Looking down at my portion, I make a decision. Moving closer to the fire, I find a flat stone and place the creature on it, positioning it directly in the flames. Rok watches with curiosity as I cook it properly, using his bone stick to turn it occasionally until the flesh turns from translucent to opaque, the blood congealing, and the meat firming.

When it seems done enough not to give me alien-lizard salmonella (if that’s even a thing), I tear off a small piece and cautiously take a bite.

It’s…not terrible. Sort of like chicken that spent too much time marinating in fish sauce, with an aftertaste that reminds me vaguely of rosemary. The texture is chewy but not unpleasantly so, and my body’s desperate need for protein overrides any lingering concerns about the taste.

I eat slowly, savoring each bite, knowing I need to be careful after going so long without proper food. As I eat, I can’t help glancing at Rok, noting the way he studiously avoids looking at me, focusing instead on his own meal or the fire or the walls of the chamber—anywhere but at me.

The silence between us stretches. It’s tense. Uncomfortable. So different from the easy companionship we’d somehow managed to build despite the language barrier. Before…well, before whatever happened happened.

I set down my half-eaten food, suddenly losing interest in eating. My eyes drift to Rok’s profile, illuminated by the dancing firelight. The strong line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrates on his meal, the way the glow beneath his skin pulses with his heartbeat—steady, controlled, alive.

For a moment, everything else fades away—the hunger, the fear, the confusion, the alien world around us. There’s just him, just this moment, just us.

“I wish I could understand you,” I whisper, the words hardly more than a breath. “It would make all of this so much easier.”

He freezes, the chunk of meat in his hand forgotten. Slowly, with a deliberateness that makes me hold my breath, he turns to face me.

His eyes are wide, intent, fixed on mine with an intensity that makes my heart stutter in my chest. Before I can react, he’s moving—not with the careful restraint from earlier, but with purpose, closing the distance between us in a swift, fluid motion.

I instinctively pull back, raising my hands. “Whoa, hold on⁠—”

But he’s not grabbing for me, not pinning me down or trying to resume what we started earlier. Instead, he crouches before me, his chest heaving with rapid breaths, his eyes searching mine with a desperate kind of hope I don’t understand.

“Rok?” I whisper, confused by the sudden change.

He reaches out, cupping my face in his hands with exquisite gentleness, and presses his forehead to mine. His eyes close, his breath warm against my lips, and I’m struck by the ritual feel of the gesture.

“I don’t…I don’t know what you want,” I whisper. It almost feels sacred, what he’s doing right now.

He stays like that, forehead pressed to mine, eyes closed, utterly still but for the rise and fall of his chest. Waiting. Expecting something from me I can’t even begin to guess at.

And in that moment of complete confusion, I think: Fuck it.

What do I have to lose? My dignity? Left that behind when I started having wet dreams about an alien. My sanity? Questionable at best since I crash-landed on this dust ball. My heart?

Well. That might be a concern.

I close my eyes, letting my forehead rest more firmly against his, giving myself over to whatever this is. Maybe it’s just an alien version of kissing. Maybe it’s some kind of apology. Maybe⁠—

“I heard—my light.”

I jerk back, my eyes flying open in shock. That voice—in my head, not my ears, but clear as a bell—wasn’t mine. It was deeper, richer, with an accent I can’t place, lilting and musical yet somehow harsh at the edges. And so much like Rok’s…only…clearer.

Rok is staring at me, his eyes blazing with intensity, his hands still cradling my face.

Oh…

Oh my God…

“Did you…” I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Was that you?”

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 24

OceanofPDF.com

NOT SAFE FOR HUMANS

OceanofPDF.com

ROK

She is entering the mindspace.

I can feel it.

Xiraxis has allowed her in. Ain has allowed her in. I am certain of it.

Her expression tells me I am not wrong.

The way her eyes widened, the sharp gasp of her breath when she heard me—truly heard me—her mind brushing mine for the briefest moment before it disappeared again. The look she gives me now is one of awe, of disbelief, as if something impossible has just happened.

But it is not impossible.

It is her.

It is us.

She stares at me with those strange, water-like eyes—the same ones that had blurred with heat and desire when I tasted her—and I close my own, pressing my forehead to hers, willing my thoughts to reach her again.

“Speak to me.”

Nothing.

Her mind remains blank to me, a frustrating void, though I hold her there, trembling with the effort. I growl low in my throat, and the sound vibrates between us before I pull back, my chest heaving. Frustration coils tighter within me, and I can feel my claws twitching, needing to release the mounting pressure, aching to sink into something. But not her.

I cannot risk hurting her.

My body, so disciplined, so controlled, is betraying me in ways I cannot comprehend. The glow beneath my skin—once a tool like my eyes, my ears, my hands—now flares beyond my control, responding to her like a storm answering the call of the wind. My dra-kir pounds erratically, my breathing labored, and the heat coursing through my veins feels foreign, invasive.

But the worst part isn’t the confusion. It’s the fear. The fear that this unstoppable pull toward her will consume me entirely. That I will lose myself. And if that happens, I will lose her.

She is so small, so fragile, and the beast clawing at me—this wild, relentless need—does not care for such things. My claws, my strength, my very being could tear her apart, even if all I want is to protect her. The thought of harming her sends a deep, guttural panic through me. I cannot risk it. I cannot risk her. Not like this.

And so I fight.

I stalk away from her, pacing the chamber like a trapped shadowmaw. My claws clench and unclench, my muscles feeling tight, too tight, with the effort it’s taking to maintain control.

She is watching me. I can feel her gaze following my every move.

I cannot look her way.

“Rok!” she says, her voice higher than usual. There’s something in her tone—something between awe and panic—that makes me stop for a moment, my head snapping toward her.

She is vocalizing to me, her words flowing in that strange, lilting melody I do not understand. Softly, urgently. Repeating herself, as if saying it enough times will make the meaning clear.

But it doesn’t.

It doesn’t, and it enrages me.

I hiss low in my throat, and her eyes widen. I hear her breath hitch, but she doesn’t retreat. She doesn’t flinch.

Instead, she steps closer.

Her hand—small, delicate, and trembling—reaches out toward me, brushing against my arm. The contact sends a shockwave through me, a surge of heat that flares in my chest and spreads outward, burning through every nerve.

I jerk back, snarling, but she doesn’t let go.

“Rok,” she says again, her voice softer now, her tone soothing. Her touch lingers, and I stare down at her, my chest heaving, my claws curling into fists at my sides.