Page 7 of Deserted

“You stepped through something not meant for you,” he said, his tone flat but his eyes intense. “Now you are here. And until the storm passes, you remain.”

I hated how his voice affected me—low, gritty, and just this side of sinful. I also hated how those ridiculous shoulders filled the doorway like a walking wall of temptation. He was close enough now that I could see the texture of his skin, the subtle variations in the copper tones, the way his markings seemed to shift with his breathing.

“You could at least tell me your name, Fuzzy McGrowls,” I said, falling back on sarcasm as my default defense mechanism.

That earned me a raised eyebrow—a strangely human expression on his alien features. The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely, and I felt an absurd sense of victory at having provoked even that tiny reaction.

But still no name. Still no real answers.

Fine. I could play the waiting game too. For now.

I moved away from the wall, trying to ignore the way my legs trembled, and sat on the edge of the low cot that occupied one corner of the room. I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly aware that I was wearing different clothes than I remembered—a simple gray jumpsuit-like garment that wasn’t mine.

“You might’ve kidnapped me, but at least you have great lighting and sexy bone structure,” I said, letting my gaze travel deliberately over his face, his chest, his arms.

Another blink. Still nothing.

I sighed dramatically. “Look, I get it. Strong, silent type. Very sexy. Very intimidating. But I’m going to need some answers eventually. Like, where exactly am I? What planet? What system? How did I get here? How do I get home? You know, the basics.”

He remained motionless for a long moment, then turned and walked to what appeared to be a storage unit built into the wall. He opened it, removed something, and returned to stand before me. He held out a container that looked vaguely like a water bottle, only made of some material I didn’t recognize.

“Drink,” he ordered.

I hesitated, eying the container suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Water. Electrolytes.” He pushed it closer to me. “You need hydration.”

I took it cautiously, unscrewing the cap and sniffing the contents. It smelled like nothing, which was either a good sign or a very bad one. My thirst won out over caution. I took a small sip, then a larger one when the cool liquid hit my parched throat. It tasted vaguely sweet, almost like coconut water but cleaner, and instantly made me feel more alert.

“Thanks,” I said grudgingly after I’d drained half the bottle.

He nodded once, then moved to a small console near the door. He tapped something on a screen, and suddenly one of theblank walls lit up with what looked like a weather map—swirling patterns of orange and red moving across a digital landscape.

“The storm,” he said, gesturing toward the display. “Sixteen hours remaining. Minimum.”

I stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the data. “Sixteen hours until... what? Until I can leave? Until someone comes to get me? Until you finally explain what the hell is going on?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Until communication is possible. Until extraction can be arranged.”

“Extraction?” That didn’t sound promising. “Am I a tooth now? A resource to be mined? Or just an inconvenient human who landed where she shouldn’t have?”

A low sound rumbled from his chest—not quite a growl, not quite a sigh. “You are an anomaly. Unauthorized presence in a quarantine zone. Protocol dictates?—”

“Oh my god, you actually do talk,” I interrupted, leaning forward. “Complete sentences and everything. Let’s try this again: Who are you? What’s your name? Where am I? And why do you look like you walked straight out of a sci-fi convention’s wet dream?”

He crossed his arms again, muscles flexing in a way that momentarily distracted me. “Rhaekar Onca. Legion Reaper. You are on D-7, colloquially known as The Burn. Restricted access. Level One quarantine.”

Rhaekar. The name struck a chord somewhere deep in my subconscious, like I’d heard it before. Maybe in my dreams during unconsciousness? And “The Burn”—well, that seemed appropriately ominous for a planet with twin suns and lethal temperatures.

“Legion Reaper,” I repeated. “That sounds...friendly. Very warm and fuzzy. Definitely not terrifying at all.”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in those golden eyes. “It is not meant to be...friendly.”

“No kidding.” I finished the water and set the container aside. “Look, Rhaekar—can I call you Rhae? No? Okay, Rhaekar it is. I didn’t exactly plan this little interplanetary vacation. One minute I was in the Sahara, following a lead for my podcast. The next minute I’m touching some weird alien tech and falling through what I’m guessing was a portal or wormhole or whatever you want to call it. And then I’m waking up here with you looming over me like some kind of sexy grim reaper. Cut me some slack.”

“Slack,” he repeated, as if testing the word. Then, to my surprise, his posture relaxed slightly. “You were dying when I found you. Heat exposure. Radiation. Dehydration.”

I blinked, processing this. “You...saved me?”

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