“Oh,” she whispers, the sound barely audible even to my enhanced hearing. “Well, that’s…made an appearance.”

Her face flushes a deep red, but there is no fire there. It is…blood. I can sense it…though I do not know how. Blood rushing to the surface of her skin in a way that fascinates me. She looks away quickly, then back, as if she can’t help herself, then away again, a nervous laugh escaping her.

“I, um…that’s…wow.”

There’s something in her voice, something that comes through in her thoughts. Embarrassment, certainly, but also…interest? Fascination? I don’t understand the complexity of her reaction, but I can smell the change in her scent, the subtle shift that makes my fangs ache.

The realization sends another pulse of heat through my new stem, making it twitch. Visibly. Jus-teen’s eyes widen further.

“Oh my God,” Justine projects into the mindspace.

She calls to Ain. I would have asked her more about this if the stars beneath my skin didn’t suddenly begin to fade.

One by one, they extinguish themselves like dying lights. The darkness that had consumed me recedes, retreating into some unseen place, leaving my skin bare—normal. That rich amber-gold. Like it was before.

I even test my glow. Brightening, then dimming myself. It follows my commands.

The fire is gone.

The transformation is complete, and yet…I am not the same.

I glance down at myself, at the new appendages between my legs, still throbbing with heat. My stem still juts forward.

I close my hand around it, trying to ease the ache there, but the touch only intensifies it. A low, rumbling groan escapes me before I can stop it, the sound reverberating through the chamber.

Jus-teen, who had been gazing at me with those wide, cautious eyes, flushes bright red. Her gaze flickers downward—toward the source of the sound—and her face somehow turns an even deeper shade of crimson. She quickly averts her eyes, looking anywhere but at me.

“Well,” she says, her voice unsteady, “I guess you’re better?”

Her gaze darts back to my stem, then away again just as quickly. When I clench it tighter, she takes a step backward, holding her hands up as if in surrender. “I’m just…gonna give you some privacy.”

She turns and moves to the other side of the chamber, her back to me, but I can still feel her presence like a flame in the dark.

I should stop.

I should release myself. Force my new stem away. Do something to regain control. But I can’t. For one, I no longer have a pouch to put it away.

My claw remains fisted around it, twitching as I watch her. The sight of her—her bare arms, her hair falling loose around her shoulders, the curve of her hips even beneath her strange coverings—fuels the fire in me.

I don’t understand these sensations, this hunger. All I know is that I cannot shift her from my mind. Cannot shift the memory of her wet slit, soft and glistening, the taste of her essence still haunting me.

She turns slightly, glancing back at me over her shoulder. Her eyes widen as she realizes I’m still watching her—still holding myself.

“Um…” She clears her throat, her voice rising with nervous energy. “Is there…any chance you can, uh, put that back?” She gestures vaguely toward my crotch, her cheeks blazing.

The question confuses me at first, but her thoughts—completely unfiltered—reach me, projecting an image of my pouch from before. The image is faint, fuzzy, but clear enough for me to understand her meaning.

It makes me laugh.

The sound is low and rough, rumbling from deep within my chest, and her eyes snap to mine, startled.

She blinks, her brows furrowing, and I watch as realization dawns. “Oh my God,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re laughing at me.”

I rise to my feet, towering over her, and her gaze drops instinctively.

Her breath catches as her eyes land on my stem once more, jutting forward like a weapon, and her face flames red again. She quickly looks away, but not before I catch the way her pupils dilate, the subtle quickening of her breath. Not before I catch the thought.

Dust.

An image of my stem sliding through her wet slit.

The image is so sudden, so startling, I almost fall to my knees. Another pulse of heat goes through me, making my stem twitch hard. Is that how we are to join? I’d never considered using my stem in such a way with my brothers. But then again, I’ve never had these urges before. Not until her.

And now that I know this new purpose…what she needs…

Oh, the thought.

A grunt escapes my throat as I fist my new stem harder.

“Rok,” she says, her voice sharp, but there’s a tremor in it that betrays her. She makes a sound in her throat, forcing her gaze back to my face. “Focus, okay? Can you…can you put it away or not?”

I shake my head the way she does. “No,” I say simply. One of her words. Awkward but clear.

Her hands fly into the air. “Of course not. Suddenly grow a big fat raging cock after scaring me to death that you’re dying, and then tell me that weapon of pussy destruction cannot be disarmed.”

Pussy?

What is a pussy?

The images are coming too fast. I can hardly make sense of what these vocalizations mean. But then there’s the image of her slit again, warm and wet and dripping. Sheathed over my stem.

I groan.

Her pussy. Yes.

She plants her hands on her hips, glaring at me. “Okay, fine. I’ll fix this. Just…stay there.”

She turns in a slow circle, scanning the chamber, her expression thoughtful. I tilt my head, curious despite the need coursing through me and culminating in my rigid shaft.

“Right,” she mutters to herself, as if coming to a decision. “I know what to do.”

Before I can ask—or think—what she means, she reaches for her leg coverings.

She strips them off in one quick motion, leaving her legs bare, and I feel my body react instantly.

The sight of her exposed skin, the smooth curves of her thighs, the way the light catches on her soft flesh—it’s almost too much.

My stem…my cock—as she called it—hardens further, the ache intensifying, and I let out a low growl, unable to suppress the sound.

She doesn’t notice.

Or if she does, she ignores it.

Instead, she picks up a jagged-edged stone and uses it to tear the hide of her coverings into two flat panels. Soon, she’s only wearing half of it, her legs deliciously bare.

“These might…” She pauses, glancing at me nervously. “These might help.”

She approaches slowly, the makeshift hide in hand, her gaze determinedly fixed on my face.

When she reaches me, her hands tremble slightly as she presses the fabric against my lap, tying it in place with quick, efficient movements.

Her nearness is electric.

Her touch is even more so.

I can feel the heat of her hands through the thin fabric, can smell the faint, intoxicating scent of her skin.

Her fingers brush against me accidentally—light, fleeting—and it takes everything in me not to groan aloud.

“Okay,” she says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “That should—” She stops abruptly, her gaze flickering downward, and her face reddens again.

The fabric is tented obscenely, the outline of my cock clearly visible. Cock. A much better word than stem. I like it. I shall call it my cock from now on and teach my brothers, too.

My gaze shifts to hers when I get an image that almost brings me to the ground. An image of Jus-teen on her knees beneath me. Her mouth over the new bulbous head of my cock.

It is enough to make my claws dig into my palms.

But these aren’t my thoughts in the mindspace. They’re hers.

“Yeah, that’s…not really helping,” she mutters, dragging a hand down her face.

I chuckle again, the sound low and rumbling, and she glares at me.