Page 24 of Rok’s Captive (Barbarians of the Dust #1)

NOT SAFE FOR HUMANS

ROK

S he is entering the mindspace.

I can feel it.

Xiraxis has allowed her in. Ain has allowed her in. I am certain of it.

Her expression tells me I am not wrong.

The way her eyes widened, the sharp gasp of her breath when she heard me—truly heard me—her mind brushing mine for the briefest moment before it disappeared again. The look she gives me now is one of awe, of disbelief, as if something impossible has just happened.

But it is not impossible.

It is her.

It is us.

She stares at me with those strange, water-like eyes—the same ones that had blurred with heat and desire when I tasted her—and I close my own, pressing my forehead to hers, willing my thoughts to reach her again.

“ Speak to me .”

Nothing.

Her mind remains blank to me, a frustrating void, though I hold her there, trembling with the effort. I growl low in my throat, and the sound vibrates between us before I pull back, my chest heaving. Frustration coils tighter within me, and I can feel my claws twitching, needing to release the mounting pressure, aching to sink into something. But not her.

I cannot risk hurting her.

My body, so disciplined, so controlled, is betraying me in ways I cannot comprehend. The glow beneath my skin—once a tool like my eyes, my ears, my hands—now flares beyond my control, responding to her like a storm answering the call of the wind. My dra-kir pounds erratically, my breathing labored, and the heat coursing through my veins feels foreign, invasive.

But the worst part isn’t the confusion. It’s the fear. The fear that this unstoppable pull toward her will consume me entirely. That I will lose myself. And if that happens, I will lose her .

She is so small, so fragile, and the beast clawing at me—this wild, relentless need—does not care for such things. My claws, my strength, my very being could tear her apart, even if all I want is to protect her. The thought of harming her sends a deep, guttural panic through me. I cannot risk it. I cannot risk her. Not like this.

And so I fight.

I stalk away from her, pacing the chamber like a trapped shadowmaw. My claws clench and unclench, my muscles feeling tight, too tight, with the effort it’s taking to maintain control.

She is watching me. I can feel her gaze following my every move.

I cannot look her way.

“Rok!” she says, her voice higher than usual. There’s something in her tone—something between awe and panic—that makes me stop for a moment, my head snapping toward her.

She is vocalizing to me, her words flowing in that strange, lilting melody I do not understand. Softly, urgently. Repeating herself, as if saying it enough times will make the meaning clear.

But it doesn’t.

It doesn’t, and it enrages me.

I hiss low in my throat, and her eyes widen. I hear her breath hitch, but she doesn’t retreat. She doesn’t flinch.

Instead, she steps closer.

Her hand—small, delicate, and trembling—reaches out toward me, brushing against my arm. The contact sends a shockwave through me, a surge of heat that flares in my chest and spreads outward, burning through every nerve.

I jerk back, snarling, but she doesn’t let go.

“Rok,” she says again, her voice softer now, her tone soothing. Her touch lingers, and I stare down at her, my chest heaving, my claws curling into fists at my sides.

I cannot look at her.

I cannot think with her so close.

Taste.

The memory of her taste rises in my mind. Her scent, her heat, the way her body had yielded to my mouth like water yields to the stone—it all crashes over me, overwhelming my senses.

Her slit .

It was nothing like I’d expected it to be. Not a simple pouch for storing a member as I had assumed, but something else entirely. Something soft and sweet and wet . Something made solely for me .

The fire that burned under her skin has transferred to mine, and it is taking everything I have not to pull her to me again. To spread her open and taste her until the fire consumes us both.

I stagger away from her, growling low in my throat as I fight for control. My claws leave deep indents in my palms as I pace, unable to stand still, my body alight with sensations I have never felt before.

I feel as though I am being remade—every bone in my body breaking and reforming, every nerve reawakening to a new and unbearable intensity.

This is why I left.

To keep her safe. From me .

I had fled the chamber, my body screaming in protest with every step I took away from her. But I hadn’t gone far. Couldn’t.

The pain in my chest had flared the moment I crossed the threshold, a sharp and relentless pull that would not let me go farther. I had paced outside the cave, camouflaged and restless, my instincts warring with themselves.

And now, being close to her again is worse.

Much worse.

I feel feral. Dangerous.

Every shadow in the chamber feels like a threat. Every sound, every shift in the air sends my claws twitching, my senses heightened to a point that borderlines pain.

And…she notices.

I can see it in the way her eyes follow me, wary but curious. She is vocalizing again, her words soft and insistent, but I cannot focus on them.

I need to move.

I need to do something before I lose myself completely.

The fire under my skin burns hotter with every passing moment, every breath that fills my lungs with her scent. The glow beneath my skin pulses faster than my dra-kir , brighter than it should be.

Something is happening to me—something I don’t understand—and before it consumes me completely, I need to take her to safety. To my clan. Despite what I thought before, about the danger, I have to take her there. Kol will know what to do. My brothers will protect her if I…

If I lose control.

I clench my fists at the thought, my claws digging into my palms as I pace some more. My body demands that I stay close, but my mind knows better. I can’t trust myself. Not now.

Jus-teen suddenly grasps my hand again.

I hiss sharply, but again, she doesn’t let go.

Her touch is fire. Pure, searing fire that spreads through my veins, making my muscles tighten and my vision blur.

“Rok,” she breathes. Her voice trembles, but it is insistent.

Her lips move again, shaping sounds I don’t understand, but the tone—the tone is clear. She’s pleading with me. For what, I don’t know, but the desperation in her voice cuts through the haze clouding my mind.

My gaze drops to her hand, small and fragile against mine, and something inside me snaps.

I can’t resist her.

I can’t resist the sight of her, all soft curves and bare skin, her body still flushed from sleep—or from the fire that now burns inside me. This is why she wore those hideous hides. The sight of her bare flesh is undoing me.

With a single, sharp motion, I pull her to me, catching her around the hips and pulling her against my chest. She gasps, her hands flying up to my shoulders, her breath hitching as my claws curl possessively against her back.

Her scent surrounds me, intoxicating and maddening, and I lower my head to press my forehead to hers.

Speak to her.

I close my eyes, concentrating with everything I have, willing the words to form in the mindspace.

“ We must go. It is not safe here.”

Her breath catches, her lips parting slightly, and I know she understands.

But she doesn’t agree.

Her hands tighten on my shoulders, and she speaks again, her voice low and urgent. Her forehead presses against mine, an unspoken gesture of connection, of effort, as if she’s trying to push her thoughts into my mind.

Nothing.

The silence in the mindspace is deafening, and frustration surges through me like a storm.

I growl low in my throat, pulling back sharply, and her gaze locks on mine. There’s water in her eyes now, glistening like tiny stars, and the sight of it sends a jolt of alarm through me.

She cannot leak again. I will not allow it. I must fix this.

“Jus-teen,” I growl. She blinks rapidly, the water pooling in her eyes spilling over her cheeks.

Her voice softens, trembling, and she nods slowly, as if accepting something. Then she wriggles, forcing me to set her down though I do not want to, and turns toward her hide coverings.

I watch her as she moves, my body tense, my claws twitching at my sides.

Her clothes are still damp, clinging to her fingers as she pulls them on one piece at a time. My gaze follows every movement. The curve of her back, the line of her legs, the way her hair falls over her shoulders.

Hunger coils in my chest as if I have not just consumed something, and I clench my fists, forcing myself to look away.

But I can’t.

Her scent fills the chamber, her every movement drawing my attention like a shadowmaw tracking prey. Every sound, every shift in the air sharpens to a painful degree.

Her eyes flick to me as she dresses, as if she knows something inside me is unraveling. She doesn’t vocalize, but the way she watches me—alert, cautious—makes it clear she senses the change.

I can’t stay still.

So, I pace the chamber.

She finishes dressing, pulling on her strange foot coverings before turning back to me.

Her gaze is steady, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, we simply stare at each other, the tension between us thick and suffocating.

Then she crouches.

I stop pacing, my head tilting as I watch her. She picks up the sandfin bone, using it to carve into the dust at her feet.

“This is me,” she says, pointing to the figure she draws, then to herself. “Justine.”

I nod, giving her the chin jerk she recognizes as understanding.

She draws another figure, larger and broader, and points to me.

My chest tightens.

She’s trying to communicate.

I crouch beside her, studying the marks in the dust as she continues to draw.

The next shape is a stone formation. Familiar.

The place where I found her.

She points to it, then to herself, then to other figures she draws—many grouped together.

I lean forward, touching my brow to hers. With a breath, I close my eyes. “ My clan .”

“No.” She shakes her head, her hair tousling on her shoulders. “Not your clan.” She points at the figures again. “Not Rok’s.” Shaking her head again. “ Mine .” She touches her chest. “ Justine’s clan.”

Her words flow again, faster now, her tone rising with urgency.

My brow furrows, trying to piece it together. She repeats the motion—pointing to the stone formation, then to herself, then to the others. She vocalizes the same sounds over and over, pointing at each figure.

I tilt my head, my brow furrowing.

She draws something else—a new shape, a circle with radiating lines.

Ain.

My chest tightens.

Justine gestures toward Ain, then picks up a small stone from the ground. She holds it high, above the figures, and then lets it fall, the rock landing in the dust with a soft thud.

My glow flares brighter, but she doesn’t notice. She’s already moving, drawing more figures around the fallen stone. Tiny, crude shapes that surround it like a gathering.

She points to the stone formation again, then back to the figures, vocalizing softly, her tone urgent and pleading.

My claws curl into the stone floor as I try to make sense of her meaning.

The stone. The figures. Ain.

She pauses, glancing at me with wide, expectant eyes, as though willing me to understand. But I don’t.

Her lips press together in what looks like frustration. She draws more figures, pointing to them as she speaks, her voice trembling with emotion. The same vocalizations again. Over and over.

“Jah-kee. Mih-kay-la. Eh-rihka.”

Then it clicks. She names them. She names them.

The sound of her voice, the way her hands move, the desperation in her tone—it all clicks into place. As she draws two more lines—one leading from her figure to the fallen stone, the other from my figure to the same point, I understand.

There are more of her.

And she wants to go back for them.

Her people.

Daughters of Ain.

The realization hits me like a blow, and my chest heaves with the weight of it.

She is not alone. Was not alone. She wants to return to the place where I found her, near the Silent Valley, where danger lingers.

She wants to go back.

And I have no choice but to take her.