Tarazan Shame Of Jane -

“This,” he said, “is nothing. You are my mate. You are worth a hundred villages. But you acted like a thief. And a thief in the jungle does not live.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said. “Only something to remember. You are Jane of the Apes now. Act like it.”

Tarzan did not smile. He took her torn hand and pressed it to his chest, where his heart beat slow and strong as a drum. tarazan shame of jane

“Forgive me,” she said, the words foreign and heavy.

Tarzan watched her from the low branch of a muiri tree, his bronze skin streaked with woad and dust. His eyes were not angry. That would have been easier. They were disappointed, and worse—ashamed for her. “This,” he said, “is nothing

Jane lifted her chin. “I wanted one thing. One small thing to remember who I was.”

The word hit her like a slap. Shame. She had never heard it from his lips. In the house of Lord Greystoke, shame was a silk noose, a whisper at dinner. Here, it was a raw blade. But you acted like a thief

Jane Clayton stood at the edge of the clearing, her khaki shirt torn at the shoulder, a thin line of blood tracing her collarbone. She had defied him—not out of malice, but out of a desperate need to prove that the civilization she had once known still lived inside her. She had walked into the native village alone, trading her father’s old compass for a tarnished locket, a trinket of the world she had left behind.