Page 68 of Rok's Captive
No answer, of course. Not that I expected one.
I try opening my eyes again, this time more gradually, squinting through my lashes. We’re moving—Rok carrying me in his arms—but not quickly. Not with his usual efficient stride that eats up the desert terrain. He’s being…cautious. That’s the only way I can describe it. Tense. Cautious. Slinking along what looks like the shadow of the massive stone formation, his back pressed against the rock face.
And then I notice something extraordinary: his skin, which normally glows with that unearthly golden light, has changed. It’s taken on the exact color and texture of the stone behind him—a perfect camouflage that would make him nearly invisible to anyone not being carried in his arms.
Despite my throbbing head, I can’t help but stare. How many other abilities has he been hiding? What else can he do?
The thought ‘full of surprises’ has barely formed in my mind when he glances down, meets my gaze, and his hand clamps over my mouth—firmly but not painfully. I’ve been here before. The gesture is clear: be silent.
My eyes widen, adrenaline instantly cutting through the fog of pain. My body tenses, every sense suddenly on high alert despite my pounding head. I scan the landscape, searching for whatever threat has triggered his response.
Nothing. Just rock and sand and the vast, empty desert stretching toward the horizon.
I look up at Rok, a question in my eyes, and what I see sends a chill through me. His expression is tight, focused, deadly—the same look he wore when facing down those shadow creatures. His nostrils flare slightly, scenting the air, and his eyes never stop moving, tracking…something.
And then I hear it. Not with my ears, but inside my head, clear as crystal. Clearer than ever before:
“Danger.”
His lips haven’t moved. Not a single sound has escaped him. But Iheardit—feltit rather—it’s weird…hard to describe.
Or maybe it’s just my instincts kicking in. My subconscious?
Danger. But where?
I want to ask. Want to ask what kind, how many—but I know better than to make a sound. If it’s more of those shadow creatures, we’re in serious trouble. Rok is still injured from our last encounter, and I’m…well, I’m a liability at best. I can barely lift my head without wincing, let alone run or fight.
Rok continues his slow backward creep, pressing us deeper into the shadow of the rock formation. His muscles are coiled tight, ready to spring, but there’s something else in his posture—something I haven’t seen before. Uncertainty? Fear? No, not quite fear, but…caution. Extreme caution.
Suddenly he crouches, pulling me tight against his chest as he turns me to the stone and goes completely still. Not just still—frozen, like he’s become part of the stone itself. And he’s blocking me. Hiding me with his body since I have no camouflage of my own.
His breathing slows to almost nothing, and the camouflage effect intensifies until I can barely distinguish where his skin ends and the rock begins.
I’m curled awkwardly in his arms, my face pressed against his shoulder, but I manage to twist just enough to peer under his arm at whatever has him so alarmed.
At first, I see nothing. Just a ridge of stone maybe a hundred feet away, its surface rippling with heat waves in the desert sun.
I think maybe I’m looking in the wrong direction, but I have no choice, so I keep staring, hoping that whatever’s got Rok so tense will leave. For minutes, he holds me like that, barely breathing when suddenly, there’s movement.
A figure vaults atop the ridge with fluid grace, landing in a half-crouch before straightening to its full height.
My breath catches in my throat.
It’s…like Rok. But not Rok, obviously. Male, tall, powerfully built, with the same general physiology—the elongated limbs, the distinctive facial structure, the claws. But where Rok’s coloring is golden, this one’s skin is a deeper, darker bronze. His hair is shorter, too, a shade closer to copper than gold.
Staring at this newcomer, I’m struck by a sudden, uncomfortable realization: Rok is terrifying. Or he should be. He’s massive, powerful, decidedly non-human, with claws that could disembowel me without effort and strength that makes my own feel laughably insignificant. Yet somehow, I’ve…never seen him that way. Not even at the start. Somewhere between him saving me from the sand and me kissing him in the cave, he stopped being “alien” and started being just…Rok.
But this one—this stranger staring out across the desert with chilling intensity—he radiates danger in a way that makes my instincts scream. There’s nothing I can point to specifically, nothing I can articulate, but something about him feels…wrong. Hostile. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and my heart hammers against my ribs with such force I’m certain it must be audible.
Is this another member of Rok’s tribe? His clan? I don’t think so. Not with the way Rok is hiding from him, concealing both of us in the shadow of the rock, his body positioned to shield me completely.
The stranger moves along the ridge, his movements fluid and powerful, scanning the terrain. Like Rok, he is silent and I think he is alone when another of his kind launches themselves up on the rock, too. This newcomer is just as large. Just as powerful.
They’re not alone. From my limited vantage point, I can make out at least another moving on the far side of the ridge—similar in build and coloring, all with the same predatory alertness. Hunting. They’re hunting something.
Or someone.
I stare at the first alien, unable to look away despite the fear coiling in my gut. And then, as if he can feel my gaze—feel mythoughts—his head snaps in our direction.
