Текст книги "Roks captive"

Автор книги: A.G. Wilde

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Chapter 12

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YOUR CAT ISN’T THE ONLY ONE THAT LIKES HIGH PLACES

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JUSTINE

I don’t find my earring. One more whole day has passed stuck in this cave and I’ve spent the time checking every grain of sand, every inch of this cave. It is nowhere to be found.

What’s worse, I’m having nightmares. Or dreams, depending on how you want to look at it. Strange ones that crept into my mind in the night. Dreams where I’d seen those tiny particles again, swirling around me, inside me, changing something fundamental in my cells. Except, in this deam the alien was there, too. His hands, his touch, so gentle despite those deadly claws, had soothed the burning beneath my skin, chasing away the fear with a different kind of heat. A heat that lingers even now, a phantom ache that pulses between my legs with every beat of my racing heart.

I must be ovulating. It’s not my fault it makes me a horny fiend.

It is with great effort that I push the thoughts away, focusing on combing through the last handful of sand.

“It’s gone,” I finally admit, sitting back on my heels. A hollow feeling spreads through my chest. “It’s really gone.”

My gaze shifts to the alien. Still crouched nearby, he’d helped me look. Somehow, he’d noted my distress and without a word, he’d kneeled beside me, methodically brushing through the sand even though he had no idea what I was searching for, only that it’s obviously important to me. As if my distress alone was reason enough to help.

Now, still watching me with those unnerving golden eyes, he makes a low rumbling sound that almost feels sympathetic.

I brush angrily at the tears threatening to spill over. This is stupid. It’s just an earring. A tiny piece of glass. It shouldn’t matter so much, especially not here, where I’m stranded with much bigger problems to worry about.

But it does matter. And the loss of it feels like losing her all over again.

I take a deep breath and force myself to stand. Sitting here crying won’t find the earring, and it won’t get me back to Jacqui and the others.

“I have to go,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “They’ll be looking for me.”

I move to my small pack—which is really just my handbag—checking the meager supplies inside. One water packet left. Two more emergency biscuits. Not much, but it’ll have to do. I’d lost the emergency blanket somewhere in the desert, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.

“Okay,” I say, more to myself than to him. “That’s it. Time to hit the road.”

I sling the bag over my shoulder and turn toward the cave entrance. The alien is still watching me, his expression unreadable as I make my way past him.

I’m almost to the entrance when something large blocks my path. Him. He’s moved with that unsettling speed again, positioning himself between me and the exit.

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to step around him. “I need to go.”

He doesn’t budge.

“Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done. Really. You saved my life, and that’s…well, that’s a pretty big deal. But I have people waiting for me. People who are probably thinking I’m dead right now.”

I try again to move past him, but he shifts, still blocking my way. His eyes have narrowed, and the glow beneath his skin has intensified—pulsing like a warning signal—and for a crazy moment, I want to reach out and touch him again, feel that strange ripple under my fingers. Then I mentally slap myself. No, not helpful.

“Seriously?” I throw up my hands in frustration. “What is your problem? I need to leave!”

He makes a low, rumbling sound—not quite a growl, but definitely not approval either.

“Move,” I say, trying to make my voice firm despite the frustration and fear bubbling up inside me. “Please.”

Nothing. He might as well be a statue, an immovable wall of muscle and stubbornness.

“Fine. If you won’t move, I’ll just…” I feint left, then dart right, trying to slip past him.

No luck. He’s too fast, his reflexes too sharp. His arm shoots out, gently but firmly blocking my path.

“Okay, listen up, big guy,” I snap. All patience has—poof—gone. “You can’t keep me here! I don’t belong to you. I don’t belong here!”

My voice cracks on the last word, and to my horror, I feel tears welling up again. It’s all too much—the lost earring, the unnervingly attractive alien refusing to let me leave, the growing fear that I might never see Jacqui or home again.

“Please,” I say, the fight draining out of me. “Just let me go.”

For a long moment, he stares at me, those golden eyes searching my face as if he’s trying to decipher what I’m feeling. Then, with a sound that reminds me of a long-suffering sigh, he steps aside.

Relief floods through me. “Thank you,” I breathe, hurrying past him before he can change his mind.

I step out of the cave, squinting in the bright morning sunlight, ready to begin the long trek back to where I last saw the others.

And that’s when the world seems to fall away beneath my feet.

“Holy shit!”

I scramble backward, nearly colliding with the alien who’s followed me out. My hands find the rough stone of the cave entrance, gripping it for support as I stare out at…nothing. Just open air and a drop that makes my stomach lurch.

We’re not on the ground. Not even close. The cave is set into the side of a towering rock formation, a jagged spire that rises hundreds of feet above the desert floor. Below us stretches an endless sea of sand, rippling like water in the morning light. The sun is just cresting the horizon, painting the desert in shades of gold and amber, and from this height, I can see for miles in every direction.

It’s breathtaking. And terrifying.

“We’re on a cliff,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “A really, really high cliff.”

I turn to the alien, who’s watching me with that intensity again.

“You carried me up here,” I realize. “Last night. When we were running from those things. I felt you climbing, but I didn’t realize we were going up a freaking mountain.”

He makes that rumbling sound again, and now I’m certain it’s the alien equivalent of a chuckle.

“This isn’t funny!” But even as I say it, a hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. “Oh my god, I was about to waltz right off a cliff.”

I peer over the edge again, trying to see a path down. There’s nothing but sheer rock face, with occasional ledges and outcroppings that might be handholds for someone with claws and superhuman strength, but certainly not for a clumsy human like me.

“Okay,” I say, trying to keep the panic from my voice. “Okay. This is…this is a problem. A big problem. I need to get down from here, but unless you’ve got a parachute hidden somewhere—which, let’s be honest, would look ridiculous on you—I’m going to need your help.”

The alien tilts his head, watching me with that intense focus that still makes my skin prickle.

“Do you understand? I need to go.” I point down at the desert floor, then at myself. “Me. Go. Down. To find my people.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t react. Just keeps staring at me with those unnerving golden eyes.

“Okay, let’s try something else.” I take a deep breath and resort to the universal language of desperate humans—charades. I point to myself, then down at the ground far below. When he doesn’t react, I frown. “Fuck this.” Crouching down, I resort to my less-than-stellar art skills and start drawing in the thin layer of sand near the cave entrance.

With my finger, I sketch out a crude landscape—a wavy line for the horizon, the spiry shape of the rock formation that I’d set out to reach first, and a stick figure with wild hair that’s supposed to be me. I point to the stick figure, then to myself, then to the rock formations.

“I need to go there,” I say slowly, tapping the drawing. “Back to where I came from. To my friends. You know, other people like me? Smaller than you, not glowy, probably sunburned and freaking out right now?”

The alien crouches beside me, studying my childlike drawing with such intense focus that I half expect him to critique my artistic skills. His expression shifts, his brow furrowing in what looks like confusion. Or is it disgust? Anger? It’s hard to tell with a face that’s not quite human.

“Please,” I try again. “I need your help to get down from here.”

He makes a sound—harsher than before, almost like a snarl—rises and turns away from me, heading back toward the cave entrance.

“Hey!” I follow after him. “Don’t you walk away from me! You brought me up here. You’re responsible for getting me down!”

He stops so suddenly I nearly run into his back. When he turns to face me, there’s something new in his expression—something that makes me take an involuntary step backward.

“Okay,” I say, holding up my hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you or whatever alien cultural taboo I just stepped on. But you have to understand—I’m trapped up here. I can’t climb down on my own. I’ll die.”

His expression softens slightly, but he makes no move to help.

“Fine,” I mutter, running a hand through my tangled hair. “Just great. Saved from heat exhaustion only to die of starvation on a cliff with an alien who suddenly decides to be useless.”

I pace along the narrow ledge outside the cave, frustration building with each step. “This is ridiculous. I don’t know why I thought this would work. ‘Oh, let’s try to reason with the seven-foot alien predator who can’t understand a word I’m saying.’ Brilliant plan, Justine. Really stellar work.”

I’m freaking out and I know it.

Problem is, I can’t stop.

Meanwhile, the alien watches my ranting with something that almost looks like awestruck amusement, and that just makes me angrier.

“You think this is funny? You⁠—”

I don’t get to finish the sentence because suddenly the world tilts around me. Strong arms scoop me up, and before I can process what’s happening, I’m cradled against a broad chest, my feet dangling in the air.

“What are you—put me down!” I squirm in his grasp, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. “I swear, if you don’t⁠—”

He turns, carrying me to the edge of the cliff, and I get a dizzying view of the drop below.

“No, no, no! What are you doing? Don’t you dare⁠—”

His grip tightens, securing me against his chest, and he looks down at me with what I swear is a mischievous glint in those golden eyes.

“If you throw me off this cliff, I swear I will come back and haunt you for the rest of your glowy alien existence!”

He makes that rumbling sound again—definitely laughter—and then, without warning, he just…steps off the edge.

I scream. I scream like I’ve never screamed before, a sound that tears from my throat as we plummet through open air. My arms lock around his neck in a death grip, my face buried against his chest.

This is it. This is how I die. Not from heat exhaustion or alien predators, but from being thrown off a cliff by a lunatic alien who thought it would be funny.

Except…we’re not falling. Not really.

I risk opening one eye, then the other, and what I see doesn’t make sense. We’re moving down the cliff face, but in controlled bounds—leaping from one tiny outcropping to another with impossible grace. Each landing is smooth, barely a jolt, before he launches us toward the next foothold.

It’s like watching a mountain goat navigate a sheer cliff, except this “goat” is carrying a terrified human. The inhuman strength of his grip is impossible to ignore—those powerful arms holding me against him with a pressure that’s somehow both gentle and unyielding. His hands are firm, confident, effortlessly supporting my weight as if I’m nothing more than a child’s doll. It’s terrifying and yet…strangely reassuring.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, my heart still pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. “You’re insane. You are actually insane.”

He makes that rumbling sound again, and this time I can feel it vibrate through his chest where I’m pressed against him.

“This isn’t funny!” But even as I say it, a hysterical laugh bubbles up inside me, too. “I don’t know what I imagined when I asked you to take me down, but it wasn’t this! ”

We continue our descent in great, bounding leaps that somehow manage to be both terrifying and graceful. With each jump, my stomach lurches, but his arms hold me secure, his body absorbing the impact of each landing.

The ground rushes up to meet us faster than seems possible, and with one final, powerful leap, we’re suddenly on the desert floor, standing in sand that’s already warming in the morning sun.

He doesn’t set me down immediately, and I don’t ask him to. For a moment, we just stay like that—me cradled in his arms, my heart still racing, his golden eyes studying my face with that same intense focus. His arms tighten slightly, claws skimming lightly against my side in a way that sends unexpected shivers through me. There’s a rumble deep in his chest—a sound of pure, unmistakable satisfaction, like he’s thoroughly enjoying holding me this close.

“That was…” I struggle to find the right word. Terrifying? Exhilarating? Completely insane? “…something.” Pushing past the heavy breaths wracking my chest, I force a grin.

The alien blinks, gaze shifting to my lips.

His mouth curves in what might be a smile—though with those sharp teeth, it’s hard to tell if it’s meant to be friendly or menacing.

Slowly, carefully, he lowers me to my feet. My legs feel wobbly, like I’ve just stepped off a roller coaster, and I have to steady myself against his arm.

“Thanks, I think,” I say, looking up at him. “Although a little warning next time would be nice.”

He tilts his head, that now-familiar gesture that seems to say he’s trying to understand me but isn’t quite there yet.

“So,” I say, looking around at the vast desert stretching in all directions. “Where to now?”

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Chapter 13

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A NAME IS A MARK. SHE HAS MARKED ME

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ROK

I cannot look away from her.

The realization comes slowly, settling into me like the dust settles after a storm. She stands before me, small and fragile against the vastness of the desert, and something in me has…changed. Shifted. As if the very foundation of my being has cracked, allowing something new to take root.

The wind tugs at the strange coverings she insists on wearing, and beneath them, I can sense the heat of her skin, the rhythm of her dra-kir—strong and steady now, no longer fighting against the heat that had threatened to consume her. She moves in a circle and I follow her movement with my eyes, tracking each gesture, each expression that crosses her face. The way her brow furrows as she studies the horizon. The way her lips press together in what looks like concentration. The way the sun catches in her hair, turning it to fire.

I want to move closer. I want to breathe in her scent again, that strange, sweet smell that is unlike anything on Xiraxis. I want to press my face to the curve of her neck, where her pulse beats visibly beneath her delicate skin.

I want to taste her.

The thought crashes into me with such force that my claws dig into my palms. This is not…I am not… These urges are foreign, and yet they burn through me with an intensity that I cannot ignore.

Female.

The word echoes in my mind, ancient and powerful. A myth. A legend. A gift from Ain herself.

And yet, here she stands. Flesh and blood and warm, strange scent. Not Drakav, not of Xiraxis, but undeniably, impossibly, female.

“Okay, so we’re down from the cliff,” she says, her voice quick and light. “That’s good. Progress. But which way do we go now? I need to find my people.”

I watch her turn in circles, scanning the horizon with those strange, fragile eyes. No secondary lid, as far as I can tell. How will she protect against the storms when they come?

No need. I will protect her.

I will not leave her side.

“I think it was that way,” she says, pointing toward a distant ridge of stone. “Or maybe that way? I don’t know. Everything looks different now.”

The dust stretches endlessly in all directions, the same shifting sea it has always been. But she sees it differently. To her, it is a maze, a puzzle to be solved. She is lost.

Lost, and very far from home.

Perhaps Ain truly did send her. Perhaps there is purpose in her arrival, in our meeting.

Or perhaps the dust simply gives what it will, and takes what it will, and there is no greater meaning.

I try to mindspeak, focusing my thoughts into a clear image: “Where did you come from?”

But it is useless. She continues her restless movement, unaware of my question, her mind sealed away from mine.

She cannot perceive my thoughts. I have tried, again and again, to reach her mind, to share the images that would make her understand. Each time, I am met with silence—or rather, with the chaotic flurry of her own thoughts, sealed away behind a wall I cannot breach.

Yet somehow, she has given me her name.

“Jus-teen.”

The sound still feels strange on my tongue, unfamiliar and awkward. But when she spoke it, pointed to herself and shaped those sounds, an image formed in my mind—a bloom in the dust, delicate and impossible, yet somehow existing. Bright. Beautiful.

Names are sacred. We do not own them. A name is something given, not in sound, but in thought—a mark left in the minds of others.

My name was given to me long ago, shaped by my brothers, my kin, my tribe. The image of me that exists in their minds is simple, unchanging: a stone, steadfast and unyielding, braced against the storm. Alone, but enduring.

Rok.

That is what I am. That is what they see.

But when I think of my name now, with her warmth still lingering against my skin, her scent still in my nose, the image shifts. The winds of the storm grow quieter. The stone is no longer solitary.

It…frightens me.

I am not meant to change. Stones do not bend, do not waver, do not soften. Yet something in me has. Her name lingers in my mind, as if it has carved itself into the stone, leaving a mark that I cannot erase.

“I think I might just have to pick a direction and pray,” she vocalizes, eyes narrowing as she looks around. “Fuck. Shit. I can’t make a mistake in this.”

I do not understand her sounds, but her frustration is clear. It radiates from her in waves, as clear as if she were projecting her thoughts directly to me. She is afraid, though she hides it well behind her constant stream of sound.

She continues speaking, her voice rising and falling in patterns that have become almost familiar. I do not mind the sound as much as I did before. At first, her endless vocalizations grated against my senses, a constant, unnecessary noise. Now, there is something almost soothing about it, like the rhythm of the wind over the dunes.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, turning to face me. Her eyes find mine, and for a moment, it feels as if she can see into me. “I just realized—I don’t know what to call you. I’ve been thinking of you as ‘the alien’ this whole time, which is…well, accurate, I guess, but not very personal.”

I tilt my head, trying to understand. She touches her chest, the way she did in the cave.

“I’m Justine,” she says slowly. “Jus-tine.”

And there it is again—the image that forms in my mind when she speaks her name. A bloom in the dust, delicate and impossible, yet somehow thriving.

Then she points to me, eyebrows raised in question.

She wants to know my name.

I hesitate. Names are sacred, private things. They are not meant to be spoken aloud, to be cheapened with sound. And yet…

I focus on the image that has been my name for as long as I can remember: the stone, unyielding against the storm. I try to shape my lips around a sound that would capture it.

“Rok,” I say. The sound is rough, clumsy, but it is the closest I can come to sharing my true name with her.

Her eyes widen, her mouth opening slightly in surprise. “You spoke again! You…was that your name? Are you telling me your name?” She touches her ear. Not the one with the strange creature trapped in crystal on it. But the other. The one with a stone lodged in it. “I swear I heard it in English. Is this translator thing working? Please, please be working.”

I touch my chest, mimicking her gesture. “Rok.”

“Rock?” she repeats, the sound slightly different from mine. “Your name is Rock?”

Something must shift in my expression, because she laughs—a bright, unexpected sound that sends a strange warmth through my chest. I am not even worried about the shadowmaws hearing. I will fight them all if she would make that sound again.

“I mean, it fits,” she says, gesturing at me. “You’re certainly built like a—wait, no. That can’t be your name. Rock? Seriously? Like Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson?”

I do not understand her words, but I understand that she has misheard my name. I touch my chest again.

“Rok,” I say, letting the sound fall short, sharper than the noise she created.

She blinks, tilting her head at me. “Rok,” she repeats, slower this time. Her brows furrow, and I can see her turning the word over in her mind. It is strange. I cannot sense her thoughts, but…I can almost see them through her eyes. “Not Rock. Rok. Same sound, I guess, but…sharper. It feels different.”

Her brows furrow and I tilt my head, watching as she taps her fingers against her thigh. “Yeah, okay. I’ll spell it without the ‘C.’ That’s better. Cleaner. It suits you.”

Her words settle over me like a weight, and something deep inside shifts. She has taken my name—my true name, or as close as her kind can come to it—and made it her own. To hear it in her voice, to see her shape it into something she understands, feels strangely…good. As if she has reached into a part of me that no one else has ever touched.

“Rok,” she says again, softer this time, as if testing it.

The glow beneath my skin flares faintly, betraying me. I have no words for what I feel, but it is enough to know that she has claimed my name in her own way.

She bares her teeth in that strange way I believe is non-threatening, and the sight of it does something to my insides. Her teeth are small, flat, nothing like the fangs of the Drakav, and yet there is something oddly appealing about the expression. I find myself mimicking it, baring my teeth in what I hope is a similar gesture.

Her teeth-baring falters for a moment, as if caught off guard, and then returns, wider than before. She shifts on her feet, a slight hesitation, that strange redness growing in her cheeks again. “Are you…smiling at me? Oh my god, you are. That’s adorable. In a terrifying, wolfish way.”

I wish I knew what her words mean, but the warmth in her voice suggests they are no insult. I continue the teeth-baring, and she laughs again.

“Okay, Rok,” she says, and hearing my name in her voice sends another pulse of that strange warmth through me. “So we’ve established who we are. Now we just need to figure out where we’re going.”

She turns again, scanning the horizon, and I am struck by how small she seems against the vastness of the dust. So fragile. So alone.

Except she is not alone. She has me.

The thought comes uninvited, and with it, a fierce protectiveness that surprises me with its intensity. I found her in the dust. By the laws of Xiraxis, that makes her mine. Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe.

Mine.

The word settles into me with a weight that should be alarming, but instead feels right. Inevitable, even. There is no undoing this. It simply is. Like the sky. Like the dust. She does not know it yet, but she is no longer alone. She will never be alone again.

I move to her side, studying the terrain as she is. The dust offers little in the way of landmarks, but I know these lands well. I have hunted them since I was barely out of the Giving Stone.

She will need water soon. Food. Shelter from Ain, who is already climbing higher, its heat intensifying with each passing moment. The cave was safe, but she will not return there willingly. Not when she is so determined to head to the rival clan’s territory.

I make a decision. If I cannot convince her to stay where it is safe, then I will go with her. I will guide her through the dust, keep her from the dangers she cannot see, cannot understand.

I will keep her alive, this strange, soft creature who has somehow spoken my name aloud and made it sound like something precious.

“Rok,” she says, and I turn to find her watching me, her head tilted slightly to one side. There is something in her expression—uncertainty, perhaps, or vulnerability—that makes me want to reach for her, to draw her against me as I did when I held her all through the dark. To press my face to her and breathe in her scent. To taste the salt on her skin.

But I do not. I stand, unyielding as my name, and wait for her to show me where she wishes to go.

She points toward a distant ridge, the pale spire of stone barely visible against the hazy horizon. “I think that’s where we need to go. That looks like the place where…” She hesitates, then waves her hand dismissively. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I think it looks like. It’s the only landmark I can see, so it’s our best bet.”

I follow her gaze, recognizing the formation. The Ridge of Shrieking Winds, we Drakav call it in our thoughts. A place where no living creature lingers long…and the last place I would take one I intend to keep alive.

It is a dangerous place, where the sand whips sharp enough to flay skin from bone, where the narrow passages between the stones amplify the howling of the wind until it can drive even the hardiest hunter to madness.

She starts walking toward it without hesitation, her stride determined despite the way her feet sink awkwardly into the sand, even with those strange shields she wears on them.

I do not move.

She takes several steps before noticing that I am not following. She turns, her face pinched as those piercing eyes find mine.

“Well, are you coming?” she calls, gesturing toward the ridge.

I remain where I stand, feeling the heat of the sand beneath my feet, sensing the danger that awaits in those distant ridges. No hunter would willingly approach the Shrieking Winds. Not alone. Not without preparation. And certainly not with a fragile, defenseless female in tow.

She must be protected at all cost. Not put in danger.

“Rok?” she says my name again and my glow reacts as if called, too. “Well?”

I tilt my head, trying to convey without words or shared thoughts that the path she has chosen leads only to death. But she cannot hear me, cannot feel the warning I am projecting with all my strength.

She looks back toward the deadly ridges, then to me again, a sigh escaping her lips. “I have to go, Rok. If you weren’t here, that’s where I’d be heading to.”

Her expression hardens suddenly, eyes narrowing. “But wait, I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t trap me on a cliff. Granted, it was to save my life,” she crosses her arms, pushing up those soft gourd-shaped protrusions on her chest, “so you get a pass for that.”

I understand the frustration in her voice, if not her words. She is worried.

She turns again, taking a few determined steps toward the Shrieking Winds. Then she stops, her shoulders slumping slightly. She does not look back at me as she speaks, but something in her posture, in the sudden softness of her voice, makes my dra-kir ache.

“I guess this is goodbye then, Rok. And…” Her shoulders slump. “Thank you.”

Her tone. The resignation. The disappointment. The touch of sadness. It all cuts deeper than any sandfin could. She intends to leave. To walk into death, alone.

I will not allow it.

She huffs and begins walking again, her stride stiff. I let her take three more steps before I move, closing the distance between us in just two strides.

I catch her easily, lifting her off her feet and into my arms. Her body is lighter than it should be, fragile bones wrapped in soft skin, nothing like the dense, armored forms of the Drakav. She fits against my chest as if made to be there.

Her vocalizations turn sharp, piercing. I do not need to understand her words to know she is not happy with me. Her small hands push against my chest, ineffectual but insistent.

I ignore her protests. I will bear her anger, her resentment, her futile struggles. I will bear anything if it means keeping her alive.

I turn away from the deadly ridges, carrying her toward the safety of the eastern caves. She will not understand. She will fight me. But she will live.

And perhaps, in time, she will understand that I could not let her walk to her death simply because she could not hear the warnings in my mind.

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