Page 23 of Rok’s Captive (Barbarians of the Dust #1)

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

JUSTINE

T he 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?”