Текст книги "Roks captive"

Автор книги: A.G. Wilde

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

“Wait—don’t go!” I reach for him, my hand outstretched, but he stumbles away from me, his glow flaring in sharp, erratic bursts.

His gaze meets mine, and the look in his eyes sends a fresh wave of fear crashing over me.

He’s not just in pain.

He’s afraid.

Of me.

He looks…lost. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving like he’s struggling just to stay here, just to keep looking at me.

For a split second, I see something in his eyes that makes my stomach twist. Not just fear. Not just pain. Guilt. Like he thinks he’s done something wrong. Like he’s afraid of what he’s capable of.

“Rok,” I whisper, but he jerks back as if my voice physically hurts him.

“Rok,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

But he’s already moving.

He bolts for the entrance of the chamber, his claws slashing at the walls as he runs, leaving deep gouges in the stone. His growls echo through the narrow passages, a sound so raw and feral it sends a chill racing down my spine.

I try to follow, but my legs buckle beneath me, my body too weak, too overwhelmed. I collapse back against the stone, gasping for breath, my skin damp with sweat and burning with that strange, alien heat.

The glow of his body fades as he disappears into the darkness, leaving me alone in the silent chamber, trembling and…well…terrified.

I press a shaking hand to my chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart, but it’s no use. The heat inside me flares again, making me gasp, and I curl into myself, trying to fight the sensation.

It’s not about what is happening to me anymore. Something is happening.

And that something is happening to him, too.

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Chapter 23

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IS IT HOT IN HERE, OR IS IT JUST MY ALIEN-INDUCED FEVER?

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JUSTINE

The heat won’t go away.

Even naked, my clothes washed and drying on the stone, the fever underneath my skin persists still.

Hours have passed since Rok fled—hours of me curled on the cold stone beside the pool, shivering despite the fire burning under my skin. I’ve tried drinking water, splashing it over my face, even submerging myself completely in the cool pool.

Nothing helps.

The fever (if that’s what this is) ebbs and flows like a tide, sometimes receding enough that I can almost think clearly, other times surging with such intensity that I can only lie still and wait for it to pass.

During one of the calmer moments, I manage to explore the chamber more thoroughly. It’s larger than I initially thought, with high, smooth walls worn by centuries of what must have been water flow. It’s hard to imagine this vast surface of dust having any water at all.

When I return to the chamber with the pool, I find the remains of what might have been a fire pit—ash and charred stone suggesting that someone, or something, once used this place as shelter.

I also find what Rok left behind in his frantic exit—the animals he’d hunted. Three strange, lizard-like creatures with spiny ridges along their backs and scales that shimmer with an iridescent blue-green sheen. They’re about the size of rabbits, but with longer, more sinuous bodies and no visible eyes that I can see.

Despite what they are, my stomach clenches. A sharp reminder that I haven’t eaten anything substantial in days. The leaves Rok gave me were better than nothing, but barely. My body is running on fumes, and I can feel my strength ebbing with each passing hour.

“Shit,” I mutter, prodding one of the dead creatures with my foot. “I don’t suppose you come with cooking instructions?”

I have no idea if they’re edible, let alone how to prepare them. Do I skin them? Gut them? Cook them whole? Are there poisonous parts I need to avoid?

With a sigh, I slump back against the wall. Then another realization hits me like a punch to the gut.

My bag. My supplies. They’re all back in the first cave, abandoned in our hasty escape from those other aliens.

“Perfect. Just perfect.” My voice echoes off the stone walls, mockingly hollow. “I have post-sex fever and I don’t even have my emergency protein biscuits.”

I close my eyes, exhaustion washing over me in a wave that threatens to pull me under. I should stay awake, should try to figure out what to do about food, about the fever, about Rok…

I don’t even know if he’s coming back…

The thought makes me curl into myself, and I close my eyes against the sudden pain that possibility creates.

I don’t know how long I sit there like that, trying to remain alert, all the while exhaustion pulls me under.

The moment sleep claims me, it drags me down into a dream that burns brighter than the fever in my veins.

__

His hands are everywhere, leaving trails of golden light across my skin. I arch into his touch, desperate for more, for relief from the burning need consuming me from within.

“Rok,” I gasp, his name a plea on my lips.

He growls, the sound vibrating through me where our bodies touch. His mouth finds mine, and I yield to him, opening beneath his assault like I was made for this, for him.

“More,” I beg, my nails raking down his back, feeling his skin grow hotter beneath my touch. “Please…”

He pulls back, his eyes blazing gold, his glow so bright it hurts to look at him directly. But I can’t look away. Won’t look away.

I gasp at the sensation of him pressed against me. The hardness of him. How perfect he is. Perfect for me. As if the universe looked into my deepest thoughts and carved a cock that was made just for me.

“Yes,” I breathe, tilting my head back, exposing my throat to him. “Please, Rok. I need⁠—”

__

The moment he pierces me, that wide thick girthy thing spreading me wide is the moment the dream shatters.

I jolt awake, my body drenched in sweat, the echo of dream-pleasure still pulsing between my legs. For a moment, I’m disoriented, unsure where I am or what woke me.

Then I hear it—a soft sound at the entrance to the chamber.

I push myself up, wincing at the way my muscles protest even that small movement. How long have I been asleep? Hours? Days? The light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling has changed, grown slightly brighter, suggesting it’s already early morning.

There is no sound now, and I hold my breath, straining to see through the shadows at the chamber entrance.

When a figure emerges, silhouetted against the darkness of the passage, my heart leaps into my throat. But then they move closer and I see the tall, broad-shouldered outline of the intruder.

Powerful. Alien. Unmistakably Rok.

Relief hits me with such force that I nearly collapse back onto the stone. He came back. Despite whatever happened between us, despite the pain or fear that drove him away, he came back.

But almost immediately, the relief twists into something sharper. Anger? Frustration? I don’t even know. All I know is that he left me here—alone, confused, burning with whatever the hell this is—and now he’s standing there like nothing happened.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move, just stares at me with those glowing eyes, his body tense like a coiled spring. And I realize…he’s still fighting it. Whatever had him bolting from the cave in the first place, it’s still inside him, clawing at him.

The glow beneath his skin flickers unevenly, and his claws twitch at his sides, flexing and clenching as if he doesn’t trust himself to stay still. He looks like he’s barely holding himself together, and the sight sends a shiver crawling up my spine.

“Rok,” I whisper. My voice cracks on the word, and I hate how small it sounds. “You…you came back.”

His glow pulses once, twice, before dimming slightly, and I realize he’s not just watching me—he’s watching my reaction. Like he’s bracing himself for something. Like he’s not sure if I’m going to scream or run or…what?

I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. “You scared me.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “When you left like that. I didn’t know if⁠—”

I stop myself, swallowing the rest of the sentence. I didn’t know if you were coming back. I didn’t know if I’d survive if you didn’t.

He freezes at the sound of my voice, his entire body tensing. The glow beneath his skin flickers once, twice, before settling into a steady, controlled pulse—brighter than normal, but not the erratic flare I saw before he fled.

He takes a step forward, then stops again, as if uncertain. No, not uncertain—cautious. Like he’s approaching something dangerous.

Like he’s approaching me.

The realization stings more than it should. I’ve been worried about him, terrified that whatever happened had hurt him, and he’s looking at me like I’m the threat.

“I’m not going to bite,” I snap, unable to keep the hurt from my voice. “Though apparently that’s not a guarantee, because I’ve been dealing with a lady boner and I’m feeling fucking feral.”

Rok tilts his head, studying me from a distance. The air shifts as he inhales, and I’m pretty sure he can smell my arousal. The thought makes me press my thighs together, which doesn’t help. Rok’s expression is guarded, his posture tense. Nothing like the passionate, uninhibited alien who devoured me so thoroughly just hours ago.

After what feels like an eternity, he approaches, each step careful and slow. He crouches a few feet away, close enough to reach out but maintaining some space between us. His eyes never leave mine, watching for…what? Signs of the fever? Signs that I might trigger whatever happened to him again? Signs that I might tackle him and hump him the way a little voice in the back of my head is telling me to? I don’t know.

His glow flickers again, brighter for a moment, then dims. He’s being careful, like he’s afraid one wrong move will shatter whatever fragile balance he’s trying to maintain. And maybe it will. Maybe I will.

Every instinct in me is telling me to throw myself into his arms. To close the space between us. To touch him again.

Trying to ignore the heat burning beneath my skin, I force myself to stay still. To let him come to me, if that’s what he’s going to do.

Slowly, he extends a hand toward me, and I force myself to stay still, to let him decide how close he wants to get. His fingers brush my forehead, testing my temperature, I guess, then trace the line of my jaw, feather-light and clinical. Nothing like the hungry, possessive touches from before.

I don’t know why that hurts, too.

I swallow hard, fighting the urge to lean into his hand, to close the distance between us. Whatever’s happening here, it’s clear he’s struggling with it as much as I am.

“I’m okay,” I say softly. “Are you…Are you okay?”

His gaze drops to my mouth, then down to my breasts. Goosebumps rise along my skin at his attention at the same moment that his glow seems to pulse. I hadn’t gotten dressed yet. My clothes are still wet and⁠—

Rok seems to lean in before catching himself. In the next moment, he rises to his full height and turns toward the center of the chamber, where the fire pit lies.

I wrap my arms around myself, now very aware of my nudity.

Not fair. He’s been naked all along.

Within minutes, he has a small fire burning, its warm glow filling the chamber with dancing shadows. I stare at it, having no clue how he got a fire started. There’s no kindling. Just those strange dark stones in the center. The ones I’d thought were charred.

I’m frowning at the fire when Rok moves. My gaze shifts to him as he retrieves the lizard creatures, carrying them to the fire. He selects one, positioning it over the flames using a long, straight stick as a makeshift spit. It is only when he pulls it back that I realize it’s not a stick at all. Just a crude length of bone that looks like it came from the quill of some great creature. The lizard’s scales hiss and pop as they heat, the iridescent colors dulling to a matte gray.

After a few minutes, he removes it from the fire. The meat is barely warmed through. With practiced motions, he uses a claw to slice off specific parts—the ridge of spines along the back, something that might be a gland near what I assume is the creature’s throat—tossing these into the fire where they emit a noxious-smelling smoke. Next to go are the shiny scales. All plucked off like they were nothing but feathers.

Then, apparently satisfied that he’s removed anything dangerous, he sets the lizard before me, those golden eyes meeting mine.

“Uh…thank you.”

With a satisfied grunt, he moves to the fire again. Reaching for another of the creatures, he prepares it the same way—a brief pass over the fire, removal of what I assume are poisonous or inedible parts, and the scales. In the next second, he tears into what remains, his sharp teeth easily ripping through flesh that still looks mostly raw to my eyes.

My stomach growls loudly, a painful reminder of how long it’s been since I’ve eaten anything substantial, and my gaze slides to my meal in front of me. Raw alien lizard isn’t exactly at the top of my culinary wishlist, but at this point, I’m not sure I can afford to be picky.

Rok pauses mid-bite, his eyes flicking to me. I give him a smile, taking up the lizard in my hand. The meat is warm but definitely not cooked, blood oozing from where his claws pierced the flesh. My stomach churns in a conflicted mix of hunger and revulsion.

I watch him eat for a moment, trying to gather my courage. He tears into the meat with efficient movements, his focus entirely on his meal. No table manners necessary in the apocalypse, I guess. Or on alien planets.

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?”

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Chapter 24

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NOT SAFE FOR HUMANS

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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.

I cannot look at her.

I cannot think with her so close.

Taste.

The memory of her taste rises in my mind. Her scent, her heat, the way her body had yielded to my mouth like water yields to the stone—it all crashes over me, overwhelming my senses.

Her slit.

It was nothing like I’d expected it to be. Not a simple pouch for storing a member as I had assumed, but something else entirely. Something soft and sweet and wet. Something made solely for me.

The fire that burned under her skin has transferred to mine, and it is taking everything I have not to pull her to me again. To spread her open and taste her until the fire consumes us both.

I stagger away from her, growling low in my throat as I fight for control. My claws leave deep indents in my palms as I pace, unable to stand still, my body alight with sensations I have never felt before.

I feel as though I am being remade—every bone in my body breaking and reforming, every nerve reawakening to a new and unbearable intensity.

This is why I left.

To keep her safe. From me.

I had fled the chamber, my body screaming in protest with every step I took away from her. But I hadn’t gone far. Couldn’t.

The pain in my chest had flared the moment I crossed the threshold, a sharp and relentless pull that would not let me go farther. I had paced outside the cave, camouflaged and restless, my instincts warring with themselves.

And now, being close to her again is worse.

Much worse.

I feel feral. Dangerous.

Every shadow in the chamber feels like a threat. Every sound, every shift in the air sends my claws twitching, my senses heightened to a point that borderlines pain.

And…she notices.

I can see it in the way her eyes follow me, wary but curious. She is vocalizing again, her words soft and insistent, but I cannot focus on them.

I need to move.

I need to do something before I lose myself completely.

The fire under my skin burns hotter with every passing moment, every breath that fills my lungs with her scent. The glow beneath my skin pulses faster than my dra-kir, brighter than it should be.

Something is happening to me—something I don’t understand—and before it consumes me completely, I need to take her to safety. To my clan. Despite what I thought before, about the danger, I have to take her there. Kol will know what to do. My brothers will protect her if I…

If I lose control.

I clench my fists at the thought, my claws digging into my palms as I pace some more. My body demands that I stay close, but my mind knows better. I can’t trust myself. Not now.

Jus-teen suddenly grasps my hand again.

I hiss sharply, but again, she doesn’t let go.

Her touch is fire. Pure, searing fire that spreads through my veins, making my muscles tighten and my vision blur.

“Rok,” she breathes. Her voice trembles, but it is insistent.

Her lips move again, shaping sounds I don’t understand, but the tone—the tone is clear. She’s pleading with me. For what, I don’t know, but the desperation in her voice cuts through the haze clouding my mind.

My gaze drops to her hand, small and fragile against mine, and something inside me snaps.

I can’t resist her.

I can’t resist the sight of her, all soft curves and bare skin, her body still flushed from sleep—or from the fire that now burns inside me. This is why she wore those hideous hides. The sight of her bare flesh is undoing me.

With a single, sharp motion, I pull her to me, catching her around the hips and pulling her against my chest. She gasps, her hands flying up to my shoulders, her breath hitching as my claws curl possessively against her back.

Her scent surrounds me, intoxicating and maddening, and I lower my head to press my forehead to hers.

Speak to her.

I close my eyes, concentrating with everything I have, willing the words to form in the mindspace.

“We must go. It is not safe here.”

Her breath catches, her lips parting slightly, and I know she understands.

But she doesn’t agree.

Her hands tighten on my shoulders, and she speaks again, her voice low and urgent. Her forehead presses against mine, an unspoken gesture of connection, of effort, as if she’s trying to push her thoughts into my mind.

Nothing.

The silence in the mindspace is deafening, and frustration surges through me like a storm.

I growl low in my throat, pulling back sharply, and her gaze locks on mine. There’s water in her eyes now, glistening like tiny stars, and the sight of it sends a jolt of alarm through me.

She cannot leak again. I will not allow it. I must fix this.

“Jus-teen,” I growl. She blinks rapidly, the water pooling in her eyes spilling over her cheeks.

Her voice softens, trembling, and she nods slowly, as if accepting something. Then she wriggles, forcing me to set her down though I do not want to, and turns toward her hide coverings.

I watch her as she moves, my body tense, my claws twitching at my sides.

Her clothes are still damp, clinging to her fingers as she pulls them on one piece at a time. My gaze follows every movement. The curve of her back, the line of her legs, the way her hair falls over her shoulders.

Hunger coils in my chest as if I have not just consumed something, and I clench my fists, forcing myself to look away.

But I can’t.

Her scent fills the chamber, her every movement drawing my attention like a shadowmaw tracking prey. Every sound, every shift in the air sharpens to a painful degree.

Her eyes flick to me as she dresses, as if she knows something inside me is unraveling. She doesn’t vocalize, but the way she watches me—alert, cautious—makes it clear she senses the change.

I can’t stay still.

So, I pace the chamber.

She finishes dressing, pulling on her strange foot coverings before turning back to me.

Her gaze is steady, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, we simply stare at each other, the tension between us thick and suffocating.

Then she crouches.

I stop pacing, my head tilting as I watch her. She picks up the sandfin bone, using it to carve into the dust at her feet.

“This is me,” she says, pointing to the figure she draws, then to herself. “Justine.”

I nod, giving her the chin jerk she recognizes as understanding.

She draws another figure, larger and broader, and points to me.

My chest tightens.

She’s trying to communicate.

I crouch beside her, studying the marks in the dust as she continues to draw.

The next shape is a stone formation. Familiar.

The place where I found her.

She points to it, then to herself, then to other figures she draws—many grouped together.

I lean forward, touching my brow to hers. With a breath, I close my eyes. “My clan.”

“No.” She shakes her head, her hair tousling on her shoulders. “Not your clan.” She points at the figures again. “Not Rok’s.” Shaking her head again. “Mine.” She touches her chest. “Justine’s clan.”

Her words flow again, faster now, her tone rising with urgency.

My brow furrows, trying to piece it together. She repeats the motion—pointing to the stone formation, then to herself, then to the others. She vocalizes the same sounds over and over, pointing at each figure.

I tilt my head, my brow furrowing.

She draws something else—a new shape, a circle with radiating lines.

Ain.

My chest tightens.

Justine gestures toward Ain, then picks up a small stone from the ground. She holds it high, above the figures, and then lets it fall, the rock landing in the dust with a soft thud.

My glow flares brighter, but she doesn’t notice. She’s already moving, drawing more figures around the fallen stone. Tiny, crude shapes that surround it like a gathering.

She points to the stone formation again, then back to the figures, vocalizing softly, her tone urgent and pleading.

My claws curl into the stone floor as I try to make sense of her meaning.

The stone. The figures. Ain.

She pauses, glancing at me with wide, expectant eyes, as though willing me to understand. But I don’t.

Her lips press together in what looks like frustration. She draws more figures, pointing to them as she speaks, her voice trembling with emotion. The same vocalizations again. Over and over.

“Jah-kee. Mih-kay-la. Eh-rihka.”

Then it clicks. She names them. She names them.

The sound of her voice, the way her hands move, the desperation in her tone—it all clicks into place. As she draws two more lines—one leading from her figure to the fallen stone, the other from my figure to the same point, I understand.

There are more of her.

And she wants to go back for them.

Her people.

Daughters of Ain.

The realization hits me like a blow, and my chest heaves with the weight of it.

She is not alone. Was not alone. She wants to return to the place where I found her, near the Silent Valley, where danger lingers.

She wants to go back.

And I have no choice but to take her.

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