Despite what they are, my stomach clenches. A sharp reminder that I haven’t eaten anything substantial in days. The leaves Rok gave me were better than nothing, but barely. My body is running on fumes, and I can feel my strength ebbing with each passing hour.
“Shit,” I mutter, prodding one of the dead creatures with my foot. “I don’t suppose you come with cooking instructions?”
I have no idea if they’re edible, let alone how to prepare them. Do I skin them? Gut them? Cook them whole? Are there poisonous parts I need to avoid?
With a sigh, I slump back against the wall. Then another realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
My bag. My supplies. They’re all back in the first cave, abandoned in our hasty escape from those other aliens.
“Perfect. Just perfect.” My voice echoes off the stone walls, mockingly hollow. “I have post-sex fever and I don’t even have my emergency protein biscuits.”
I close my eyes, exhaustion washing over me in a wave that threatens to pull me under. I should stay awake, should try to figure out what to do about food, about the fever, about Rok…
I don’t even know if he’s coming back…
The thought makes me curl into myself, and I close my eyes against the sudden pain that possibility creates.
I don’t know how long I sit there like that, trying to remain alert, all the while exhaustion pulls me under.
The moment sleep claims me, it drags me down into a dream that burns brighter than the fever in my veins.
__
His hands are everywhere, leaving trails of golden light across my skin. I arch into his touch, desperate for more, for relief from the burning need consuming me from within.
“Rok,” I gasp, his name a plea on my lips.
He growls, the sound vibrating through me where our bodies touch. His mouth finds mine, and I yield to him, opening beneath his assault like I was made for this, for him.
“More,” I beg, my nails raking down his back, feeling his skin grow hotter beneath my touch. “Please…”
He pulls back, his eyes blazing gold, his glow so bright it hurts to look at him directly. But I can’t look away. Won’t look away.
I gasp at the sensation of him pressed against me. The hardness of him. How perfect he is. Perfect for me. As if the universe looked into my deepest thoughts and carved a cock that was made just for me.
“Yes,” I breathe, tilting my head back, exposing my throat to him. “Please, Rok. I need—”
__
The moment he pierces me, that wide thick girthy thing spreading me wide is the moment the dream shatters.
I jolt awake, my body drenched in sweat, the echo of dream-pleasure still pulsing between my legs. For a moment, I’m disoriented, unsure where I am or what woke me.
Then I hear it—a soft sound at the entrance to the chamber.
I push myself up, wincing at the way my muscles protest even that small movement. How long have I been asleep? Hours? Days? The light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling has changed, grown slightly brighter, suggesting it’s already early morning.
There is no sound now, and I hold my breath, straining to see through the shadows at the chamber entrance.
When a figure emerges, silhouetted against the darkness of the passage, my heart leaps into my throat. But then they move closer and I see the tall, broad-shouldered outline of the intruder.
Powerful. Alien. Unmistakably Rok.
Relief hits me with such force that I nearly collapse back onto the stone. He came back. Despite whatever happened between us, despite the pain or fear that drove him away, he came back.
But almost immediately, the relief twists into something sharper. Anger? Frustration? I don’t even know. All I know is that he left me here—alone, confused, burning with whatever the hell this is—and now he’s standing there like nothing happened.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move, just stares at me with those glowing eyes, his body tense like a coiled spring. And I realize…he’s still fighting it. Whatever had him bolting from the cave in the first place, it’s still inside him, clawing at him.
The glow beneath his skin flickers unevenly, and his claws twitch at his sides, flexing and clenching as if he doesn’t trust himself to stay still. He looks like he’s barely holding himself together, and the sight sends a shiver crawling up my spine.
“Rok,” I whisper. My voice cracks on the word, and I hate how small it sounds. “You…you came back.”
His glow pulses once, twice, before dimming slightly, and I realize he’s not just watching me—he’s watching my reaction. Like he’s bracing himself for something. Like he’s not sure if I’m going to scream or run or…what?
I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. “You scared me.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “When you left like that. I didn’t know if—”
I stop myself, swallowing the rest of the sentence. I didn’t know if you were coming back. I didn’t know if I’d survive if you didn’t.
He freezes at the sound of my voice, his entire body tensing. The glow beneath his skin flickers once, twice, before settling into a steady, controlled pulse—brighter than normal, but not the erratic flare I saw before he fled.
He takes a step forward, then stops again, as if uncertain. No, not uncertain—cautious. Like he’s approaching something dangerous.
Like he’s approaching me.
The realization stings more than it should. I’ve been worried about him, terrified that whatever happened had hurt him, and he’s looking at me like I’m the threat.
“I’m not going to bite,” I snap, unable to keep the hurt from my voice. “Though apparently that’s not a guarantee, because I’ve been dealing with a lady boner and I’m feeling fucking feral.”
Rok tilts his head, studying me from a distance. The air shifts as he inhales, and I’m pretty sure he can smell my arousal. The thought makes me press my thighs together, which doesn’t help. Rok’s expression is guarded, his posture tense. Nothing like the passionate, uninhibited alien who devoured me so thoroughly just hours ago.
After what feels like an eternity, he approaches, each step careful and slow. He crouches a few feet away, close enough to reach out but maintaining some space between us. His eyes never leave mine, watching for…what? Signs of the fever? Signs that I might trigger whatever happened to him again? Signs that I might tackle him and hump him the way a little voice in the back of my head is telling me to? I don’t know.
His glow flickers again, brighter for a moment, then dims. He’s being careful, like he’s afraid one wrong move will shatter whatever fragile balance he’s trying to maintain. And maybe it will. Maybe I will.
Every instinct in me is telling me to throw myself into his arms. To close the space between us. To touch him again.
Trying to ignore the heat burning beneath my skin, I force myself to stay still. To let him come to me, if that’s what he’s going to do.
Slowly, he extends a hand toward me, and I force myself to stay still, to let him decide how close he wants to get. His fingers brush my forehead, testing my temperature, I guess, then trace the line of my jaw, feather-light and clinical. Nothing like the hungry, possessive touches from before.
I don’t know why that hurts, too.
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to lean into his hand, to close the distance between us. Whatever’s happening here, it’s clear he’s struggling with it as much as I am.