Page 60 of Rok's Captive
“What are you doing?” she gasps, her voice higher than usual. “Rok, what?—”
But I’m focused on my task, sniffing at her face, her neck, trying to determine if the fire has returned to consume her from within. Her skin isn’t unnaturally hot, though, not like before. And the scent is different—still her unique, sweet smell, but with an undertone of something new. Something I haven’t detected from her before.
I pause, confused, and look down at her. She’s gone completely still beneath me, her eyes wide and fixed on mine, her breathing rapid but not labored. There’s a strange look in those eyes, something I haven’t seen before—a mixture of what looks like fear, but isn’t quite fear, and something else entirely. Something that makes the glow beneath my skin suddenly pulse to life with no input from me at all.
A rumble vibrates low in my chest as I try to understand what is happening, why she’s reacting this way. My eyes travel over her more carefully now, noticing for the first time the small cuts and scrapes across her body—not bleeding, but evident on her soft skin, nonetheless. Harm from when she fell in the dust serpent’s tunnel.
I remain positioned over her, keeping her between my thighs as I crouch above her. Her eyes follow my movements as I reach for another fire bloom leaf, crushing it between my palms until the healing paste forms.
I try to send mind-speech to her again, projecting the concepts of healing and protection as clearly as I can. Nothing. No recognition in her eyes, no response. After so many attempts, I am certain now—she cannot hear the thoughts I send.
I must resort to using my tongue, an organ I have used more times since meeting her than I have ever used in my life. It feels like a hunter trying to kill a dust stalker with a muted blade—clumsy, inefficient, painful for the hunter.
Carefully, I begin applying the paste to a scrape on her arm. The moment my fingertips touch her skin, something unexpected happens. The glow beneath my skin erupts, pulsing brighter, and it’s not the only thing going haywire. It’s as if the nerves in my hands are shooting tingles from where I touch her straight through my frame, bypassing every defense I’ve built.
I have no choice but to pause for a moment. I cannot move.
“Rok?”
So soft, that vocalization. I have never felt my name so softly.
My gaze shifts to her.
She doesn’t move, just watches me with wide eyes, her mouth slightly open as I force myself to continue treating her wounds. That strange new scent grows stronger, filling the space around us, clouding my thoughts. I try to ignore it, focus on the task, but it calls to something…else within me.
A sensation builds at the apex of my thighs where my member rests. It has never responded before. Not like this. I stiffen, staring down at her, confused by my body’s reaction. Perhaps the shadowmaw’s venom has done more to me than I thought.
How can I protect this strange creature if I am compromised? At the very least, I must survive long enough to ensure her safety. I cannot allow the rival clan to find her—they would not be gentle with something so soft, so different.
I know then…that I must try to speak. To protect her properly, to figure out how she came to be wandering the dust alone, I must communicate with her.
I focus, trying to remember how to shape sounds with my mouth rather than thoughts with my mind. Trying to remember how to use a language only vocalized at death, when the Giving Stone opens to take you back within itself.
It has been so long. The muscles in my throat feel stiff, unwilling.
Finally, I manage to push air through vocal cords rarely used, forming sounds that feel alien on my tongue.
“You do not…burn,” I say, the words rough and grating, not even sure if she will understand. Her vocalizations are nothing like I have heard before. “The fire…from within…is gone. That is…good.”
If it’s even possible, Jus-teen stiffens beneath me, her eyes widening like polished flat stones.
For a pulsebeat, neither of us moves. Then slowly, her hands rise toward my face, hovering just a breath from my mouth, fingers trembling slightly. Her gaze searches mine, and my gaze shifts to her hand.
I wish…I wish she would put her touch upon my lips.
“Your language,” she whispers, “it’s beautiful.” Her eyes flick between mine, studying me with new intensity. “I wish I could understand you.”
Ain. She does not comprehend my words. Does she? I try again, preparing to force more sounds from my unused vocal cords, when suddenly I hear another voice—not Jus-teen’s, but similar in cadence, with a strange quality that sends a shiver down my spine.
“ARCHAIC LANGUAGE DETECTED. DRAKAVIAN. CALIBRATING.”
I leap backward with a snarl, dropping into a defensive crouch, my claws extending instinctively. My eyes dart around the cave, searching for the source of the disembodied voice. The glow beneath my skin suddenly dies and I sniff. All I can scent is her. Jus-teen.
Confused, my gaze shifts back to her. That’s when I notice the same hand that had reached toward me now reaches to her ear. To the stone she has lodged within it.
Jus-teen’s eyes widen. Her mouth falls open.
“You heard that?” she vocalizes.
