Page 25 of Alokar
Rodney was not smart. “How do you know you’ll be the one killing the grizzly?” He thumped his narrow chest with his fist, the sound hollow. Seriously, he actually thumped his chest like some kind of deranged gorilla. “We’re all expert hunters here.”
Ewok leaned toward Rodney with predatory grace, his honey-brown eyes growing hard as flint, the warmth completely draining from them until they resembled chips of amber ice. I bet in his Kerzak form, Ewok could be absolutely terrifying. He wasn’t doing too shabby a job of intimidating in his human disguise either.
“I know.”
Two simple words, delivered with such quiet, unshakeable confidence that they carried more weight than any boastful threat. The certainty in his voice was absolute, final, like a judge delivering a verdict.
Rodney huffed and puffed like the big bad wolf, trying to move to the other side of the trail to get closer to me, but Ewok used his considerable bulk to keep him at bay, like a living wall between us. On pure impulse, I reached down and grabbed Ewok’s hand, winding my smaller fingers around his in a gesture that was both possessive and grateful. His skin was warm andslightly rough, and his fingers immediately responded, curling around mine.
Rodney’s pale eyes immediately zeroed in on our joined hands, his face flushing an ugly shade of red as he noticed the intimate gesture—exactly as I’d hoped. He huffed irritably, his jaw working like he was chewing on something bitter, then retreated to walk near Hank with his shoulders hunched in defeat.
“Thank you,” I murmured when I felt confident Rodney was out of earshot.
“I promised I’d protect you.” Ewok’s voice was low and rumbling, carrying an undertone that suggested he didn’t particularly care whether or not Rodney heard him. “And I will, from predators as well as assholes.”
This time, I didn’t even try to hold back my giggle.
We traveled along for several hours, our boots crunching over loose shale and pine needles. It was early afternoon when we came across a small meadow lined with thick pines and graceful birch trees. The river meandered along the meadow’s edge, its gentle babbling creating a peaceful soundtrack.
I set up my tent in minutes. The well-worn nylon snapped into its familiar shape without protest, the fabric weathered soft from countless camping trips with my father. I chose what I thought was the perfect spot in the center of the clearing, close to where Ewok built a fire ring from smooth river stones. The location seemed ideal—until Rodney pitched his grimy, duct-tape-repaired tent uncomfortably close to mine, the stained fabric reeking of stale beer, body odor, and neglect. Without a word, Ewok simply picked up my entire tent and moved it closerto the treeline, creating some much welcome distance. Rodney scowled at Ewok but had better sense than to try and move his tent closer.
I loved the way Ewok looked out for me. If he knew the truth of my sordid history with Rodney—the unwanted advances, the persistent harassment, my father’s intervention—I had no doubt Ewok would throttle him without hesitation. Rodney proved not completely stupid. He seemed to recognize Ewok’s protectiveness and—while grudgingly—kept his distance.
Hank had brought along a generous haunch of pork, so there was no need for Ewok to hunt for our evening meal. Still, he and I took a long, leisurely stroll through the forest, ostensibly foraging but really just enjoying each other’s company and the peacefulness of nature. We discovered enough miner’s lettuce, watercress, and dandelion greens for a fresh salad, as well as stumbling upon another patch of wild strawberries, the ruby-red fruit bursting with sweetness.
Even with Rodney’s presence casting a shadow over my mood, dinner turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. I sat with Ewok close at my side, his solid warmth radiating against me like a personal furnace, while Hank regaled us with increasingly outrageous hunting stories from his younger days that had me laughing until my sides ached. Ewok laughed too, a low, deep, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through his chest and into mine, making my skin tingle with awareness and my pulse quicken in ways that had nothing to do with humor.
Speaking of skin, I noticed every time Ewok absently scratched at his forearm or shifted uncomfortably, the subtlesigns of irritation from his camouflage device impossible to miss. Knowing the disguise caused him constant discomfort made guilt twist in my stomach. But Ewok in his alien form would shock Hank into a heart attack and give Rodney all the excuse he needed to try to kill him—assuming he could work up the courage.
When the night sky deepened from dusky purple to inky black, Hank began yawning. I noticed Ewok stand and reach for his pack. The thought of him lying out in the open all night, miserable and itching, was more than I could bear.
I stood as well, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged bird, and very slowly, very deliberately, extended my hand toward him in clear invitation.
Hank’s grizzled eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline, his mouth falling open in surprise, while Rodney’s face contorted like he’d just bitten into a particularly sour lemon. But I didn’t care about their reactions—not even a little bit.
Ewok gazed up at me, confusion written on his handsome face, but his large hand closed over mine. With a broad smile, I led him into my tent.
Chapter 11
Ewok
I felt both confused and excited when Hannah’s fingers intertwined with mine and she led me into her small tent. The cramped space forced me to duck low and shuffle forward on my knees, the nylon ceiling brushing against the top of my head with every movement.
“Hannah,” My voice wavered uncertainly, the words catching in my throat as I struggled to know what I should ask next.
Hannah sank to her knees beside me, the fabric of the tent floor rustling softly beneath her. She pressed a slender finger to her lips in the universal “shhh”gesture, her eyes darting meaningfully toward the canvas wall, where the muffled voices of the other men drifted from around the crackling fire. They were settling in for the night, their laughter and conversation a distant backdrop. Whatever she wanted to say to me, she clearly didn’t want them to overhear.
With deliberate, quiet movements, she took the sleeping bag from my trembling hand. The zipper whispered as she pulled it down, spreading the puffy material across the tent floor like a makeshift mattress. She then unzipped her own sleeping bag and laid it over mine like a soft blanket.
Hannah gestured with a graceful sweep of her hand for me to sit, and I settled myself on the edge of the sleeping bag close to the zippered doorway. She sat a few feet away on the makeshift bedding, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, yet maintaining a careful distance that left an electric tension in the narrow gap between us.
Her delicate features twisted into a deep scowl as she turned toward the direction of the campfire, where the rough, masculine voices carried through the thin canvas walls. I liked Hank—an easy, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes always rested on his craggy features. He was devoted to Hannah. I could see it in every protective glance he cast her way. But Rodney was another matter entirely. The younger man’s presence made my skin crawl. There was something wrong about his very essence, as though the moral rot festering within his soul had seeped through his pores, creating an almost palpable aura of corruption that clung to him like a second skin.
When the voices finally melted away, with the gentle rustling of the men settling into their own tents whispering through the night air, a smile bloomed across Hannah’s face like a flower opening to moonlight.
“You can turn it off now,” she said, her voice a silken caress in the hushed intimacy of our shared space.
“What?” I blinked, my heart stuttering at her words. I had no idea what she meant. Turn off what? My feelings for her? As impossible as pulling the moon from the sky.
