Page 18 of Rok’s Captive (Barbarians of the Dust #1)

VIOLENCE: NOT THE BEST COMMUNICATION STRATEGY

JUSTINE

I t happens so fast I can barely process it.

One moment, I’m watching Rok crouch defensively, his golden eyes fixed on my translator earpiece, his body coiled like a spring about to release.

The next, there’s a blur of movement—so quick I can’t even track it—and then his clawed hand is at my ear, a sharp pain flares across my skin, and he’s leaping back with my earpiece clutched between his fingers.

“NO!” I scream, lunging forward. My hands wrap around his forearm, but it’s like hugging the branch of a tree. He doesn’t even seem to notice my grip, my strength completely negligible against his.

With one swift, savage motion, he slams the earpiece down and crushes it with a rock. I would laugh at the pun if a scream didn’t lodge itself in my throat instead. Over and over he slams the rock down until only fragments remain—bits of crystal, twisted metal, and tiny components I can’t even identify.

The world stops.

I stare at the destroyed remains of the translator as they fall like dust from the stone.

My last connection to understanding. My only chance of communication. Gone.

The sound that escapes my throat doesn’t even sound human—it’s raw, primal, a keening wail of loss and fury and disbelief.

“What have you done?” My voice rises, breaking. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

Rok stands motionless, watching me with those unreadable alien eyes, his posture still tense but no longer poised to attack. His claws are still visible, though, and the set of his jaw is still tight.

“You had no right!” I scream, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “No right! That was mine ! Do you have any idea what you just destroyed? Any idea at all?”

He tilts his head slightly, and the gesture—that same goddamn head tilt he’s done since we met, like I’m some curious specimen he’s trying to catalog—only enrages me further.

“Stop looking at me like that!” I shout, taking a step toward him. “Like you’re so superior, like you know what’s best for me! You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know where I’m from, what I need, who I am!”

My emotions are a hurricane, tearing through me with such force I can barely stay upright. I’m shaking, my whole body trembling with a cocktail of rage, helplessness, and a soul-deep despair that threatens to drown me.

“That was my only chance to understand you!” I yell, gesturing at the destroyed earpiece. “My only chance to tell you what I need, to ask for help finding my people! And you just…crushed it! Like it was nothing!”

Rok remains still, his expression unreadable. Is he even capable of regret? Of understanding what he’s done? Or am I just a pet to him, some strange creature to be managed and controlled?

“You primitive, controlling, arrogant alien!” My voice breaks on the last word, and I hate it—hate the weakness, hate the tears that are now threatening to stream down my face, hate how utterly, completely powerless I feel.

My only hope. Crushed by a fist that could just as easily crush me.

“I don’t even know why I’m screaming at you,” I say, my voice dropping to a bitter, choked whisper. “You can’t understand a word I’m saying, can you? And I can’t understand you. You made sure of that.”

I turn away from him, unable to bear the weight of his gaze anymore. My eyes fall on the remains of the translator, scattered like stardust across the stone floor. With trembling fingers, I kneel and begin to gather the pieces, though I know it’s futile. The technology is far beyond anything we have on Earth—I couldn’t repair it even if I had all the tools and knowledge in the world.

But I can’t just leave it there, these fragments of my last hope.

“You don’t get it,” I whisper, not looking at him as I collect the tiny pieces. “I’m lost. I’m stranded on an alien planet with no way to contact my people, no way to get home. That translator was my only link to understanding anything about this place. About you.”

My hand closes around the last shard, a jagged piece of crystal that cuts into my palm. I barely feel it. The physical pain is nothing compared to the hollowness spreading through my chest.

“I was starting to trust you,” I whisper, still not turning to face him. “I thought…I don’t know what I thought. That maybe we could figure this out together. That maybe you weren’t just some mindless brute who found me in the desert.”

I stand slowly, the pieces of the translator clutched in my hand, blood from the cut mixing with the broken technology. When I finally turn to look at him again, my anger has crystallized into something colder, more bitter.

“I was wrong,” I say flatly. “You’re just like every other man I’ve ever met. Thinking you know best. Thinking you have the right to control everything. Making decisions for me without even asking what I want.”

I know he can’t understand the words. But he understands the tone—I can see it in the way his posture shifts, in the subtle movement at his throat, the clenching of his jaw.

“I survived before I met you,” I tell him, raising my chin. “I survived the crash, the desert, the heat. I can survive without you, too.”

But even as I say it, a small, traitorous voice in the back of my mind whispers: Can you, really?

Can I really survive alone in this desert, with no water, no shelter, no protection against those shadow creatures? Without Rok, who fought them all to save me? Who carried me for miles, covering ground I couldn’t possibly cover on my own? Who’s treated my wounds and shared his water and shelter?

The thought sends a cold ripple of fear through me, momentarily dampening the heat of my anger. But I push it aside. I can’t afford to think like that right now. Can’t afford to acknowledge how much I’ve come to rely on this alien in such a short time.

“Just…stay away from me,” I say, the fight suddenly draining out of me. I’m exhausted and I feel like a headache is coming on. Probably more heat exhaustion. “I need to think.”

I move to the far side of the cave, as far from him as I can get while still remaining in the shelter’s relative safety. My back against the cool stone wall, I slide down until I’m sitting, knees drawn up to my chest, the broken translator still clutched in my hand.

Rok makes no move to follow me. He remains where he is, watching me with those unnervingly perceptive eyes, his face a mask I can’t read.

The silence between us stretches. I close my eyes, too drained to maintain the glaring contest, and let my head fall back against the stone.

My head is starting to pound.

What now? What the hell am I supposed to do now?

We’re back to square one, but somehow it feels worse than before. Before, I had nothing, knew nothing—there was no loss because there was no expectation. Now I’ve had a tantalizing glimpse of communication, only to have it ripped away before it could truly begin.

And the worst part is, I’m still stuck with him. Still dependent on him for survival in this hostile world.

A sob builds in my throat, but I choke it back, unwilling to show any more weakness than I already have. My free hand moves automatically to my ear, feeling the spot where the translator had been. There’s a small cut there, where his claw must have caught my skin when he tore it away, but it’s not deep. Just another minor injury in a catalog that’s growing longer by the hour.

I become aware of movement and open my eyes to see Rok approaching, his steps slow, as if trying not to startle me. In his hand, he holds one of those bitter leaves, its orange-blue hue vibrant even in the cave’s subdued light.

My first instinct is to lash out, to tell him to get away from me, but I’m too tired. Too defeated. And my headache is fully on now. I just want to lie down.

I watch as he crouches beside me, his massive form somehow managing to look less threatening despite his proximity.

He extends the leaf toward me, his golden eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes me actually feel…regretful for my outburst. There’s something in that gaze—not an apology, exactly, but…a plea? A request for understanding? Or am I just projecting again? Like that time under the sand when I thought he spoke to me?

“I don’t want your stupid plant,” I mutter, looking away. “I want my translator back.”

But he persists, gently pressing the leaf into my hand—the one still clutching the broken pieces of technology. When I reflexively close my fingers around it, the sharp edges of the translator fragments dig deeper into my palm, and I wince.

Rok notices immediately. His hand moves to mine, carefully uncurling my fingers to reveal the bloodied mess of my palm—cut not just from the crystal shard but from how tightly I’ve been gripping the broken pieces.

Before I can pull away, he takes my hand in his, his touch surprisingly gentle for a creature with such strength. With his other hand, he begins removing the translator fragments, setting them aside one by one until my palm is empty except for the blood welling from the cuts.

I watch, too stunned by the gentleness of his actions to resist, as he crushes the fire bloom leaf between his fingers, then applies the resulting paste to my injured palm. The liquid stings at first, then numbs, just as it did when he used it on my arms earlier.

“Why?” I ask softly, not pulling my hand away. “Why help me if you won’t let me understand you?”

He doesn’t answer, of course. But his eyes never leave mine as he finishes treating my palm, his thumb brushing once, lightly, across my wrist before he finally releases me.

The gesture is so unexpectedly tender that it breaks something in me—some final barrier holding back the flood of emotions I’ve been trying to contain since I first woke up on this fucking batshit planet.

“I’m scared, Rok,” I whisper, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. “I’m so fucking scared. I don’t know where I am, or how to get home, or if I’ll ever see my sister again. I don’t know what’s happening or why, and now I can’t even ask you about any of it.”

Tears flow freely now, streaming down my face without restraint. I don’t bother trying to wipe them away.

Rok makes a sudden, alarmed sound—something between a hiss and a growl—and before I can react, he’s kneeling in front of me, his large hands gripping my shoulders. His eyes, wide with concern, fix on the moisture tracking down my cheeks.

With a gentleness that seems impossible for hands so powerful, he reaches up, trying to push my tears back into my eyes with the pads of his thumbs. The gesture is so unexpected, so bizarrely tender in its misunderstanding, that for a moment I just stare at him.

He makes another distressed sound when more tears immediately replace the ones he’s wiped away, his movements becoming more urgent, as if he thinks I’m literally leaking vital fluid.

Despite everything, a choked laugh escapes me. “I guess you don’t cry, huh?” I say through my tears. “This is normal for me. Just like being able to communicate with others around me was normal.”

My voice breaks again, and fresh tears well up. Rok’s distress visibly increases. He pulls me against his chest, cradling me as if I’m made of glass, still trying desperately to stem the flow of my tears as if he thinks I’m melting. I can feel his heart pounding against his chest, almost as if he’s panicking inside.

“Stop,” I whisper, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Rok, it’s okay. I’m not dying. This is just…how humans express sadness. Pain.”

He’s still trying to wipe my eyes. Still trying to push the tears back, a wild look in his gaze. One very different from the look he had when he fought those shadow creatures. Very different from the one he had when he took the translator and smashed it.

“Oh, Rok.” I reach up and grip his hand, squeezing it gently as I lean forward and press my forehead against his. That’s the only thing that makes him stop. Golden eyes just inches from my own, I try to tell him through my eyes that I’m okay. Just…well…sad.

I’m sad.

“Jus-teen,” he says softly, and our gazes lock.

“Rok,” I whisper. This close, the bronze flecks in his eyes look like art. Like looking at a painting of the stars in gold.

“I’m trying so hard to be strong,” I whisper. “But the truth is…I need you. I hate that I need you, but I do. You’re literally all I have in this entire world right now, and I don’t even know if I can trust you.”

My voice breaks on the last word, and I close my eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze as I fall apart. It’s all too much—the fear, the confusion, the loss, the pain, the sheer overwhelming alienness of everything around me. I’ve been running on adrenaline and determination for so long, and now, with this final blow, I have nothing left.

I’ve completely forgotten that Rok can’t understand a word I’m saying. At this moment, I’m not talking to him, anyway. I’m talking to myself, to the universe, to whatever twisted cosmic joke has landed me in this situation.

And then, impossibly, I hear it—not with my ears, but somehow within my mind itself:

“ I am…sorry. ”

My eyes fly open. With tear-blurred vision, I search his face. His lips haven’t moved. There’s no way he could have spoken those words. And yet, I heard them as clearly as if he’d whispered them aloud.

I let out a shaky laugh, wiping at my tears. “And now I’m hallucinating again. Like the time I thought I heard you speaking to me. When I was trapped in the sand.”

But there’s something in his eyes, something deep, something unspoken, that makes me wonder if I imagined it after all.

For the first time, I feel like I’m really seeing him—not as an alien, not as a savior or a threat, but as a being with thoughts and feelings as complex as my own.

And…I understand something: we may never share words, but that doesn’t mean we can’t communicate.

I don’t know what possesses me to do it. Maybe it’s the pure emotion of the moment, or the vulnerability in his eyes, or just the desperate need to connect with someone—anyone—in this alien world.

Before I can overthink it, I lean forward the few inches separating us and press my lips against his.

Rok goes completely rigid, his entire body freezing as if struck by lightning. His lips are unlike anything I’ve ever felt before—warmer than human lips, with a texture like fine suede but firmer, more unyielding. For a terrible, suspended moment, I’m certain I’ve just made the worst possible mistake, violating some sacred taboo of his species.

Then, slowly, minutely, I feel his tension ease. His lips remain motionless, but the glow beneath his skin erupts into pulsing waves, illuminating the shadows around us with surges of golden light that match the pounding of my heart.

My lips move, my tongue licking at the seam of his lips, the taste of him sending a shiver through me. When Rok opens his mouth, a rumble vibrating in his chest, sudden awareness of what I’ve done comes crashing over me.

I pull away, cheeks no doubt flaming red. I can feel the heat.

What was I thinking? He’s an alien—an actual extraterrestrial being—and I just kissed him as if we’re in some ridiculous sci-fi romance.

I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady myself. “Okay,” I say quietly, desperate to move past the moment. “Okay. I’m still mad at you. I still think you had no right to do what you did. But…I get that you probably thought you were protecting me. From what, I have no idea, but I get that was your intention.”

His forehead remains against mine, but I can’t look at him. The knowledge of that intense stare alone has my cheeks flaming hotter.

“So let’s…try again,” I continue, straightening my spine and forcing him to pull back slightly. “We need to figure out how to communicate without the translator. I need to find my people, and you need to…well, I don’t know what you need. But I’m guessing you don’t want to stay in this cave forever, either.”

I gesture between us, then out toward the cave entrance, trying to convey the concept of leaving, of traveling together. His eyes follow my movements, only to come back to my lips.

“And next time,” I add, my voice firmer now, “before you destroy something of mine, maybe try asking first? I know you can’t exactly say ‘Hey, is that device dangerous?’ but there has to be a better way than just…smashing it.”

I mime crushing something in my hand, then shake my head emphatically. His head tilts, but this time the gesture doesn’t infuriate me. It just reminds me how much work we have ahead of us if we’re going to build any kind of understanding.

But maybe that’s not impossible. Maybe we can find a way to communicate that doesn’t rely on technology or shared language. After all, humans managed to communicate across language barriers for thousands of years before the invention of universal translators.

It won’t be easy. Nothing about this situation is easy. But as I look into Rok’s eyes and see the intelligence, the concern, the complexity there, I feel something I thought I’d lost: hope.

“Alright,” I say, sitting up straighter, wiping the last of my tears away with the back of my hand. “Let’s start over. My name is Justine Parker.” I touch my chest, then point to him. “You are Rok.”

Basic. Childish, even. But it’s a beginning.

And right now, that’s all I can ask for.