Page 8

CHAPTER 8

ROKKON

T he soft hum of the jet’s engines is a steady backdrop as I sit at my computer kiosk, my eyes scanning the financial data for GEHI. My fingers tap lightly on the screen, pulling up projections and budgets, but my attention keeps drifting to the other side of the aisle.

Vicki’s curled up in her seat, my jacket draped over her like a makeshift blanket. Her head rests on that ridiculous stuffed unicorn I bought her last week—bright pink with a glittery horn—and her blonde hair spills over the armrest. She’s out cold, her lips slightly parted, and every now and then, she lets out the softest sigh. I can’t help the smile that tugs at my mouth. She’s never been this far from home before, and I’m already planning to make this trip more than just business for her.

My compad buzzes, cutting through the quiet. I glance at the screen—Veritas secure channel. I flick on the sonic barrier to keep the sound from waking her and accept the call.

The holographic display flickers to life, and Fela’s Vakutan form appears. Her black scales shimmer faintly under the light, those chromatic eyes narrowing as she looks at me.

“Rokkon,” she says, her tone clipped. “I need to talk to you.”

“Fela,” I nod, leaning back in my chair. “What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until I landed?”

“It’s about Vicki.”

My brow ridges lower. “What about her?”

“How is she?” Fela crosses her arms, her posture stiff. “Is she adjusting well? Is she… happy?”

I frown. “Why are you asking me this? Your job was done the moment you introduced us.”

She hesitates, her gaze flicking away for a moment before returning to mine. “I’m just… concerned. She’s young, Rokkon. Inexperienced. And you’re… well, you.”

I bristle at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re Vakutan,” she says sharply. “You’re intense, demanding, and you don’t exactly have a gentle touch. Vicki’s not like us. She’s not used to this kind of life—or to someone like you.”

I clench my jaw, the scales along my neck tightening. “I would never hurt her.”

“I’m not saying you would,” Fela counters, her tone softening just a fraction. “But you need to be careful with her. She’s vulnerable.”

I glance over at Vicki again, her peaceful expression tugging at something deep in my chest. “I know she is. And I’m not taking that lightly.”

Fela sighs, her shoulders dropping. “Just… make sure she’s okay, Rokkon. Don’t push her too hard. She needs time to figure this out.”

“I’m not pushing her,” I say, though the words feel heavy in my mouth. “She’s… she’s my jalshagar. I’d sooner tear out my own heart than see her hurt.”

Fela studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Good. That’s what I needed to hear.”

The call ends, and I sit there for a moment, staring at the blank screen. Fela’s words echo in my mind, and for the first time, I wonder if I’ve been too much for Vicki. Too demanding. Too… Vakutan.

I look over at her again, my chest tightening. She’s still asleep, oblivious to the weight of the conversation. I stand and walk over to her, crouching beside her seat. My hand brushes her hair back from her face, and she stirs slightly, murmuring something incoherent.

“Sleep, sweetness,” I whisper, my voice low. “You’re safe with me.”

But as I sit back down at my kiosk, Fela’s words linger, a quiet unease settling in my gut.

The jet touches down with a smooth glide, the hum of the engines easing into silence. I feel the slight jolt as the wheels hit the tarmac, and I glance over at Vicki. She’s still asleep, her head resting on that ridiculous pink unicorn. Her lips are slightly parted, and her blonde hair spills over the armrest like a golden waterfall. I reach over, brushing a strand away from her face, and she stirs, her eyes fluttering open.

“We’re here,” I say softly, my voice low. I don’t want to startle her.

She blinks up at me, her blue eyes still foggy with sleep, then a slow, warm smile spreads across her face. “Morocco?” she asks, her voice groggy but tinged with excitement.

“Morocco,” I confirm, standing and offering her my hand. She takes it, letting me pull her to her feet. For a moment, she sways slightly, still half-asleep, then she throws her arms around my neck, pressing herself against me.

“Thank you for bringing me,” she murmurs into my chest, her voice muffled. Then she tilts her head up, her lips finding mine in a soft, lingering kiss.

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer, and for a moment, the world fades away. Her fingers trail down my chest, slipping lower, and I feel her hand brushing against the front of my pants. I don’t stop her at first—how could I?—but then Fela’s words echo in my mind, and I gently catch her wrist, pulling her hand away.

“Not now, sweetness,” I say, my voice firm but gentle. “We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

Her face falls, just for a second, and I see the hurt flash in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything, but she steps back, smoothing her hair and avoiding my gaze. I’ve never rebuffed her before, not even gently, and I can tell it stings.

“Vicki,” I start, but she shakes her head, forcing a smile.

“It’s fine,” she says quickly, her voice a little too bright. “Let’s go see Morocco.”

I don’t push it. Instead, I take her hand, leading her off the jet and into the warm, golden sunlight. The air is thick with the scent of spices and the distant murmur of a bustling market. Vicki’s mood lifts almost instantly as she takes it all in, her eyes wide with wonder.

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathes, her hand tightening around mine. “I’ve always wanted to see this place.”

“I thought you might like it,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. I watch her as she takes in the sights—the vibrant colors, the intricate architecture, the way the sunlight dances off the cobblestone streets. She’s radiant, her excitement contagious.

We stroll through the city, and I let her lead, content to watch her explore. She surprises me when she starts talking about the literary giants who once called this place home—Tennessee Williams, William S. Burroughs. Her voice is animated, her eyes sparkling as she speaks.

“I tried reading Naked Lunch once,” I admit, breaking into her monologue. “Couldn’t make it through the whole thing.”

She laughs, the sound light and musical. “It’s not exactly an easy read,” she says, grinning up at me. “But that’s part of the fun, you know? It’s a challenge, and I like challenges.”

Her tone shifts slightly, and I catch the edge in her words. She stops walking, turning to face me, and her blue eyes lock onto mine. They’re steely, determined, and , I’m caught off guard.

“I like expanding my horizons,” she says, her voice steady, her gaze unwavering. “And I’m perfectly capable of standing up for myself.”

It’s a statement, a declaration, and I feel the weight of it. For a moment, I wonder if she somehow overheard my conversation with Fela, despite the sonic muffler. But then she giggles, the intensity fading, and she steps closer, wrapping her arms around my waist.

“But I still like it when you take care of me,” she adds, her cheek pressing against my sleeve. Her voice is soft now, teasing, and I feel my heart soften in response.

I pull her closer, my hand resting on the small of her back. “Good,” I say, my voice low. “Because I plan to do just that.”

She looks up at me, her eyes warm, and I count myself lucky to have her. Fela’s words still linger in my mind, but for now, I push them aside. Vicki’s here, in my arms, and for the moment, that’s all that matters.

The boutique is a symphony of soft lighting and gleaming surfaces, racks of designer clothing arranged like works of art. Vicki drifts ahead of me, her fingers brushing over fabric, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and nervousness. She stops in front of a dress, her breath catching as she reaches out to touch the lace. I don’t need to see her face to know she’s transfixed.

“Do you want it?” I ask, stepping up behind her.

She flinches, pulling her hand back as if she’s been caught doing something wrong. “No,” she says quickly, her cheeks flushing that perfect shade of pink I’ve come to adore. “I could never wear a dress like that.”

“Why not?” I tilt my head, studying her. Her body language screams desire, but her words are all hesitation.

“It’s just… not for me,” she mumbles, avoiding my gaze.

I step closer, my voice softening. “Explain.”

She sighs, her shoulders slumping. “Rocky, that dress is for some gorgeous actress accepting an Oscar, not for some hick from the Midwest. Can you even imagine me in that thing?”

“Yes,” I say without missing a beat. “I am imagining how gorgeous you would look.”

Her eyes flick up to mine, and for a moment, she’s speechless. The flush on her cheeks deepens, but there’s a spark of something else there—pleasure, maybe even hope. Still, she hesitates.

“Come on, Rocky,” she says, using my human name since we’re in public. “The sides of the dress are see-through . I wouldn’t be able to wear underwear.”

I shrug, keeping my tone casual. “I fail to see the problem. Try on the dress, Sweet One.”

She’s biting her lower lip, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. The air between us hums with tension, and I can tell the command has done its work. She’s aroused, conflicted, and I wait.

“Yes, Sir,” she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. She takes the dress from the rack and heads toward the changing booth.

I take a seat on a nearby velvet bench, my arms resting on my knees, my eyes fixed on the door. When she steps out a few minutes later, I’m on my feet before I even realize I’ve moved.

The dress clings to her curves like it was made for her, the black lace and satin a striking contrast against her fair skin. The semi-transparent sides reveal just enough to be tantalizing, and the way she carries herself—shy but defiant—makes my pulse quicken.

“Victoria,” I say, my voice low, “you look like a nebula.”

Her brow furrows, and she glances down at herself. “A nebula?”

I step closer, my hand brushing her shoulder. “Yes. Glowing, ethereal, and impossible to look away from. You’re starlight caught in fabric.”

She blinks up at me, her lips curving into a hesitant smile. “You’re just saying that.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” I reply firmly. “You’re breathtaking.”

Her smile widens, and for a moment, she looks like she might argue. But then she steps closer, her fingers brushing mine. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” I say, my voice steady. “You’re not some hick from the Midwest, Vicki. You’re my jalshagar. And in this dress, you’re unstoppable.”

She leans into me, her head resting against my chest. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“For what?”

“For seeing me,” she says quietly. “Really seeing me.”

I wrap my arms around her, holding her close. “Always, Sweetness.”