I hold out my hand, palm up. “Give it back,” I say, then realize he can’t understand. “I’ll show you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he extends the packet toward me, but doesn’t release it. We sit like that for a moment, both holding the packet, a strange standoff over the most basic of survival needs. My fingers graze his and his skin ripples in response, like something alive shifting beneath the surface. A slow wave rolls up his arm—like the desert itself just woke up inside him.

What the…

When my gaze shifts back to his, that lump rises in my throat again. He’s not looking at me with that intensity he had a moment ago. This is different. As if he’s struggling to process something, his pupils dilating and contracting rapidly.

I adjust my fingers so we’re no longer touching. It reminds me of my cousin’s shellfish allergy—that immediate physical reaction when his body encountered something it wasn’t designed to handle. But this is different, more like the alien’s skin is responding to me specifically. Like I’m the allergen.

“It’s just water,” I whisper, maybe to distract myself or him. It’s a weak attempt. He still doesn’t let go.

Slowly, carefully, I twist the cap with my free hand, my eyes never leaving his. The alien jerks in surprise when the cap pops off, but he still doesn’t let go.

“See?” I say softly. “It’s just water.”

For a heartbeat, I forget where I am, forget the danger, forget everything except those strange golden eyes locked on mine. They’re…mesmerizing.

I’d be a dumbass to ignore the fact that this creature before me is by far the most wild and enchanting thing I have, and probably will ever, encounter. He’s…beautiful. In the way a lightning storm is beautiful after calm. The air between us feels suddenly charged and I’m faced with the fact that he is as wild and strange as the desert around us, and I am at his mercy.

He blinks first, breaking whatever spell had fallen over us. His nostrils flare as he brings the packet closer to his face, sniffing at it suspiciously. The concentration on his face would be comical under different circumstances—like watching someone inspect fine wine instead of emergency rations.

Finally, he tips the packet ever so slightly, allowing the smallest drop to touch his tongue.

The moment the water touches his tongue, he jerks back like I just fed him acid. His lips peel back, exposing those sharp teeth, a growl vibrating through his chest. He wipes his mouth—again and again—his whole body shuddering in what can only be pure, unfiltered disgust.

He thrusts the packet back at me with such force I nearly drop it. “What—you don’t like it?” I can’t help the small laugh that escapes. “It’s just water. Maybe a little stale, but⁠—”

The alien makes another disgusted sound, and I stifle another laugh.

“Fine, more for me.” I take a cautious sip, half-expecting it to taste terrible, but it’s just water—slightly warm and with that faint metallic flavor all the emergency rations have, but nothing offensive.

The alien watches me drink with a mixture of disgust and horror, as if I’m downing poison by choice. When I finish, his gaze follows my hand as I carefully reseal the half-empty packet and return it to my bag.

“Different tastebuds, I guess.” I shrug, settling back against the wall. “Or maybe your water’s just better than ours.”

The alien continues to stare at me for a long moment, then makes that clicking sound again—softer this time, almost thoughtful—before returning to his position at the cave entrance. He crouches there, perfectly balanced, a golden sentinel between me and whatever’s outside.

I can’t help but notice he keeps flexing the hand that touched mine, opening and closing his fingers as if testing them. And then he touches his jaw, trailing his fingers over the spot where I’d punched him earlier. The luminescence beneath his skin pulses irregularly along that arm, almost like aftershocks from when I touched him there.

I don’t…I don’t know what to think of that.

Did I hurt him? No—he’s too solid for that. But then why does he keep touching where I did?

“Sorry…” I whisper, though I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for.

Pulling my knees to my chest, I’m suddenly aware of how utterly exhausted I am. My muscles scream in protest. My throat feels better, at least. The initial panic has subsided into a dull, throbbing awareness of my situation.

I’m lost. Completely cut off from Jacqui and the others.

“What am I going to do?” I whisper, not expecting an answer.

The alien tilts his head slightly at the sound of my voice, but those luminous eyes remain focused on the darkness outside.

“Jacqui’s going to kill me.” A humorless laugh escapes before I swallow it down. “If those screaming things don’t beat her to it.”

The soft glow in the cave dims and I glance back at the alien’s silhouette. His body language screams ‘feral’—from the way he balances on the balls of his feet to the tilt of his head as he listens to sounds I can’t detect. Those sharp teeth I glimpsed earlier weren’t for show. This isn’t some benevolent E.T. who’s going to help me phone home. At least he seems to be standing guard and not coming after me.

Still, I’m double fucked.

In the ass.

Zero lube.

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Chapter 8

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WATER STORAGE: YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG

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ROK

Night has deepened since I brought the male to this cave. The shadowmaws have moved on to easier prey, their clicking calls fading into the distance. Yet I remain vigilant, my senses alert for any threat that might return.

But the greatest puzzle is before me.

This male drinks foul water. Water that tastes of decay and artificial substances I cannot name. Water that should be rejected by any being with functioning senses. Yet he consumes this poison willingly, even eagerly.

It is no wonder he is so small. So weak. What other proper nourishment does he lack? No wonder he cannot perform mindspeak. He does not have the power to do so. The poor creature must have been surviving in these harsh conditions for many cycles.

The fact I found him breathing is a miracle in itself. He is not from this region. That is clear. A traveler then. From far away. One whose supplies probably dwindled and went stale as he made his way across the dust. His strange waterskin is proof enough.

I almost want to introduce him to one of our fresh pools, just so he can sate himself for possibly the first time in his existence, but I do not.

Instead, I watch as he settles against the cave wall, his eyes growing heavy. My instinct is to stay vigilant, to watch the cave entrance for shadowmaws, but I cannot help tracking his movements. The way he breathes. The strange hide on his body. The unusual dullness of his skin.

He is unlike any Drakav I have ever encountered. Too small, too soft, with strange rounded features and dull, flat teeth. How does he tear meat? How does he defend himself? If I had left him to the shadowmaws, he would have made an easy meal.

As the dark deepens, the shadowmaws’ clicks grow fainter as they move away to hunt easier prey. Still, I remain alert. They are clever hunters. I’ve seen them feign retreat only to circle back when their quarry believes itself safe.

So…I will wait. With this traveler…

Staring out into the dark beyond, I weigh his discovery in my mind. Kol would have known what to do from the first moment. That is why he is our leader.

Solmarks pass. The male rests…even in my presence. His lack of caution is concerning. But this is the first time since being in his presence where my ears are not ringing from his constant vocalizations. The silence is like a balm, but his breathing is shallow and quick. Too quick, perhaps?