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“Sure.” He disappeared out the doorway.

Slash, still in his boxers and loincloth and stretched out a hand to help me up. It was weird how easily we’d adapted to being in a constant state of near nakedness. I’d never worn a bikini in my entire life, and now I was living in a teeny tiny one.

When I got upright, I tested my balance which seemed fairly normal, thank goodness. My head still hurt, though.

He brushed a strand of hair from my throat. “You’re feeling okay this morning?”

“Other than the hammer in my head, I’m fine. I’m embarrassed to say I passed out on our wedding night. But don’t worry, I’ll tell the villagers stories about your legendary prowess in bed.”

“Thank you for protecting my reputation. Even hung over, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, kissing my neck.

Thirst parched my throat, so I picked up a gourd that had been left near the bed. I took a cautious sip. Water. Relieved, I took several large glugs. Feeling marginally better, I handed it over to Slash. My stomach was still a bit shaky and I couldn’t even run my fingers through my tangled hair, but the pounding in my head lessened, which meant I’d been dehydrated.

He took a drink, then unwrapped the bandage on my wrist, inspected the small welt, and bound it back up. “No redness or evidence of infection and it looks good. You ready to face whatever issue is happening outside?”

“Not really, but do we have a choice?”

“Not much, I’m afraid.” He looked around. “Other than my boots, I don’t know where my clothes are.”

“Might as well kiss them goodbye. I’m sure they have a new purpose.”

He shrugged and slid his feet into his boots. I did the same, pulling my hair into a bun at the back of my neck, using a stick from the ground to hold it in place. That was as good as it was going to get.

We didn’t have to get dressed, obviously, so we exited the hut. There was a group of villagers huddled around, looking worried and speaking in a low voice. We hurried over. When we got closer, I saw Vicente speaking with the chief and Salvador on one knee next to a villager who was lying on the ground, writhing in pain. The shaman arrived at the same time as us and knelt on the other side of the man.

“What happened?” I asked Salvador.

“Apparently two scouts went out early this morning and came upon a strange new village on the edge of their territory,” he responded. “He’s been shot. They arrived just a few minutes ago.”

Slash knelt down and gently pulled the man’s bloody hand from the wound near his shoulder. Slash raised his eyes to mine. I returned the look, stricken. He’d lost a lot of blood.

“Salvador, get me the first aid kit, please,” Slash said calmly.

Salvador dashed off to get it, just as the shaman also barked something at one of the villagers.

Vicente left the chief and knelt next to Slash who was pressing his hand on the wound to stop the blood. “They’ll want to treat it in their own way,” he said to Slash.

“Understood. But that doesn’t mean we can’t offer our assistance. Luckily it looks like the bullet passed through cleanly.”

“Technically we should exit now and leave them to handle this on their own,” Vicente said. “The chief wants to retaliate.”

I shot an alarmed glance at Slash, who furrowed his brow. “Who do you think shot him? Loggers? Poachers? Drug runners?”

Vicente rubbed his unshaven chin, thinking. “They said they saw a strange new village. It’s got to be something that’s been built there recently.”

“A building?” Slash considered. “That sounds like drugs to me. Meth lab? Cocaine?”

“We’ll find out soon enough. The chief is preparing the village for war. Someone has encamped on their tribal ground. They intend to go fight to protect it.”

“If those people have guns, especially automatic weapons, the villagers could be massacred,” I said, worried.

At that moment, Salvador returned with the first aid kit and handed it to Slash. He took it, but didn’t open it. “Vicente, ask them if they’ll accept our help in treating this man.”

Vicente turned to the shaman, speaking to him softly. After a moment, he turned around. “The shaman said you may assist. But let him do what needs to be done first.”

“Understood,” Slash said.

The shaman already held a cup of liquid with what looked like crushed herbs. He motioned to one of his men, who lifted the injured man into a sitting position. The cup was lifted to his lips and he drank deeply, coughing a bit before lying back down. The shaman then took a smoking stick and waved it several times over the man while chanting. The injured man writhed and moaned in pain, but a bit of color had returned to his cheeks.