Текст книги "Roks captive"

Автор книги: A.G. Wilde

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Chapter 25

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THIS IS FINE. EVERYTHING IS FINE. I’M TOTALLY FINE

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JUSTINE

Rok won’t look at me.

He’s been pacing for hours, his movements growing increasingly agitated with each pass across the cave floor. Every few minutes, he pauses to stare at the entrance, nostrils flaring, head tilted as if listening for something I can’t hear.

“Are they still out there?” I ask, even though I know he can’t understand me. “The other aliens?”

No response. Just more pacing, his claws scraping against stone with each turn.

I watch him from where I’m sitting by the small fire, the remains of the last lizard-thing long since picked clean. The cave has grown darker as the day progresses, shadows lengthening as the light filtering through the ceiling cracks changes from harsh white to a softer gold.

Rok’s behavior is…concerning. He’s always been a bit wild—I mean, I knew that from the moment I met him—but this is different. There’s a frantic quality to his movements, a tension in his shoulders I haven’t seen before. His glow pulses erratically beneath his skin, flaring brighter whenever he glances my way.

Which isn’t often.

In fact, he seems to be going out of his way to avoid looking at me. Like making eye contact might somehow hurt him.

“You know, the silent treatment is getting a little old,” I say, mostly to fill the uncomfortable silence. “Especially now that I know you can actually talk. Sort of.”

I still can’t wrap my head around it. His voice in my mind—clear as day, rich and deep with that strange accent I can’t place. Not some hallucination or fever dream, but actual communication.

Telepathy. Actual honest-to-God telepathy.

“The longer I stay on this hellscape of a planet, the weirder things get,” I mutter, poking at the fire with the bone stick. “Next thing you know, I’ll be growing a third eye or developing the ability to shoot laser beams from my fingertips.”

I glance up, half hoping for a reaction, but Rok is focused intently on the cave entrance again, his body tense and alert.

“You said there was danger,” I say, my tone more serious now. “Is it those other aliens? The ones who were hunting you?”

Nothing. Not even a twitch to suggest he’s heard me.

I sigh, setting the bone aside and drawing my knees up to my chest. “If we could just talk properly, this would be so much easier. All those times you’ve been staring at me—were you trying to communicate? Was I just too dense to hear you?”

The thought makes something sour swell in my chest. How frustrating must it have been for him, trying to reach me while I remained oblivious?

“Maybe it’s this place,” I say, gesturing vaguely around us. “Maybe the longer I’m stuck under Bitch Sun, the more I’m adapting. Developing new skills. Like hearing voices in my head.”

I laugh, but there’s no mirth in it.

“That’s it. I’m officially going crazy. Next, I’ll be naming the rocks and having deep conversations with that pool over there.”

But I know I’m not imagining it. His voice was real—as real as anything can be on this strange, impossible world.

Through the corner of my eye, I catch Rok watching me, his gaze intense and burning. He looks away the moment I turn toward him, but not before I see something in his expression that sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

Hunger.

The memory of what happened between us rushes back, almost overwhelming. His mouth on me. The way my body responded to him, as if he knew exactly what I needed before I did. The pleasure that had crashed over me. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.

I press my thighs together, trying to ignore the heat building low in my belly. Not the time, Justine. Not the time.

But apparently my body hasn’t gotten that memo. Because even now, with Rok clearly struggling with…whatever he’s struggling with, I can’t stop thinking about his hands on my skin, his tongue on my…the way he licked my…Fuck.

“Focus,” I mutter to myself, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “We need to get out of here, find the others, and figure out how to get off this planet. No time for interspecies hookups, no matter how mind-blowing they might be.”

When I look up again, the cave has grown noticeably darker. The light filtering through the cracks has faded to a deep amber, signaling the approach of night. Rok has stopped pacing, his attention now fixed on me, his expression unreadable in the growing shadows.

For several long moments, neither of us moves. The only sounds are the occasional pop of the fire stones and the distant, eerie howl of wind through the stone formations outside.

Then, without warning, Rok moves toward me.

“Rok?” I whisper.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even acknowledge that I’ve spoken. His eyes are locked on mine, and just the look in those eyes has my thoughts shooting back to what happened between us earlier. I swallow hard.

The closer he gets, the more I notice the tremors running through his body. His claws curl and flex at his sides, as if he’s fighting to keep himself grounded.

Oh God.

Something’s wrong—something worse than I thought.

I swallow again, my stomach filling with dread. He’s always been strange to me—he’s an alien, after all—but this is different. The careful control he’s always maintained, even in his most primal moments, is gone. Ever since…

Oh fuck.

The realization makes the cave go cold.

The Xyma water.

What if I poisoned him? What if something in the water—something I didn’t even realize was dangerous—did this to him?

“Rok?” I say again, louder this time, my voice rising with panic.

Still, he doesn’t respond.

When he finally reaches me, he sinks into a crouch, his broad shoulders trembling with the effort. Each inhalation shudders through him like it hurts to draw breath.

“Rok, look at me,” I whisper. “Please, tell me. Are you okay? Did I—did I hurt you?”

His head lifts at my words, his molten gold eyes locking onto mine with a force that steals the air from my lungs.

Despite the tremors wracking his powerful frame, despite the tension coiling through every muscle in his body, his touch, when it comes, is exquisitely gentle.

His hands come up to cradle my face. The warmth of his palms seeps into my skin, and I almost release a moan.

I freeze, my breath hitching.

“Rok…” I whisper.

His thumbs brush along my jaw, and for a moment, I forget everything—the fear, the uncertainty. There’s only him, his touch, his eyes burning into mine with a desperation I don’t understand.

And yet…

I can see that this is costing him.

His glow flickers, dimming and brightening, dimming and brightening, as if the effort of touching me is too much. His claws twitch against my skin, as if he’s struggling to hold himself back.

“Why are you doing this?” I murmur, my voice barely audible. “If it hurts you, why⁠—”

He leans forward then, slowly, pressing his forehead to mine.

I gasp softly at the contact, my heart pounding in my chest as his warmth surrounds me. His breath fans against my lips, ragged and strained, as his body trembles against mine.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

We just stay like that, forehead to forehead, his hands cradling my face, my fingers clutching at his wrists.

His eyes flutter closed, and I can’t help but stare at him, at the way his features soften even as his body remains tense.

“This is almost more intense than French kissing,” I whisper, but the joke falls flat even to my ears.

I close my eyes as Rok’s fingers tighten slightly against my jaw, and then⁠—

His voice fills my mind.

Urgent. Strained.

“Leave. We must hurry.”

A lump forms in my throat as I open my eyes. He’s already staring at me, his molten gold gaze piercing through the darkening shadows of the cave. His eyes are wild, desperate, and for a moment, I can’t breathe.

“Yes,” I whisper, the sound barely audible. “We should.”

His gaze flickers down to my lips, lingering there, and my heart stutters in my chest. Without thinking, my tongue runs over them like an invitation.

Kiss him.

“We can’t.” The words leave my lips, but they lack conviction.

I know what he wants.

I know it in the way his glow pulses erratically beneath his skin, the way his hands tremble as they cradle my face.

The air between us crackles like a live wire, coiling tighter, brighter, until it feels like the cave itself might ignite.

And then I think: Why not?

Before I can second-guess myself, I close the small distance between us, pressing my lips to his.

It’s soft at first, tentative. His lips are warm, and they mold to mine perfectly.

But then something shifts.

A low growl rumbles from his chest, and his hands tighten against my jaw, pulling me closer. The kiss deepens, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that steals the breath from my lungs.

I gasp into him, my fingers tangling in his hair—soft, surprisingly soft—and he groans, the sound vibrating through me.

His lips part mine, his tongue sweeping inside, and I’m lost.

Completely and utterly lost.

Rok kisses me as if he’s starving. As if he wants every part of me.

It’s overwhelming, intense, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. His kiss is wild and consuming, a force of nature that sets every nerve in my body ablaze.

I don’t even realize I’ve wrapped my legs around his waist until he lifts me, his strong arms cradling me as if I weigh nothing.

My thighs tighten around him instinctively, and he staggers forward, pressing me against the cool stone wall.

The contrast between the cold rock and his fiery warmth sends a shiver racing down my spine.

“Oh fuck,” I gasp and he growls again, his lips trailing down my jaw to my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. My head tilts back, a moan escaping me as his mouth finds the hollow of my throat.

I’ve never been this turned on in my life.

Wait—didn’t I say that before? Well, I mean it even more now. FUCK.

Every touch, every kiss, every possessive growl makes me burn hotter, my body arching into his as if begging for more.

In the back of my mind, I notice how quickly he’s learned to kiss—how perfectly he’s attuned to my reactions, how he seems to know exactly what I need, what I want.

But then something changes.

He freezes.

At first, I think he’s just catching his breath, but it’s just like before. When he had me quivering after giving me the best orgasm of my life. His entire body stiffens, his hands twitching against my skin.

“Rok?” I whisper, my eyes flying open.

He pulls back slightly, his head tilting as he inhales deeply. His nostrils flare, his glow pulsing brighter for a moment before dimming again.

And then he releases me.

Just like that.

I barely have time to catch myself before he staggers back, his hands flying to his head as he lets out a guttural snarl.

“Rok!” I cry, stumbling forward, but he holds up a hand, stopping me in my tracks.

His glow goes haywire, flickering and pulsing erratically beneath his skin. It doesn’t look natural—it’s chaotic, unstable, like a storm raging beneath the surface.

He falls to his knees, his body shaking violently. His claws rake against the stone floor, leaving deep gouges as his breaths come in harsh, ragged gasps.

“Rok, what’s happening?” I whisper, dropping to the floor beside him.

I reach out, my hand trembling, but the moment my fingers brush his arm, he flinches like he’s been hit by a truck, a sharp hiss escaping him.

My touch makes it worse.

I pull back, my heart pounding as I watch him, helpless and terrified.

And then…his glow changes.

It happens so suddenly, so drastically, that I fall back in shock.

The soft amber light beneath his skin darkens, shifting to something deeper, something…different. It looks like smoke, like shadows writhing under the surface, swirling and coiling in unnatural patterns until they consume him from within.

His skin has gone pitch black.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper, chest heaving.

His body convulses, his head tilting back as a guttural, animalistic growl tears from his throat. The darkness beneath his skin grows thicker, consuming him, and for a moment, I think he might explode.

And then⁠—

Stars.

The darkness is suddenly filled with stars.

Tiny, glimmering points of light swirl beneath his skin, like entire galaxies trapped within the confines of his body.

It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once, like staring into the heart of the universe.

He collapses forward, catching himself on his hands, his head hanging low as his body trembles.

I scramble toward him, my fear overridden by the need to help him, to do something.

“Rok, talk to me.” I plead, intent on pressing my forehead to his so he can tell me what’s going on. Is he dying? He can’t be dying. My heart lurches at the thought, tears filling my eyes. I push them back.

He can’t be dying. Because I refuse it.

When my fingers brush his shoulder, he flinches again, but this time he doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he lifts his head, his glowing, star-filled eyes locking onto mine.

The look in his eyes…

I cannot explain it.

I see myself. All my dreams. All I’ve ever wanted.

And in that moment, I know.

Whatever’s happening to him, it’s because of me.

And there’s no going back.

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Chapter 26

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THIS SOFT CREATURE IS MINE

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ROK

I am burning from the inside out.

The fire that began when she touched me, when I tasted her essence, has spread through every part of me until I am nothing but flame. My body has become alien to me—shifting, changing, reforming itself according to some ancient pattern I can’t begin to comprehend.

I collapse to the stone floor as waves of sensation crash over me. Pain, yes, but more than pain—awareness, heightened to a point that borders on agony. I can feel every current of air against my skin, hear the rapid beating of Jus-teen’s dra-kir, smell the fear and concern radiating from her like a dust cloud.

And beneath it all, something else. Something new. Something becoming.

“Rok, talk to me.” Her voice cuts through the storm raging within me.

I try to respond, try to push thoughts toward her, but my mind seems incapable. My vision blurs, darkens, then expands beyond anything I have ever experienced. I can see everything—the dust in the air, the subtle patterns in the stone, the aura of warmth surrounding her body.

When her fingers brush my shoulder, the contact sends a jolt through me that is both torture and relief. Her touch soothes the fire even as it feeds it? It’s a contradiction that makes no sense. But it feels utterly right.

I lift my head, struggling to focus on her face through the chaos of sensations. Her eyes widen as she looks at me, her lips parting in shock, and I realize something has changed—something fundamental.

I look down at my arms, at my chest, and freeze.

My skin…has transformed. Darkness flows beneath the surface, not the absence of light but something deeper, richer—like the dark sky above the dust plains. And within that darkness, stars. Countless stars, swirling and shifting like the great dance of the celestial bodies we use to track paths through the dust.

What is happening to me?

Justine’s hand reaches toward me again, tentative but determined, and when her fingers make contact with my skin, the stars beneath the surface surge toward her touch, clustering beneath the point of connection like they are drawn to her.

“What’s happening to you?” she whispers. “What can I do?”

I want to tell her to run. To flee. That I am dangerous in this state, unpredictable, a threat even to myself. But I cannot speak, cannot form the words, and even if I could, I know the truth—I need her. Need her presence, her touch, her essence to survive whatever transformation is consuming me.

The fire surges again and I cry out, a raw, animalistic sound that echoes through the chamber. Jus-teen flinches, her beautiful, water-like eyes going wide, but she doesn’t back away. Doesn’t retreat.

Instead, she moves closer.

“I’m here,” she says, her voice low but steady, resolved. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Time becomes fluid, elastic.

Moments stretch into what feels like solmarks, each beat of my dra-kir dragging out endlessly as the fire rages beneath my skin. Then, just as suddenly, time compresses, everything blurring together in flashes of sensation. Pain. Heat. Her voice.

Solmarks pass. Sols. The light, then the dark. Light, then dark. Cycles. I am dimly aware of my Jus-teen moving around me.

She brings water from the pool, the cool liquid soothing my burning skin as she drapes something damp across my forehead. Her touch lingers, and I feel the faint tremor in her hands.

She’s afraid.

And yet she stays.

Her voice washes over me, vocalizations soft and insistent, lost in the roaring that fills my ears.

“…never seen anything like this…”

“…please be okay…”

“…don’t you dare die on me, Rok. I mean it.”

Her words are a balm, even when I cannot make sense of them.

But then, something shifts.

At first, it’s faint. Barely noticeable through the haze of pain and heat.

A whisper.

Not her voice—not the one I hear with my ears—but something deeper, softer, resonating within my mind. Thoughts in the mindspace. Thoughts that are not mine. Images that transform into words. Understanding.

“What if he’s dying?”

The thought is fleeting, like a ripple across the still water, and for a moment, I think I’ve imagined it. But then another comes, clearer this time.

“What if I did this to him?”

It’s Jus-teen.

I can hear her.

In the mindspace.

I can hear her directly.

The barrier between our minds has thinned, becoming so fragile it’s nearly transparent. For a moment, I am distracted from the pain.

Her thoughts come in fragments, disjointed yet vivid, each one cutting through the chaos like a blade.

“I need to…him to cool down. His skin…burning up.”

“Stupid Xyma water. Stupid Xyma themselves.”

“What am I going to do if…doesn’t recover, huh? What the fuck are…going to do, Justine?”

Humor rises inside me. Her thoughts are just as many as her vocalizations. A constant stream of commentary.

I hold them close to my dra-kir as the darkness takes me.

For solmarks more, the fire rages.

Time passes. Jus-teen remains by my side, sometimes speaking, sometimes silent, but always touching me in some way—a hand on my arm, fingers brushing my face, her shoulder pressed against mine. Each contact soothes the fire within me, brings me closer to some equilibrium I cannot name.

When exhaustion finally claims her, she curls up beside me, her body a warm, steady presence against my side, her head resting on my shoulder. Her breathing deepens, evens out, and I know when she succumbs to rest.

I watch her, marveling at the trust this small, fragile being places in me. Even after witnessing my transformation, even knowing what I am capable of, she rests beside me without fear.

The thought fills me with a protectiveness so fierce it borders on violence. I would tear apart anything that threatened her, would face down the rival clan and shadowmaws and the dust itself to keep her safe.

Perhaps it’s the thought. For, without warning, the fire within me surges again—different this time, focused, concentrated in a way it wasn’t before. The heat pools in my gut, then lower, in the pouch that houses my member, and panic flares alongside it.

No. Not this. Not now.

But my body responds to some call I cannot resist, some transformation that has been building since I first tasted her essence. No…since I first touched her. My member, normally sleeping within its protective pouch, begins to swell, to change, to push outward.

The pain is excruciating—not like the burn of the transformation, but sharper, more localized. I bite back a cry, not wanting to wake Justine, but the agony of it tears through me like a dust-stalker’s claw.

It feels as though my member is being reshaped, remolded—which is impossible. The sensation is wrong, terrifying. But it is true.

My claws dig into the stone as I brace against the pain, a surprised grunt going through me as I see myself emerge. It breaks free of the protective pouch, the pouch itself reshaping as it escapes, fully extended for the first time in my life. I stare down at it in shock and confusion.

This is…not what I expected.

My stem…it has changed—transformed as completely as the rest of me. It is larger, thicker, the dark skin shot through with the same starlight that flows beneath the rest of my skin. The shape is different too—no longer the simple rod I emerged from the Giving Stone with, but something more complex, curved slightly, with a broad head and ridges along the underside.

And beneath it, where there was once only smooth skin, hang two heavy sacs, tight and full, their purpose a mystery to me.

My breath comes in harsh pants as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing, of what I’m feeling. The fire has localized here, concentrated in these new appendages, and the sensation is…intense. Not pain, not pleasure, but something in between, something that makes my claws flex against the stone and a growl rumble in my throat.

The movement, the sound, is enough to wake Jus-teen. She stirs against me, her eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep. For a moment, she seems disoriented, confused by the starlight emanating from my skin. Then her gaze drops to my lap, to the transformed member jutting proudly from between my thighs, and her eyes widen, all traces of sleep vanishing in an instant.

“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.

“Don’t laugh,” she says, pointing a finger at me. “This is your fault.”

Her words are sharp, but there’s no real anger in them. If anything, there’s a flicker of amusement in her tone, and for a moment, the tension between us eases.

Then she sighs, gesturing toward the floor. “Do you need to…rest or something? Recover?”

I get images of my own form resting on the stone. Of her resting beside me.

Jus-teen blinks at me before she mimes lying down, her movements exaggerated, and I realize she still doesn’t know I am getting imprints of her thoughts. She is not doing it on purpose then.

And I…do not want to tell her. Not yet.

Something tells me that if I do, all these delicious images she’s sending my way will stop.

So, instead, I lower my head and press my forehead to hers, letting the soft, trembling warmth of her skin connect with mine.

The moment our foreheads touch, it’s as if the ground beneath me shifts.

A jolt of energy surges through me and I hear her gasp, feel the slight tremor in her body as it passes through her, too.

Her hands fly to my arms, clutching at me for balance as her knees buckle slightly. A soft, breathless moan escapes her lips, and the sound strikes me like lightning, sinking deep into my chest.