Page 94 of Rok's Captive
When I finally give up and roll over, I find him watching me, his eyes reflecting the dim glow from the stones that are still burning. How? Alien magic, maybe.
He doesn’t look away when I catch him staring. If anything, his gaze intensifies, his lips parting slightly to reveal those sharp teeth in what’s his version of a smile.
Bastard.
It should be terrifying—those fangs, those predatory eyes—but somehow it just looks…rakish. Almost charming, in a dangerous, alien sort of way.
I notice something else, too. His skin, which has always emitted that warm, golden glow, is now completely dark. Not the star-filled darkness from earlier, just…normal. Like human skin, but with that strange amber-gold tone.
Is this new? Another change along with his newly acquired anatomy? Or is this how he’s always been? Able to control his luminosity at will.
There’s so much I don’t know about him. So much I can’t ask without pressing my forehead to his and entering that strange mental space where our thoughts intermingle.
I’m not ready for that. Not yet. Not with the memory of his transformation still so fresh, and certainly not with the current state of his…lower half.
I mean, where did it even come from? There’s no way he hid that thing in some lower cavity I didn’t notice. It’s just…too big!
After another hour of pretending to sleep while secretly watching him watch me, I give up and sit up.
“I need some water,” I announce to the darkness, not sure if he understands the words but needing to say something to break the silence.
I make my way to the pool, grateful for the cool, clear water that seems perpetually fresh, as if being constantly replenished from some underground source. I cup my hands and drink deeply, knowing how precious this liquid will be once we’re back in the desert tomorrow.
“Drink it all, Justine,” I mutter to myself. “Who knows when you’ll see water again once we’re out in the sand with only Bitch Sun for company.”
The thought of tomorrow’s journey makes my stomach clench with anxiety. Not just the physical challenges—the heat, the terrain, the dangers Rok warned me about—but the fact that I’ll be doing it with only half my pants.
“A miniskirt,” I say with a disbelieving laugh. “I’m going to trek across an alien desert in a makeshift miniskirt and heels. Because apparently, that’s where my life choices have led me.”
Still, it was worth it. The alternative—Rok walking around with his new appendage swinging free—was simply not an option. Not if I wanted to maintain any semblance of focus or dignity.
And yet, despite my best efforts, my mind keeps returning to the image of it. To him. To how that perfect, thick head would feel?—
“Nope,” I say aloud, splashing water on my face to cool my suddenly burning cheeks. “Not going there. Not thinking about alien anatomy. Absolutely not.”
Except…it wasn’t truly alien, was it? At least, not in the way I would have expected. It looked surprisingly…uh…attractive, if exceptionally well-proportioned. Almost as if designed specifically to appeal to human—tomy—preferences.
Did this planet just custom-order a dick for me? What kind of five-star resort bullshit is this?
“Right,” I snort softly. “Because the universe conspired to create the perfect alien penis just for me. That makes total sense.”
The absurdity of it all hits me suddenly, and I have to stifle a hysterical laugh. Here I am, on God knows which planet, hiding in a cave with a golden-skinned, occasionally glowing alien, concerned about his newly manifested genitalia while we prepare to trek across a desert to find my sister and the others.
If I woke up tomorrow and discovered this had all been some elaborate fever dream while I was passed out on that bus, I’d be…relieved?
No. That’s not quite right. Confused, certainly. Bewildered, absolutely. But also, strangely…disappointed?
“You’re losing it, Justine,” I mutter, pushing myself up from the pool’s edge. “Complete mental breakdown imminent.”
I turn to head back to my designated sleeping area, but my eyes catch on Rok again. He’s sitting by the fire, his body angled so that the makeshift covering does little to hide the still-prominent outline beneath. How is he still…like that? Doesn’t he get uncomfortable?
Obviously, he could just…take care of it. I mean, I’m not a prude. Everyone does it. I certainly wouldn’t judge him for needing some relief after whatever transformation he went through.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he’s focused intently on something in his hands—a small, round object that looks vaguely like a miniature pumpkin. He’s using one of those sharp bone tools to carve into it, his movements precise and delicate despite his massive claws.
I’m so distracted by the unexpected sight that I don’t immediately notice when his attention shifts from his project to me. But when I do, the intensity of his gaze makes my breath catch.
Heat creeps up my neck and into my cheeks, and I look away quickly, suddenly very interested in a random spot on the cave wall.
