Page 114 of Rok's Captive
“Rok?” I reach for him, but he moves away, stepping in front of me, his posture shifting to something more aggressive.
“Stay behind me,” he growls in my mind.
I peer around his massive frame, trying to see what’s got him so alarmed. The landscape appears empty—just rock formations and endless sand stretching toward the horizon.
And then I see it. Movement. Just a flicker at first, then a blur of motion so fast I can barely track it—a golden shape launching from a high rock, sailing through the air with impossible speed.
Before I can even cry out, the figure slams into Rok with bone-crushing force, sending them both crashing to the sand in a tangle of limbs and snarls.
“Rok!” I scream, my heart in my throat as I stumble backward.
The two forms roll across the ground, dust flying up around them as they grapple. I catch glimpses of the attacker—golden skin like Rok’s, but darker, more burnished. Broader shoulders. Longer, sharper fangs bared in a snarl.
Another male. One of Rok’s kind, but clearly not friendly.
Panic surges through me. Is it one of the rival clan? Did they track us after all? I have to help him—but how? I have no weapons, no strength that could possibly match these beings.
My hands fumble, but all I’m carrying is my gourd of water. Not much of a weapon, but it’s all I have.
I don’t think. I just act.
Rushing forward, I raise the gourd high and bring it down with all my strength on the attacker’s head. The container splits open with a crack, water splashing over the male’s face and shoulders.
He freezes, shock evident in his suddenly wide eyes. His head swivels toward me, water dripping from his jaw, and a voice—not Rok’s, deeper, rougher—thunders in my mind.
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE DUST?!”
The sheer force of his mental shout makes me stagger back. His amber eyes lock onto mine, rage and confusion warring in their depths.
“Another male? You bring a rival male into our territory, Rok? One whowastes precious water?” The voice in my head is accusing, furious.
Before I can process what’s happening, the stranger lunges for me, a growl ripping from his throat. I flinch, throwing my arms up in a pathetic attempt to shield myself—but the impact never comes.
Rok slams into the attacker mid-leap, driving him into the ground with enough force to send sand spraying in all directions.
“SHE IS FEMALE!” Rok’s mental shout is even louder than the stranger’s, filled with fury and…fear? “STAND DOWN, THARN!”
The name registers dimly in my panicked brain. Tharn. Not an enemy, then—at least, not from the rival clan. Someone Rok knows.
The two males separate, both crouched low, tense and ready to spring. I stay frozen, heart hammering against my ribs.
“Fe-male?” Tharn’s mental voice is incredulous, his amber eyes narrowing as they sweep over me. “That is not female.”
“She is,” Rok insists, moving to stand between me and Tharn. “From beyond the dust. A being from beyond.”
Tharn’s eyes widen slightly, his attention fully on me now. I shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny, wishing I could somehow look more obviously female to avoid another battle.
But then Tharn’s gaze suddenly shifts to Rok.
“What in the dust is on your being?” He asks suddenly, his gaze dropping to Rok’s waist. “You wear hides as trophies now?”
I follow his gaze and have to stifle an inappropriate laugh. He’s staring at Rok’s loincloth—the one I fashioned for him after his…anatomical changes.
“It is not a trophy,” Rok replies, his mental tone defensive. “My female made it to cover my stem.”
“Yourfemale?” Tharn snarls, his fangs looking decisively wicked. But then his face contorts in disbelief. “Lies.Why would you need to do that? Your stem is always in your pouch.”
To my absolute horror—and secret fascination—Rok reaches down and grips himself through the loincloth, the shape of his impressive erection clearly outlined by the gesture.
