Page 118 of Rok's Captive
“I am Justine,” I project as clearly as I can, hoping my thoughts reach him. “I came from beyond the stars with others of my kind. Rok saved my life.”
Something in Kol’s eyes changes. Perhaps it’s surprise. Perhaps he thinks I’m lying. He circles me slowly, reminding me how Rok appeared much like a predator assessing potential prey in those first moments when we met. I resist the urge to turn with him, keeping my gaze fixed forward, though every instinct screams to keep the threat in view.
“The daughters of Ain were mighty beings,” Kol thinks, his mental voice dripping with skepticism. “Goddesses. This creature is small. Weak. It has no claws, no fangs.” He reaches toward my face with one massive hand. “Its skin is thin, soft?—”
Rok moves faster than I can track, his body suddenly between me and Kol’s outstretched hand. He doesn’t growl or bare his teeth, but his stance is unmistakably defensive.
“She is under my protection,” Rok states, the thought carrying such force that I see several of the surrounding males flinch.
Instead of anger at this challenge, something like curiosity flickers across Kol’s hard features. He withdraws his hand slowly, his gaze moving between Rok and me with fresh interest.
“You have changed, dust-son,” he observes. “Your bearing. Your stance.” His gaze drops pointedly to Rok’s loincloth. “Your covering.”
Several of the clan members shift closer, heads tilting in that now-familiar gesture of curiosity. I realize they’re all noticing what Tharn had pointed out—the physical evidence of Rok’s new anatomy, hidden beneath the crude garment I’d made for him.
“I have changed,” Rok acknowledges simply. “She has changed me.”
The admission sends another wave of mental murmurs through the gathered clan. I catch fragments of their thoughts—disbelief, fascination, jealousy, fear.
“—cannot be female?—”
“—look how he guards it?—”
“—never seen a male cover his pouch?—”
“—what if it is true? What if?—”
“—this strange male has many soft parts.”
A lean Drakav pushes forward suddenly. “Let me see this creature,” he demands, reaching for my arm.
Rok’s response is immediate and terrifying. His body transforms before my eyes—muscles bunching, spine arching, a sound emerging from his throat that seems to vibrate the very air around us. It’s not just a growl; it’s a warning that transcends language, primal and absolute.
The male freezes, then slowly backs away, head lowered in submission.
“Enough,” Kol commands, his mental voice cutting through the tension like a blade. His gaze shifts to Tharn. “What do you think of this creature?—”
“Jus-teen,” Rok corrects, his stance still rigid with protective fury.
Tharn straightens under Kol’s attention, his amber eyes flicking briefly to me before returning to his leader’s face. There’s a moment of hesitation, then his thoughts project clearly through the gathering.
“I trust Rok’s judgment,” he states firmly. “If he says this one is female, then I believe him. Rok has never led the clan astray.”
The declaration seems to carry weight, rippling through the gathered males. I feel Rok’s surprise and appreciation beside me, though his protective stance doesn’t waver.
Kol considers Tharn’s words, his face unreadable. He takes so long to relay his judgment that I start to worry that he will turn me away. Finally, his voice booms in my mind. “Jus-teen,” he pauses, his chin tilting slightly as he looks at me down the bridge of his nose, “will not be harmed or touched without consent.”
For a moment, he simply stares at me, and I wish I could read his mind. Ha. I probably could, I just don’t know how.
“You claim others of your kind are stranded. Where?” he projects.
Relief floods me at this change of subject. “Um, they’re…” And then I realize I have no idea where they are. I don’t know the direction or anything. “Where our ship crashed. We were…separated. We…meant no harm coming here.”
“Ship…” Kol repeats thoughtfully. I feel him turn the thought over. Clearly, he has no idea what a ship is, and I’m not sure I should provide mental images to back up the word. “And how many of these…females…are stranded?”
“My sister,” I project immediately. “And several other women—uh, females. Humans, we call ourselves.”
“Humans,” he echoes. The word comes off with a strange lilt in his thoughts. “We will search for these humans at first light.”
