Page 90 of Rok's Captive
Her face flushes a deep red, but there is no fire there. It is…blood. I can sense it…though I do not know how. Blood rushing to the surface of her skin in a way that fascinates me. She looks away quickly, then back, as if she can’t help herself, then away again, a nervous laugh escaping her.
“I, um…that’s…wow.”
There’s something in her voice, something that comes through in her thoughts. Embarrassment, certainly, but also…interest? Fascination? I don’t understand the complexity of her reaction, but I can smell the change in her scent, the subtle shift that makes my fangs ache.
The realization sends another pulse of heat through my new stem, making it twitch. Visibly. Jus-teen’s eyes widen further.
“Oh my God,” Justine projects into the mindspace.
She calls to Ain. I would have asked her more about this if the stars beneath my skin didn’t suddenly begin to fade.
One by one, they extinguish themselves like dying lights. The darkness that had consumed me recedes, retreating into some unseen place, leaving my skin bare—normal. That rich amber-gold. Like it was before.
I even test my glow. Brightening, then dimming myself. It follows my commands.
The fire is gone.
The transformation is complete, and yet…I am not the same.
I glance down at myself, at the new appendages between my legs, still throbbing with heat. My stem still juts forward.
I close my hand around it, trying to ease the ache there, but the touch only intensifies it. A low, rumbling groan escapes me before I can stop it, the sound reverberating through the chamber.
Jus-teen, who had been gazing at me with those wide, cautious eyes, flushes bright red. Her gaze flickers downward—toward the source of the sound—and her face somehow turns an even deeper shade of crimson. She quickly averts her eyes, looking anywhere but at me.
“Well,” she says, her voice unsteady, “I guess you’re better?”
Her gaze darts back to my stem, then away again just as quickly. When I clench it tighter, she takes a step backward, holding her hands up as if in surrender. “I’m just…gonna give you some privacy.”
She turns and moves to the other side of the chamber, her back to me, but I can still feel her presence like a flame in the dark.
I should stop.
I should release myself. Force my new stem away. Do something to regain control. But I can’t. For one, I no longer have a pouch to put it away.
My claw remains fisted around it, twitching as I watch her. The sight of her—her bare arms, her hair falling loose around her shoulders, the curve of her hips even beneath her strange coverings—fuels the fire in me.
I don’t understand these sensations, this hunger. All I know is that I cannot shift her from my mind. Cannot shift the memory of her wet slit, soft and glistening, the taste of her essence still haunting me.
She turns slightly, glancing back at me over her shoulder. Her eyes widen as she realizes I’m still watching her—still holding myself.
“Um…” She clears her throat, her voice rising with nervous energy. “Is there…any chance you can, uh, put that back?” She gestures vaguely toward my crotch, her cheeks blazing.
The question confuses me at first, but her thoughts—completely unfiltered—reach me, projecting an image of my pouch from before. The image is faint, fuzzy, but clear enough for me to understand her meaning.
It makes me laugh.
The sound is low and rough, rumbling from deep within my chest, and her eyes snap to mine, startled.
She blinks, her brows furrowing, and I watch as realization dawns. “Oh my God,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re laughing at me.”
I rise to my feet, towering over her, and her gaze drops instinctively.
Her breath catches as her eyes land on my stem once more, jutting forward like a weapon, and her face flames red again. She quickly looks away, but not before I catch the way her pupils dilate, the subtle quickening of her breath. Not before I catch thethought.
Dust.
An image of my stem sliding through her wet slit.
