd One didn’t know, and then pointed at him. “This man is a unique opportunity for scientists to study humanity in its most primitive form. He should be tested in a laboratory by experts, not put on display for society’s delectation or treated like family. His importance to science is too great to overlook.” “You may sit down, Mr. Smith. Your point is taken.” The judge’s tone quelled the lawyer, who dropped into his chair and patted his sweating brow with a handkerchief. “It seems it’s already too late for Oxford to study Mr. Abbingdon as a specimen. He’s already been changed by our world. Therefore we must move forward and decide what is best for him as he adjusts to his new life.” The judge laced his gnarled fingers together and propped his chin on his joined hands. “Family is important. Knowing where one comes from. Michael would benefit from learning more about his parents. Perhaps you have photographs of them to share?” He looked at the Rowes. “I’m afraid not, sir. We never had family portraits taken.” Elizabeth Rowe spoke softly. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “But I recognize her blue eyes in Michael’s face. There is no doubt in my mind he is our nephew.” “No.” Odd One shook his head. All eyes turned toward him. “No. Her eyes were dark. Dark, not blue. I remember.” There was absolute silence for a moment. The woman stared at him and her smile disappeared. Then she gave a small shrug and smiled again. “Her eyes were such a deep blue, nearly indigo. They could appear to be very dark, but his definitely have their shape.” Rutherford’s lawyer added, “A small child cannot be expected to recall such details and I’m certain you agree it’s in the boy’s best interest to reunite with his family.” The judge ignored him and turned to James and his father. “I take it you, too, have a claim to make?” James’s father spoke. “Sir, I am a doctor from the town of Langholm. A quiet, pastoral place, which I can’t help but think is closer to the wilderness Michael has been used to than London. My family would be happy to offer him a home with us, should he choose to live there.” “A kind offer,” the judge said, “and I notice you are the only one who has mentioned Mr. Abbingdon’s choice in all of this. I would be very interested to hear what the party in question thinks of all these possibilities. Michael, where would you like to live?” Odd One took a deep breath, knowing his next words might decide his fate. “I am not ape. I am a man.

As a child, I live in the jungle. No choice. Then men put me in a cage and take me away. No choice.” He pressed his palm to his chest. “Ichoose now.My life.” He gazed into the judge’s eyes. After a moment, the man nodded. “I can see you know your own mind. You’re more competent than many men who’ve come through my courtroom. But what is it you want to do? With which of these people do you wish to live?” “No one. I want to live alone.” “How would you take care of yourself? You need money. You would have to work at something.” “I am strong. I can work on a steamship. I see the work. It is not hard.” He’d practiced these words as he lay in bed last night to make certain he said everything correctly. He had to make the judge see he didn’t need anyone to look after him as if he was a child. He had to make James see it, too. Odd One didn’t need him and wouldn’t place his trust in him any more. Then, despite his best intentions, he shot a quick look at James. His stomach clenched at the sight of the expression of dismay on that beloved face. Odd One knew then that even if he won, he’d lost. He might gain freedom, but without James what would it mean? “Mr. Abbingdon.” The judge’s voice was kind. “I can certainly understand your desire to stand on your own. It is admirable. But I’m afraid you’re simply not ready to survive in civilization without some help and guidance. I believe it is in your best interests to stay with your family for the time being.” The professors and their lawyer clamored in disapproval while Rutherford thanked the judge for being a reasonable man. Odd One gripped his hands into fists as despair and frustration raged in him. He’d finally spoken for himself, voiced whathe wanted, and it was as if he was still speaking in ape grunts. The judge hadn’t really heard him at all. Odd One stared down at his clenched hands in his lap. He’d done all he could to earn his freedom, but he had no power among these people. Whatever he said or did, they would find a way to cage him every time. Whether it was a prison cell or Rutherford’s fancy house made no difference. He’d lost James and he’d lost himself. He was neither ape nor man. In fact, he no longer knew who or what he was at all.

James’s stomach churned as he gazed at Michael’s downcast face across the table from him, so close and yet he might as well be back in Africa he was so far away. From the moment Michael had entered the room wearing the immaculately tailored suit Rutherford had purchased for him, James had mentally begged him to look his way. But Michael refused to see him. He examined the judge, the professors, the lawyers, everyone in the room except James. The rejection lashed like a whip. Michael, forgive me,James had beamed the thought at him over and over. Then he’d tried to show his feelings through his speech, but still Michael was stone. James had never felt so heartsick. Michael’s rebuff caused a literal, physical pain in his stomach. And on top of that, he was frantic with worry that Bagwell, the solicitor, would not come through with the information they sought in time to affect the outcome of the hearing. James couldn’t bring up his

suspicions about the Rowes without evidence to back him. Bagwell hadn’t attended the hearing with them today in order that he might travel to the town the Rowes claimed to be from and research their background. He’d promised to send a message to the courtroom as soon as he found out anything, but the window of opportunity was closing fast. James could hardly sit still. He wanted to leap up from his chair, shake the judge until his teeth rattled, or better yet, simply seize Michael’s hand and run with him from the room. “Steady, my boy.” A quiet murmur from his father brought James’s attention to the old man’s face. “Losing a single battle doesn’t mean losing the war. We’ll continue to try.” James nodded, but the words were of little comfort. He felt in his bones that if Michael walked out of this room today with Rutherford, he’d lose him forever. The trust fractured almost beyond repair would be truly broken if he didn’t find a way to save Michael right now. He had to think of something else to say or do to keep him from being imprisoned yet again in Rutherford’s fortress of a mansion. At that precise moment, a knock at the chamber door interrupted the arguing voices. A courier entered the room. “Excuse me, sir.” He spoke to Judge Maxwell. “Telegram for a Mr. Litchfield, marked as urgent. I was told to deliver it here even if I interrupted proceedings.” “I’m Litchfield.” James raised his hand and his heart lifted along with it. The news could only be good for he couldn’t believe the Rowes were telling the truth. The young man crossed the room and handed him the paper. James opened and read the message as the judge cut across the professors’ continued complaints. “Enough. I’ve made my decision. There’s no need for more discussion.” James raised his hand. “Excuse me, sir. I have some relevant information in this telegram that might influence your decision.” “It’s too late. He’s already ruled,” Rutherford snapped. James guessed the man knew what kind of information he had to share. “I’ll allow it.” Judge Maxwell glared at the red-faced baronet. “And I’ll thank you not to speak for me, sir.” “My father and I hired a lawyer to investigate the supposed family connection between Michael and the Rowes,” James said. “He learned Cecelia and John Abbingdon did indeed exist and disappeared while in Africa. But the couple sitting here today is not related to them in any way. Elizabeth and Thomas Rowe are not married and are simply two people paid by Rutherford to act the roles of Michael’s aunt and uncle.” “Hah!” Professor Albermarle shouted. “I knew this was the case. For shame, Rutherford, using the sacred ties of family to your own ends.” James handed the judge the note so he could read the words for himself. “May I add something, sir? There is a cottage on my father’s land, a simple place but sound, where Michael could have the benefit of friends close by but the independence of living on his own. Is that something you would like, Michael? Would you come home with us…please?”

James stretched his hand across the table, trying to bridge the distance between him and Michael. “I’m sorry if I haven’t always done the right thing. I’m sorry if I haven’t protected you from the world. I ask your pardon.” Michael stared at his hand for a long moment. James caught his breath, silently begging him to forgive. And then the hard, warm, familiar hand slipped around his. One brief clasp before they both let go, but there was a promise in that firm grip. Michael met his gaze at last and dipped his head in a nod. His solemn eyes sealed the promise of the handshake. James felt the covenant in the depths of his heart. Judge Maxwell looked back and forth between them. “I can see you two have a close friendship and this solution seems sensible. Very well. It shall be as you wish. I grant Michael full rights to govern his own person, with the proviso that he spend some time under your care and tutelage.” The judge turned to Rutherford. “As for you, sir, I suggest you confer with your counsel for there will be legal repercussions for this deception. Case dismissed.” Voices rose as the professors and their lawyer discussed the result and Rutherford bellowed at his lawyer. The Rowes practically ran from the room, perhaps fearing they’d be arrested for their part in the deception. The judge also rose and exited the room, surprisingly spryly for someone so old. James hurried around the table to Michael and stood as close to him as possible without actually pulling Michael into his arms. He gripped his hand and shook it, leaned in and spoke quietly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t fight for you better.” Michael shook his head. “No. You could not do. I know now you fight with words not hands.” “I wanted to beat him. To kill him,” James whispered, casting a glance at Rutherford. “That is not man’s way. I understand,” Michael said. “We will go now?” Father joined them. “Come, lads, let’s hurry out of here and perhaps we may yet catch the afternoon train home.” As they all left the building and walked down the courthouse steps, the press attacked like birds of prey. James held up his hands and called for their attention. “The Gentleman Ape is retiring from public life. He has no statement to make. But you may be interested in the story of his sponsor, Sir Lewis Rutherford.” He caught Albermarle’s eye and added, “Professor Albermarle of Oxford University will be happy to tell you the details.” They pushed their way through the crowd of journalists and left them behind. As the photographers snapped pictures of an angry, raging Rutherford, Albermarle smugly told the story of the false relatives. James grinned, satisfied. Michael was right. Delivering a beating was not his way. But this was perhaps even better.

Chapter Twenty-Five As James walked toward the thatch-roofed cottage in the glen, his heart swelled with anticipation as if he was a child and this was Christmas morning. People said being in love was like floating on air, but he’d never imagined they meant it literally. As he opened the gate to let himself into the front garden, he felt as if he was moving slightly above the ground. He’d only been away from Michael for a couple of days and nights but it felt like an eternity. But he was back from Edinburgh now with good news to share. James entered the cottage, dipping his head so as not to hit it on the low lintel. He called for Michael, but received no answer as he passed through the main room with its roughly hewn table and chairs. He dropped his bag in the bedroom, his cock twitching at the mere sight of the bed with its rumpled sheets. He’d like to strip off his clothes and crawl into it right now, ready to greet Michael when he returned from his cross-country ramble. But first James went to the kitchen for a tart to fill his rumbling stomach. Through the wavy windowpane he spotted Michael in the back garden, painting. He should’ve guessed. Popping the raspberry tart into his mouth, he went out the kitchen door. The air was sharp with the scent of mint, sage and thyme. Even though it was quite early in spring, the hardy herbs were blooming and fragrant. Beyond lay the vegetable garden and flower beds, and in the center of the garden stood Michael working on one of his canvases. He was naked but for a loose-fitting pair of trousers that sagged low on his lean hips, showing a hint of the dark cleft between his cheeks. James’s erection swelled as he basked in the sight of his handsome lover. Using his fingers rather than a brush, Michael smeared a dash of vermilion across a forest green background. In the jungle, James would never have been able to come up behind him unnoticed. But when Michael was creating, he immersed himself. This canvas was another jungle scene, perhaps the lagoon if that gray-white band was meant to be the waterfall. Michael’s paintings were more representational than realistic. To some they might appear to be only vivid swathes of color, but when James looked at them, he recalled the jungle’s sweltering heat. Michael turned to squeeze more paint from a tube and caught sight of James at last. He smiled and a sunburst glowed in James’s chest. He walked toward him casually when he wanted to run and stopped a few feet away to examine the painting. “You’ve come a long way in a few days. That is our lagoon, right? Where’s the crocodile?” Michael clicked his tongue in mock annoyance. “Not finished.” He added a bumpy line of brown near the edge of the water. James nodded. “Exactly as I remember it.” Michael wiped his fingers on a turpentine-soaked rag and stalked toward James with the grace of a jungle cat. If he’d had a tail it would be twitching behind him. He was a predator and James was thrilled to be his prey.

A moment later he was enfolded in Michael’s arms, the sharp scent of turpentine competing with the spicy odor of the herb garden. Michael squeezed him hard enough to drive the breath from him and kissed him until the rest of the breath was stolen. He pulled away. “How was your trip?” “We’ve got a publisher. A small private press. The owner liked the idea of our dual memoir.” “Good.” Michael’s reaction was succinct and not overly enthusiastic. Michael didn’t care if people read their story. He’d participated at James’s request, telling his memories of jungle life and his reaction to civilization, but the book was James’s project. Painting was what had seized Michael’s creative spirit. “Mr. Putnam knows someone who owns a gallery. What would you think of having a show of your work?” Michael looked at him blankly. “An art gallery is a place where people look at paintings. If your work is hung there, many people will be able to enjoy it and perhaps even buy a painting.” “Oh.” Michael loosened James’s tie and unbuttoned his shirt with paint-stained fingers. “It’s rather an honor to be asked to display your art. You should be proud.” “All right.” Michael pulled James’s coat and shirt down his arms, trapping them by his sides, and kissed his chest. “I’ll take you to the art museum in Edinburgh soon. You would love to see the Old Masters’ paintings, I’m sure. Too bad we never had a chance to do that in London.” After the hearing they’d left the city and the reporters behind as soon as possible to return north. Since then, Michael had been content to roam the countryside near the house and only occasionally accompanied James even into the village. Sliding his hands beneath James’s undershirt, Michael pushed it up to his chest so his hands could wander over the landscape of James’s stomach. He leaned and peppered his belly with nibbling kisses. James cupped the back of Michael’s head, stroking the soft hair that was nearly shoulder-length again. “You aren’t interested in any of this, are you?” Michael looked up, his blue eyes twinkling as if stars were melted in them. “Yes. Book will be published. People want to see paintings. Good.” He gripped James’s waist in both hands and swirled his tongue around his navel before looking up again. “This is better.” James laughed and caressed Michael’s paint-smeared cheek. “All right. I understand. You don’t care a jot about any sort of fame or attention. You’re unspoiled.” Michael was too busy unfastening James’s trousers and pulling them and his drawers down his hips to answer. When at last James stood before him utterly nude, the blood sang through his veins and his erection rose before him like a divining rod which always pointed toward Michael. He shivered slightly in the cool spring air. “Now what?”

“Now I paint you,” Michael declared. James imagined fingers tickling his flesh and colorful paint smeared all over his body. His cock vibrated from the jolt of lust that shot through him. “Paint me?” “Yes.” Michael led him to one of the flowerbeds where purple irises were blooming and pushed James to the ground. He positioned him on his side with his head resting on his hand and the other reaching for one of the flowers. Grasping his chin, Michael tilted his head. “Look up. Good.” As he backed away, he ordered, “Stay,” and James obeyed. He loved the sound of that deep, warm voice giving him commands. Michael’s voice alone could nearly move him to orgasm. The smell of the fertile soil beneath him was an aphrodisiac that only made him harder. Michael flipped open his sketch pad and went to work with a charcoal pencil. As a stray breeze blew over James, his skin prickled with gooseflesh and his nipples peaked. His arm trembled from reaching toward the irises, and he dropped it a little. When Michael looked up, he grunted and pointed imperiously. Immediately, James adjusted his arm. The discomfort added to his arousal—that and Michael’s gaze examining every inch of his body while his hands continued to sketch. James ached for those hands to touch him all over. “Are you nearly finished?” he asked after many long minutes, when his muscles began to cramp from holding the pose and the ache in his balls grew too great to bear. Michael stopped sketching, stared at what he’d done then flipped the sketchbook closed. “I will paint another day.” James relaxed and shook out his arm to relieve the muscle strain. “I did not say you could move.” Michael sauntered over and crouched beside James. He grunted and pushed him onto his back in the grass, straddling his hips. He pinned his shoulders to the ground and bent slowly over him, kissing him with a softness at odds with his rough manner. After long moments of kissing, he pulled away. “I don’t like when you go.” “Next time we’ll go together.” James smiled up at him. “We’ll visit my parents and my sister and her husband and see her new son. I want Margaret to meet you.” Michael nodded. “We will go. Family is good.” “Yes, it is.” James slid his hands around Michael’s waist, reveling in the warm skin and the hard muscles beneath. Michael lay on top of him, stomach to stomach, chest to chest, and gazed into his eyes. James could tell something was bothering him. “What is it?” He brushed back a strand of Michael’s hair, vermilion paint mixed in with the tawny gold. “Are you happy here? Happy with me?” Michael searched his face. “Yes, of course. How could you even ask that?”

“You like to write and teach and travel. You did many things before me. Now you are here all the time. Maybe you miss those other things.” James pushed off the ground until they sat face to face with Michael still straddling his lap. “Listen to me. I’m living exactly the life I want to live. I love being with you more than anything. But if I ever want to do more, I’ll tell you. No secrets. Maybe we can travel some day to foreign places. But if we do, it will be together. I would never leave you behind.” James cupped the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss that tasted of raspberry tart. Michael must have eaten one earlier. He pulled away to add, “I will never grow tired of you. We are together for always. I love you.” Michael smiled. “Good.”

Michael enjoyed kissing almost more than any other part of lovemaking. The soft touch of lips that grew more urgent and hungry with every kiss delighted him. James tasted of raspberry and smelled of coal smoke from the train. Michael wanted to kiss him until their lips were bruised. He slid his hands down James’s back to grip the top of his buttocks. Leaning in, he pushed his erection into James’s belly, but his trousers were in the way. He rose and quickly took them off before sinking down onto James and the flowers once more. The few days apart brought a fresh excitement and urgency to their coupling. Michael pushed James to the ground again and they wrestled in the grass and dirt, crushing the iris petals until their scent filled the air. Michael tried to touch James everywhere at once, gliding his hands all over his body, squeezing and kneading his flesh. Their mouths fused together in searing kisses. He rolled and pulled James on top of him, thrusting against him to relieve his throbbing cock. He wanted to bury it deep in James, but for now, he’d give James pleasure with his mouth. Later in bed they could do everything else. There was always “later” now and that was wonderful. Michael’s greatest pleasure was falling asleep with James and waking up the same way. In the jungle, he’d lived in the moment, passing through one day and the next without an idea of a future. Now he saw many days stretched out ahead of him, all of them spent with James. But being human had taught him that having something he cared about meant he had something to lose. Perhaps being human meant always having a slight fear of loss floating at the edge of his mind. Michael banished such thoughts as he flipped James onto his back and crouched between his legs. He descended on his cock, gobbling it deep with no teasing licks first. Below his mouth, he grasped James’s shaft and worked it up and down roughly while sucking hard. Sometimes a little violence was a good thing. Soon James was thrusting, groaning and calling out his name. Abruptly he came. Michael swallowed, continuing to pump until James was finished before letting his cock slip from his hand.

He crawled up to lie beside James. Crushed blue petals fanned beneath his head. His eyes were still closed as he gasped for breath and when he opened them, Michael saw they were the exact shade of the irises. “Beautiful. I will paint you like this instead. Your eyes and the flowers.” James smiled and caressed his face. “You love to paint, don’t you?” “Yes.” The many pictures of the jungle were his way of remembering the large part of his life that faded a little more each day. Just as James relived his experiences through words, Michael must paint them. Most of his paintings featured dark, shadowy figures—the ape family he would never forget. But he thought he was almost finished with his African paintings. Now he wanted to make pictures of his new life, to show bits and pieces of James in his paintings. He rested his hand on James’s breastbone, behind which he felt his beating heart. He was no longer alone, no longer Odd One. He had family, a mate and a place where he belonged. He was a man. He was Michael.

Contents Copyright Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five About the Author

ISBN: 978-1-4268-9008-6 Copyright © 2010 by Bonnie Dee All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9. All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A. ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries. www.CarinaPress.com

Dedication To my critique partner Kate, who always gives good advice, and my editor, Deborah, who helped me rework the story’s climax to make it much more exciting.

Congo Free State, 1888 On a mission deep in the jungle, Oxford anthropologist James Litchfield comes face-to-face with a local legend: a wild man who wanders with mountain gorillas and lives as one of their own. The chance encounter with the savage, whom James calls Michael, leads to a game of observation and exploration. Their mutual curiosity turns to an attraction—one that Michael has never experienced and James is desperate to deny. When members of the expedition unearth James’s secret discovery—a living specimen of man at his most primitive—Michael becomes a pawn in their quest for fame. As their relationship deepens, James is compelled to protect Michael from the academics who would treat him as nothing more than a scientific acquisition and London society, which threatens to destroy their passionate bond…

Dear Reader, Thank you for purchasing this Carina Press launch title. During our journey these past months to acquire manuscripts, develop relationships with authors and build the Carina Press catalog, we’ve been working to fulfill the mission “Where no great story goes untold.”

If you’d asked me what I’d be doing a year ago, I never would have conceived I’d be working with the brilliant team behind Harlequin’s digital program to bring you a new and exciting digital-first imprint. I have long been a fan of Harlequin books, authors and staff and that’s why I’m so pleased to be sharing these first Carina Press launch titles with you. At Carina Press, we’re committed to bringing readers great voices and great stories, and we hope you’ll find these books as compelling as we do. In this first month, you’ll find a broad range of genres that showcase our promise to Carina Press fans to publish a diversity of content. In the coming months, we’ll add additional genres and continue to bring you a wide range of stories we believe will keep you coming back for more. We love to hear from readers, and you can e-mail us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page. Happy reading! ~Angela James Executive Editor, Carina Press www.carinapress.com www.twitter.com/carinapress www.facebook.com/carinapress

Any distorted facts about Congo expeditions, gorilla habits, or any other misrepresentations of Africa are purely for the sake of this story, which, being about a man raised by apes, is hardly the stuff of historical record.

Jungle Heat A Re-imagining of the Tarzan Legend Bonnie Dee