Page 32 of Rok's Captive
He makes another sound, this one weaker than before, and something tugs at me. Something unfamiliar. A need to…help? Why would I help this creature? Why would I risk myself for a male that does not belong to our lands?
And yet…
I reach out, my hand hovering just above his face. Heat rises from his skin like the air above the dunes when Ain is at her highest. The warmth does not bother me, but then I recall how this male stumbled through the sands, obviously burdened by Ain’s rage.
Before I can think twice, I touch his brow.
The rush of information is immediate, more intense than before. Temperature—far too high, even for a dust-dweller. Texture—so much softer than Drakav skin, with none of the protective layers we possess. Chemical composition—water, yes, salt…but also unfamiliar elements that sing across my senses in strange patterns.
And something else. Something that makes me want to press my palm flat against his skin, to maintain this connection that hums with an energy I have never felt before.
I jerk back, a wave of…something…going through me. What is this? Why does the touch of this male affect me? I have touched many injured Drakav before—my brothers, my tribe mates—and felt nothing like this strange pull.
The male twitches in his sleep, a small whimper escaping his lips. The sound burrows into me, touching some part I did not know existed.
I flex my fingers before lowering myself again, this time pressing my palm flat against his brow. My skin glows brighter without my conscious command, responding to…what? Threat? Danger? No. Something else entirely.
The flood of sensation is stronger this time. The heat beneath my hand is alarming—hotter than the sands at Ain’s highest point, hotter than the stone after a full day beneath Ain’s brutal gaze.
Even our sacred sun does not burn with such intensity.
This creature—this male—is burning from within. The heat is unnatural—a wildfire burning beneath fragile skin. My kind does not suffer such betrayals of the body. We endure. We survive. We do not burn from within.
Fire, when uncontrolled, devours itself.
The male shivers, tremors rattling through his frame, and a sound leaves his lips—soft, needy. Not like any sound I have heard any Drakav make before. My chest tightens. It is the sound of a creature on the brink, the final plea before the void swallows it whole.
My claws extend. Fists clench. I should leave this male to his fate. The weak perish, the strong endure. That is law.
And yet.
I swallow, scowling at the clawing feeling inside me, the way my own body rebels against reason.
This male… He is notcompletelyweak. He survived the dust long before I found him. If I leave him, it will not be because he lacks the will to live—but because I denied him the chance.
A growl rumbles in my chest. Unacceptable.
Water. He needs water to kill the fire. I have none to give. I had already consumed every drop I needed before leaving the tribe.
But…
There is one place. Deep within the cavern network, beyond the tunnels I call safe, there lies an underground spring. But the cave does not belong to us alone.
My jaw tenses. I do not hesitate often. I do not doubt. But this?—
The male gasps, a fragile, broken sound. I do not allow myself another moment of thought.
I rise. And I run.
* * *
It takesme a short time to get there. A few moments out in the open sands before the caverns swallow me whole once more, darkness pressing against my senses as I navigate by memory and scent. The air thickens, damp with the promise of water, but so too does the scent of something else. Something old. Something that does not belong to us.
I bare my fangs. I have no time for a fight. Moving swiftly, silent like the dark winds, I trace the scent of the underground spring. When the first glimmer of water comes into view, I don’t pause. I search the cave floor, finding what I need—a broad, thick leaf from the rare plants that grow only near the sacred waters. Their waxy surface holds water better than any hide.
I fold the leaf with care, creating a natural vessel. The leaves themselves are sacred—they grow nowhere else in the deep sands, surviving only on the pure waters and the dim light that filters through cracks in the cavern ceiling. This is to save a life. Ain will not punish me for this.
As I fill the makeshift vessel, I sense movement in the darkness behind me. The scent shifts. A presence.
