Текст книги "Roks captive"

Автор книги: A.G. Wilde

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Chapter 21

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THE DUST PROVIDES. (SOMETIMES)

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ROK

The dust is silent now, but I do not trust it.

The hunters are close. Too close.

I hold still, my body pressed against the stone, my skin blending seamlessly with the rock face. The female is curled against me, her breaths shallow, her body trembling ever so slightly in my arms. I can feel her confusion, her fear—emotions that radiate from her like heat waves rising from the dunes.

But she does not make a sound. She trusts me to keep her safe, even if she does not realize it yet.

I cannot fail her.

Above us, more hunters move with the precision of a stalking shadowmaw, their footsteps light but deliberate. I can feel the vibrations through the stone, each one a reminder of the danger we are in. They are searching, their senses sharp and attuned to the smallest disturbance. Their presence is wrong here—out of place.

This is not their territory.

Their scent is unfamiliar, but the markings on their skin… Those, I recognize. The rival clan. One that roams the dust, taking what they need from those too weak to defend it. They are drifters, scavengers, raiders. And they are deadly.

The one on the ridge—bronze-skinned, his hair like copper fire—turns his head, scanning the horizon with eyes fierce like a beast. His nostrils flare, scenting the air, and for a moment, I am certain he has found us.

I shift my grip on Jus-teen, pulling her closer against me, shielding her entirely with my body. Her soft form presses against my chest and I am once again reminded that she is so small. So fragile.

The thought sends a surge of protectiveness through me, so fierce it borders on pain. I clench my jaw, forcing myself to stay still, to focus. If they find us, I will not survive this fight. Not in my current state. Not with her to protect.

I close my eyes, drawing in a measured breath. The scent of her fills my senses—sweet and strange, not found anywhere else on Xiraxis. It grounds me, sharpens my thoughts. The hunters may be stronger, faster, and uninjured, but I have something they do not.

A purpose.

I will not let them take her.

The vibrations of their footsteps grow fainter. They are moving away, their search carrying them farther along the ridge. I do not relax. Not yet. The dust is patient, and so am I.

Jus-teen shifts slightly in my arms, her head tilting as if trying to see past me. I tighten my hold on her, a silent command to stay still. She freezes, her small hands gripping my chest.

Good. She understands.

The hunters remain in view for several more moments before they disappear over the far side of the ridge. I wait, counting beats of my dra-kir, my claws flexing against the stone. One hundred beats. Then two hundred. Only when I am certain they are gone do I allow myself to exhale.

“Safe,” I push toward her.

Jus-teen looks up at me, her blue eyes wide and filled with questions. She speaks, her voice soft and hesitant, but the meaning is lost to me.

I wish I could answer her. I wish I could tell her what the hunters are, why they are here, why they cannot find us. But the words will not come. My tongue is clumsy, my throat unpracticed in shaping sounds. Either way, I do not believe she would understand. And I…I have destroyed her chance to communicate.

Instead, I set her down and gesture for her to stay low, pressing my hand flat against the rock to emphasize the need for caution. Her brow furrows, but she presses her chin to her chest twice before following my lead as I begin to move.

The shadows are our ally now. Ain is low in the sky, her light dimming and the stone formations casting long, jagged shadows across the dust. I keep to them, my movements slow, my senses alert for any sign of the hunters’ return.

Jus-teen stays close behind me, her footsteps light but clumsy compared to mine. She is untrained, her movements unrefined, but she is quiet. Her instincts are good.

We reach the base of the ridge, where the shadows are deepest, and I pause to scan the terrain ahead. The dust stretches endlessly before us, broken only by the distant rise of another stone formation. It is far, but that is where we are headed. We cannot stay here.

I turn to Jus-teen and incline my head toward the formation in the distance. Her gaze follows, and I can see the exhaustion in her posture. The strain in her movements. She is not built for this.

I will carry her.

I crouch before her, gesturing for her to climb onto my back. She hesitates, her expression uncertain, but then she steps forward, wrapping her arms around my neck as I rise to my full height, securing her legs with my hands.

Her weight is nothing to me, even in my weakened state. She clings to me, her cheek pressed against my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck. Something about the sensation sends a strange flutter through my chest, different from the pain of separation I felt earlier. This is…pleasant.

I move swiftly now, keeping to the shadows before we’re in the open dust, my strides eating up the distance between us and the distant formation. Jus-teen remains silent, her grip firm but not restrictive, trusting me to carry her safely.

But as the journey continues, I can feel Jus-teen’s discomfort in the way she shifts against me, seeking relief even from Ain’s dying gaze. She was not made for the dust, for this harsh, unforgiving landscape.

But I was. And I will be her shield.

We reach the new formation when Ain has almost completed her descent. This structure is different from the one we left—taller, more jagged, with deeper crevices carved by wind and time. Perfect for hiding.

I scan the perimeter, searching for any sign of the hunters or other predators. Nothing. The dust is still.

For now.

Setting Jus-teen down in the shade, I gesture for her to wait as I assess our temporary sanctuary. She does that movement with her head—the quick lowering of her chin that I’ve come to recognize as agreement—before she sinks to the ground, her back against the stone.

The entrance narrows quickly, forcing even smaller Drakav to turn sideways. A natural defense I’ve relied on before. Beyond lies the main chamber with its high ceiling where sound travels strangely, echoing in ways that confuse those unfamiliar with its patterns. Then the passage to the left that leads to the small sleeping chamber, and the one to the right that descends sharply to what I seek.

I move through the familiar passages with practiced silence, confirming nothing has changed since I last took shelter here during the great dust storms two seasons past. No signs of recent visitors. No disturbance of the stone dust that accumulates near the unused chambers. Good.

I make my way to the hidden heart of the formation—a chamber accessible only through a crevice that requires turning one’s body at an awkward angle to pass through. Inside, the air grows noticeably cooler, the temperature dropping to a comfortable chill that will help ease Jus-teen’s discomfort.

And there, in the center of the chamber, is the greatest treasure this formation holds: the sacred pool. Not large—perhaps the span of three bodies across—but deep and clear, the water clean and pure, reflecting the stone ceiling above like a mirror. Fed by underground springs that run beneath the desert, it remains even during the most terrible droughts.

Water. Life. Healing.

The sight fills me with relief. This is what Jus-teen needs most now—cool water to drink and soothe her burning skin. Perhaps its properties will help slow whatever poison has taken hold in her foreign body once more.

I return to Jus-teen quickly, finding her where I left her, though her eyes are closed now, her breathing shallow. When I approach, she startles, then relaxes upon seeing me.

I gesture for her to follow, and she rises slowly, her movements stiff and pained. The journey has taken its toll on her already weakened body.

Without thinking, I sweep her into my arms once more, cradling her against my chest. She makes a small sound of surprise but does not protest. Instead, she rests her head against my shoulder, her eyes drifting closed again.

The passage to the hidden chamber is narrow, requiring me to turn sideways with her in my arms at points, but I navigate it carefully, protecting her from the jagged edges of stone. When we emerge into the chamber, her eyes open, widening at the sight of the water.

“Water,” she whispers.

“Wah-ter,” I mumble, forcing my throat to work. Her gaze flies to mine and she bares her teeth at me in delight. I bare my teeth back. I have made her happy. This is good.

I set her down gently at the edge of the pool, and she reaches out, trailing her fingers through the clear liquid with a reverence I understand all too well. Water is life in the dust. Water is everything.

I crouch beside her, cupping my hands to gather some of the precious liquid, then offer it to her. She looks at me, then at the water in my palms, before leaning forward to drink from my hands. The trust in this simple act sends another of those strange flutters through my chest.

She drinks deeply, her eyes closing in pleasure, and I find myself watching the movement of her throat, the curve of her neck, the way her lashes rest against her cheeks. She is unlike anything I have ever seen before—alien, yes, but also…beautiful, in a way I cannot fully comprehend.

When she has drunk her fill, she sits back, exhaling deeply, some of the tension leaving her body. “Thank you,” she says.

Gratitude perhaps. Or maybe she is saying she simply wishes to rest now.

I do her chin jerk motion then gesture to the pool and back to her, hoping she understands my meaning: Rest. Drink. I will return.

Her brow furrows, and I see the question in her eyes: Where are you going?

I mime hunting, making a gesture with my claws that I hope conveys the concept of bringing back food. Her expression clears, and she chin jerks again, though there is uncertainty in her eyes.

I hesitate. The chamber is safe, hidden, defensible. She will be protected here. But the thought of leaving her, even for a short time, sends a twist of discomfort through me.

Yet I must. She needs nourishment beyond what the fire blooms can provide, and the creatures that make their homes near these rocks will sustain us both.

With a final glance at her, I turn and make my way back through the passage, emerging once more into the harsh light of late afternoon.

The pain begins the moment I step away from the formation.

It is different this time—not the sharp, pulling sensation I felt in the cave, but a spreading warmth that builds in intensity with each step I take. Like fire in my veins, flowing outward from my chest to every extremity.

I press on, fighting against it, determined to fulfill my purpose. The dust is alive with small life for those who know where to look—creatures that burrow beneath the dust, serpents that bask on the rocks, and larger prey I will not hunt this sol.

I focus on the hunt, on the familiar rhythm of tracking, stalking, capturing. But the pain persists, growing stronger, more insistent. It is not debilitating, not yet, but it is…distracting. Each successful capture is followed by an overwhelming urge to return to the formation, to Jus-teen.

I resist, gathering more prey than I initially intended, as if to justify the time spent away from her. By the time Ain touches the horizon, painting the dust in shades of amber and gold, I have enough to sustain us for at least two sols.

The return journey is swift, driven by the increasing discomfort in my chest. It is not pain, exactly, but a burning need, a compulsion that grows stronger with each beat of my dra-kir.

I reach the formation just as the first lights appear in the darkening sky, slipping through the narrow passages with ease despite my burden of fresh-caught prey.

As I approach the chamber, I slow, sensing a change in the air—a shift in humidity, the gentle sound of movement in water. I pause at the entrance, my free hand resting against the cool stone.

Jus-teen is in the pool.

She floats on her back, eyes closed, her strange coverings set aside on the stone edge. The water embraces her, supporting her in a way that seems to ease her pain. Even from here, I can see the tension has left her body, replaced by a calm serenity I have not witnessed since we met.

She is…revealed. Completely. Exposed in a way I have not seen before.

Water sluices down the mounds on her chest, her hips, the dark curls between her thighs. My mouth waters. Within my pouch, my stem jerks so hard it hurts. If I touched her now, I would ruin her. If I tasted her, I would forget mercy.

I should turn away. Should retreat to allow her privacy.

I do none of these things.

Instead, I watch, transfixed, as she moves through the water with slow movements, careful not to splash, to waste a single precious drop. Her skin gleams in the fading light that filters through cracks in the ceiling, droplets clinging to her like tiny stars.

I have always thought water was the most beautiful thing in the dust—clear, vital, sacred. But I was wrong.

It is her.

The hunt slips from my grasp, forgotten, as I step forward. The sound alerts her, and she turns, startled, her eyes finding mine across the chamber.

She does not scream. Does not try to hide. Instead, she watches me with those impossibly blue eyes, her chin lifted slightly, a challenge or an invitation—I cannot tell which.

I move closer, crouching at the edge of the pool, my gaze never leaving hers. Beautiful. She is…beautiful. The water on her. I have never seen a sight more entrancing.

Her eyes lock with mine—steady, unflinching. There’s a challenge there, a daring glint that holds me captive.

I draw in a breath, catching her scent—clean water, and something uniquely hers. Something wild. It stirs a beast deep inside me, a pull I can’t fight, even if I wanted to.

“Rok,” she says, my name soft on her lips, but the sound of it strikes me like a thunderclap. I feel it in my chest, in my blood, a jolt that robs me of sense and reason.

I lean closer, too close. My balance shifts, my weight tipping forward as if I can’t bear the distance between us any longer.

The world tilts.

The cool shock of water engulfs me as I plunge into the pool, the heat of my skin extinguished in an instant. Everything is muffled—except for her laugh. Low, surprised, and undeniably amused.

I break the surface, gasping for air, my hair plastered to my face. She’s there, treading the water beside me, light in her eyes.

“You fell,” she says.

I reach for her, my hands finding her waist, steadying her as the water shifts around us. She is soft beneath my touch, yielding yet strong, a contradiction that fascinates me.

Her hands come to rest against my chest, directly over the place where that strange fire has burned since I left her. At her touch, it transforms, changing from pain to a different kind of heat—intense but pleasant, consuming but welcome.

She looks up at me, water clinging to her face, her lips parted slightly. I remember the sharing of water, the press of her mouth against mine, and suddenly I want nothing more than to experience that again.

I lean down, drawn by a force as inexorable as the pull of Ain’s light. She stiffens for just a moment, surprised perhaps by my boldness, but then she rises to meet me, her lips finding mine in a gesture that is becoming familiar yet remains thrillingly new.

The contact sends a surge through me, the glow beneath my skin brightening until it illuminates the water around us, casting everything in golden light. Her mouth moves against mine, teaching me this strange, intimate language, and I respond eagerly, learning with each passing moment.

This is more than sharing water. This is...connection. Understanding. A bridge across the vast gulf that separates our worlds.

When we finally part, both breathless, the look in her eyes tells me she feels it too—this inexplicable bond, this tether that binds us, that brings me pain when she is not near, that pulls us together across all barriers of language and species.

“Rok,” she whispers again, and in that single syllable, I hear everything I need to know.

The hunt can wait. The danger can wait. The dust and all its threats can wait.

For now, there is only this—her in my arms, her eyes reflecting my glow, her breath mingling with mine in the cool darkness of our sanctuary.

And for the first time since I found her in the dust, I feel truly, completely alive.

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Chapter 22

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FIVE STARS. WOULD GET KIDNAPPED AGAIN (MAYBE)

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JUSTINE

His hands find my waist in the water, strong and sure, and before I can process what’s happening, Rok lifts me. Water streams from my body, cascading back into the pool as he carries me to the edge and sets me down on the cool stone.

The contrast between the stone’s chill and my heated skin sends a shiver through me. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me—eyes luminous in the dim light, pupils dilated, focused on me with an intensity that steals my breath.

“Rok,” I whisper, suddenly aware of my nakedness, of my vulnerability. I should feel embarrassed, exposed. I should reach for my clothes.

I do none of those things.

Instead, I watch, mesmerized, as he pulls himself from the pool in one fluid motion, water sluicing off his golden skin. He crouches before me, his face inches from mine, studying me with that predatory focus that should terrify me but instead sends a thrill of anticipation through my body.

My headache is gone. Completely gone. As if it never existed. The water—there must be something in the water. The same way my fever disappeared when he brought me water before. But instead of relief, I feel…something else. A different kind of heat building inside me, a restlessness that makes me shift on the stone.

Oh no. I cannot be getting horny.

Rok inches closer, his nostrils flaring slightly as if he’s catching my scent. His glow suddenly flares and pulses brighter in the dimness, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the broad expanse of his chest. He reaches for me, one clawed hand hovering just above my shoulder, before he stops.

I should shift away. I should remember all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. I should⁠—

A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it down…and I don’t move.

His hand descends, his touch feather-light as his fingers trace the curve of my shoulder, down my arm, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His expression is one of wonder, of discovery, as if he’s mapping uncharted territory.

“This is insane,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “You’re an alien and I⁠—”

He silences me with his lips on mine, soft at first, questioning, then more insistent as I respond. His mouth is hot, demanding, the kiss deeper than before, exploring rather than just connecting. I gasp against him, and he takes the opportunity to tilt his head, changing the angle, deepening the kiss further.

My hands find his shoulders, his skin warm and smooth beneath my palms. I dig my fingers in, holding on as the world spins around me. He growls into my mouth, and the vibration sends shockwaves through my body, igniting nerve endings I didn’t know existed.

When he pulls away, I’m panting, my lips tingling. Oh God. He shouldn’t taste so good. This shouldn’t feel that good.

I think he’s done, but he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. His glow has intensified, casting golden light across the stone around us, turning the water into rippling amber.

“We should slow down,” I say weakly, but my body betrays me, arching toward him.

He doesn’t understand my words, but maybe he senses my hesitation. He pulls back slightly, head tilted, studying my face. Then he reaches up, one finger tracing the outline of my lips with exquisite gentleness.

I should be afraid. Those claws could tear me apart. But I’m not. Not at all. I’m pretty sure this wild, wild thing would never harm me. I know that for certain now.

His first touch is hesitant—clumsy, even—like he’s mapping foreign terrain. The brush of his lips against my jaw is featherlight, uncertain, as if he expects me to vanish under his hands. But then his breath hitches, his nose dragging along my pulse like he’s memorizing my scent, and something shifts. The moment his tongue flicks out to taste my skin, restraint snaps. His mouth grows bolder, hot and open against my throat, his teeth scraping in a way that makes my back arch. It’s like he’s discovering hunger for the first time, and now that he’s had a bite, he can’t stop.

“Rok,” I gasp, my head falling back, giving him better access. Why does it feel so good?

He takes full advantage, his mouth moving down to my collarbone, his hands coming to rest on my waist, steadying me. Every touch, every brush of his lips, sends sparks shooting across my skin. It’s too much and not enough. I should stop this. I should⁠—

His mouth finds my breast, and all rational thought evaporates.

He freezes, his breath hot against my sensitive skin. I feel him inhale deeply, as if memorizing my scent. Then, cautiously, experimentally, his tongue darts out, tasting the water droplets still clinging to my skin.

“Oh god,” I whisper, my hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in.

My cry seems to embolden him. His tongue flattens against my nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure so intense it borders on pain through my body. I arch into him, a moan escaping my lips.

Rok growls again, the sound vibrating through me. He’s enjoying this—enjoying my reactions, my responsiveness. He circles my nipple with his tongue, then takes it gently between his lips, the careful pressure making me squirm beneath him.

I reach for him, needing something to hold on to, but he catches my wrists in one large hand, pinning them above my head against the stone. The restraint should feel threatening, but instead, it sends another wave of heat through me.

And that burning intensity is rising beneath my skin.

His free hand slides down my side, mapping the curve of my waist, the flare of my hip, and he shudders again even as his mouth continues its sweet torture on my breast. He’s licking it like it’s a fruit. When he switches to the other side, giving it the same thorough attention, I’m writhing beneath him, panting his name like a prayer.

“Rok…please…I can’t…”

I don’t even know what I’m begging for. More? Less? My body is a riot of sensation, every nerve ending alive and singing. The burning need under my skin has intensified, concentrated into a throbbing ache between my legs that’s becoming impossible to ignore.

And I should ignore it. I bite my bottom lip as images, those dreams of him and how perfect—oh fuck—just how perfect it was, rise back into my mind. My core clenches even as I fight hard to push back against the feeling.

Rok lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. The glow beneath his skin pulses in time with his breathing, which has grown rapid, uneven. He’s affected too—I can feel the tremors running through his powerful frame, the slight tremble in the hand still pinning my wrists.

His gaze drops to my body, traveling slowly downward, taking in every detail. He might not be able to talk my ears off, but the look in his eyes is undeniable. Like a man starved, he’s looking at me like I’m a bountiful buffet. When his gaze reaches my stomach, he releases my wrists, both hands now moving to my hips, holding me in place as he lowers his head again.

The moment his tongue brushes my skin, my breath stutters. He traces my navel, circling it before dipping briefly inside, as if he doesn’t want to leave an inch of me untouched. I gasp, arching against his hold. He freezes, his face inches from my belly, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply. Whatever he scents there makes him growl, a deeper, primal sound that only makes a throb go through my center.

“Rok,” I whisper, half-warning, half-plea.

He shifts lower, positioning himself between my legs, his hands moving to my thighs, gently urging them wider. I should stop him. This is too fast, too much, too⁠—

His breath ghosts over my center, and my objections dissolve into a moan that sounds wanton even to my own ears. There’s no tentative exploration, no cautious first taste. He devours me with a primal hunger that takes my breath away, his tongue parting me in one broad, possessive stroke that has me crying out, my back arching off the stone.

“God—Rok—” The words fracture as pleasure spikes through me, sharp and overwhelming.

His hands tighten on my thighs, pinning me in place as I try to squirm away from the intensity. But it’s clear he’s not stopping, not slowing down, not until he’s had his fill. My fingers find his hair, trying to anchor myself as he unleashes his hunger against me, his tongue relentless, his growls vibrating through my core.

There’s nothing gentle in the way he claims me. This is pure, raw need—a barbarian feasting after famine, caring only for his own savage pleasure in the taking. Yet somehow, impossibly, it’s exactly what my body craves. Each ruthless stroke of his tongue sends me higher, each possessive grip of his hands makes me wetter, each rumbling growl against my sensitive flesh pushes me closer to the edge.

“Yes—there—don’t stop⁠—”

My pleas turn to mindless sounds as he finds the perfect rhythm, the perfect pressure. And I’m helpless.

My body trembles beneath him, tension building to an almost unbearable peak. His hands grip my thighs with bruising force, holding me open, keeping me exactly where he wants me as I come apart under his lips. The moment it happens, it’s like the sun explodes. The glow under Rok’s skin is blinding, the growls against my pussy like a crazed animal. I try to close my legs as the sensation becomes too much, but he snarls against me, the vibration only heightening my pleasure as he forces them wider.

Through the haze of my own ecstasy, I feel the tremors running through him, see the intensity of his glow pulsing brighter with each sound I make, sense the way his muscles bunch and flex with his own rising need. Is he…is he getting pleasure from consuming mine? His body responding to my surrender without being touched?

It’s that realization that pushes me over the edge. I shatter with his name on my lips, my body convulsing in waves of pleasure that crash over me like a tsunami, my vision narrowing to pinpoints of golden light. Even as I peak, he doesn’t relent, driving me higher, extending my climax until I’m sobbing with the intensity of it, my hands pushing at his shoulders, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation.

And then he stops.

Abruptly.

The absence of his touch is a shock to my system. My body collapses back against the cool stone, trembling, my breaths coming in ragged gasps as the echoes of my release ripple through me. I feel wrecked—utterly, completely wrecked. My skin burns, my limbs shake, my heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.

But before I can even process what’s happening to me, before I can catch my breath, I feel the shift in him.

It’s immediate. Violent.

I lift my head, my still-blurry vision locking onto him, and what I see sends a jolt of fear straight through me.

Rok is on his knees, his body hunched, his claws digging into the stone beneath him. His glow is wild—erratic—flickering in sharp bursts that cast jagged shadows across the chamber walls. His breaths come in harsh, guttural snarls, and when he lifts his head to look at me, his eyes are…

Wrong.

The brilliant gold I’ve come to know is gone, swallowed by black, his pupils blown so wide they look endless. His lips curl back, revealing those sharp fangs, and a sound rumbles out of him—a growl low and guttural, but layered with something else.

Pain.

His growl deepens, reverberating through me, but something about it changes. It’s not just hunger or need—it’s…strained. Like he’s holding himself back. Then he freezes. His head lifts, his gaze locking on mine, and for a moment, he looks almost…terrified.

“Rok?” I breathe, reaching for him, but he jerks back, his entire body trembling. Whatever’s happening to him, it’s too much. Too overwhelming. And I’m not sure if it’s me he’s trying to protect—or himself.

“Rok?”

He doesn’t respond. Or maybe he can’t. His gaze locks on me, piercing through me, and the intensity in it makes my breath hitch.

And then it hits me.

Did I do this?

My chest tightens, my mind racing as I take in the way he trembles, the way his claws flex and scrape against the stone. Did I hurt him somehow? I look down at myself, to the wetness still coating the inside of my thighs…

I’ve heard of people being allergic to semen, but never… Oh shit.

“Rok…” My voice cracks.

He doesn’t move, his entire body taut and shaking with tension, his claws curling deeper into the stone. His glow pulses erratically, brighter and brighter, until it’s almost blinding.

And that’s when I feel it.

The heat.

It starts low in my belly, a strange, simmering warmth that spreads outward, seeping into my veins like molten fire. At first, I think it’s just the aftereffects of what he did to me—my body still reeling from the intensity of it all. But then it builds.

Hotter.

Brighter.

Wrong.

I gasp, pressing a trembling hand to my stomach as the heat surges through me, making my skin prickle and my head spin. It’s not just heat. It’s need.

A need I don’t understand.

And yet, somehow, I know it’s connected to him.

“Rok…something’s happening…” I manage.

He reacts then—not to my words, but to the sound of my voice. His growl deepens, his claws slashing out, raking the stone wall beside him in a violent, uncontrolled movement. The screech of it makes me flinch, and the gouges he leaves behind are deep enough to make my stomach clench.

He’s fighting something.

But what?

I push myself upright, every muscle in my body trembling from the effort. My legs feel useless, my skin feverish, but I force myself to move toward him.

He jerks back, his growl cutting off sharply as if my presence physically hurts him. His claws scrape against the stone as he staggers to his feet, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, like he’s running on instinct alone.