Page 96 of Rok's Captive
And what the hell was that? That dream. I’m convinced this planet wants me to fuck him. What else could it be?
It’s slowly driving me crazy. Like a hum under my skin. A literal itch only he can scratch.
Fuck.
I push myself up, running a hand through my hair, trying to gather my composure. I don’t have anything to take with me on the journey to Rok’s people. My handbag was useless anyway and there was nothing in it except for those two biscuits. I have nothing. And going out into a killer desert with nothing in hand sounds like suicide.
All I have is Rok.
As I move around the cave, preparing for our journey (by basically drinking as much water as my belly can hold and tying up my hair so it’s not hanging on my neck), I’m acutely aware of Rok’s gaze following me. There’s something different about him this morning—a new focus, a clarity in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
He seems to have settled, his body appearing normal—well, normal for him—the stars no longer visible beneath his skin. But there’s still a change, a shift in his presence that sends a little shiver down my spine.
When I finally work up the courage to look directly at him, he meets my gaze steadily, unblinking. Then, slowly, he bares his teeth in that not-quite-smile that today manages to be even more charming than the day before.
I narrow my eyes at him. How’s he getting better at that so quickly?
“Ready?” I ask, gesturing toward the cave entrance, hoping he understands the question.
He nods once, then rises to his full height. The makeshift covering around his waist has shifted during the night, and I quickly avert my eyes before I can see whether his…situation…has resolved itself.
Some questions are better left unanswered.
But then I notice him moving toward the pool, a tent still pitched before him and the small pumpkin-like object still in his hands. He crouches at the water’s edge, and I see now it’s not a pumpkin at all, but some kind of gourd. He dips it into the water, filling it completely, then carefully pushes the carved top back in, creating what looks like a surprisingly effective water bottle.
“Smart,” I murmur, impressed despite myself.
But what he does next catches me completely off guard.
With a single motion, Rok reaches up and grasps a few strands of his hair. Before I can process what he’s doing, he gives a sharp tug, pulling several long, gleaming filaments free from his scalp.
“What are you—” My eyes widen in shock.
He ignores my half-formed question, focused intently on his task. With those dexterous claws, he twists the strands around the end of the bone stick he’s been using, securing them like a makeshift handle. Then he threads the bone through a hole in the gourd, creating a carrying strap.
When he’s finished, he rises and approaches me, extending the water vessel with an expectant look.
I stare at it, then at him, understanding slowly dawning. He made this. For me. Spent hours carving it while I slept, and even sacrificed his own hair to make it functional.
“For me?” My voice goes embarrassingly small.
He nods once.
I reach out and take it, my fingers brushing against his in the exchange. “Thank you,” I whisper, hoping he can hear the gratitude in my tone.
The air between us seems to crackle with unspoken tension as we stand barely a foot apart. As I take my new water bottle, his gaze drops to my lips, lingering there with an intensity that makes my face flush hot the moment I notice. My pulse hammers in my throat and I push it back with a swallow.
Is he going to kiss me again? Part of me—a growing, insistent part—hopes so.
He leans forward, and I unconsciously tilt my face up toward his, but instead of capturing my lips, he presses his forehead to mine in that now-familiar gesture.
“Let us go. My clan awaits.” The images are more vivid than before—the two of us crossing the desert, approaching a series of stone structures nestled against a cliff face, beings similar to Rok emerging to greet us.
“Oh. Of course,” I breathe, trying to hide my embarrassment at where my thoughts had wandered. “Right. Going. To your clan. Got it.”
I step back, clutching the gourd to my chest like it’s some precious artifact rather than a practical tool. My heart is still racing, and I’m painfully aware of the blush staining my cheeks.
This is ridiculous. I’m behaving like a teenager with her first crush, not a grown woman who should be desperate to get back to her sister and off this dusty rock!
