Page 37 of Tempted By the Alien Warrior

“Vrok, stay with me!”

He exhales a shaky breath, his hand shifting to brush against mine. “You’re bossy,” he murmurs. The corners of his lips twitch upward before they press into a grim line.

“You better believe it,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Now, shut up and let the salixa do its job.”

I stay by his side as the hours crawl by and the rain keeps falling steadily outside. The faint drip of water from a crack in the cave roof echoes like a heartbeat, grounding me as I fight off the wave of helplessness that threatens to pull me under.

Every so often, I wipe his brow with a damp strip of cloth, my fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary. His skin is burning up, slick with sweat, and the sight of his pale, strained face makes my chest ache.

I hate this. I hate feeling so helpless. I hate watching someone I care about suffer and not being able to fix it. Because I do care about him, and I’m not too much of a ninnyhammer to admit it.

When did that change? When did he change from the quiet, intimidating warrior who scared the hell out of me to this? This man whose pain makes a gnawing lump of anxiety settle in the pit of my stomach?

Somewhere in the chaos of the past couple of days, Vrok has become more than just a means to an end. More than the warrior who I broke out of jail and forced into taking me into the jungle to find Lily. He’s become my anchor in a world turned upside down, the one person who makes the fear and uncertainty bearable.

And now, seeing him so vulnerable, it terrifies me in a way I didn’t expect. I can’t lose him. Not now. The thought carves itselfinto my chest like a blade leaving behind a hollow ache I don’t know how to fill.

I press the cloth to his sweaty forehead again. “You have to pull through this,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the last word.

As the pale light of dawn filters through the mouth of the cave, painting the walls in muted grays, exhaustion starts to tug at me. My eyes grow heavy, and my head droops, but I force myself to stay awake. Not while he still looks like death is perched on his chest, waiting.

It’s not until hours later that he finally stirs.

I hear a faint groan, so soft I almost convince myself I imagined it, but then his hand twitches. My breath catches in my throat as I lean forward. His eyelids flutter, revealing his silver eyes.

“Vrok?” I whisper.

He blinks slowly, his gaze unfocused at first. But then his eyes find mine, and there’s a clarity in his gaze that chases away some of the dread that was still lodged in my chest.

Neither of us speaks, at first. The silence stretches, becoming heavy with relief and all of the unspoken words I’ve stored up over the hours I’ve sat by his side.

“Emily,” he rasps. His voice is as rough as gravel grinding together.

A lump forms in my throat. I swallow hard and force a smile. “You had me worried.”

“I’m alright,” he says, but the strain in his voice gives him away.

“Don’t even try that with me,” I say, unable to stop myself from rolling my eyes despite the ache in my chest. “You were unconscious for hours, Vrok. I thought…” My voice falters, and I look away, unable to finish what I was going to say.

Tears gather in my eyes. I blink hard, refusing to let them fall. I hate this. I hate feeling so raw and exposed. Especially in front of him.

I’ve spent years building walls to keep everyone but Lily out, to protect myself, to make sure I’d never wind up like my mother. But he’s somehow slipped past every one of them without even trying.

Then I feel it. His hand, warm and rough with calluses, closes over mine. It’s just a gentle, steady pressure, but it stops me cold. I meet his gaze, and I swear, he sees right through me.

The golden flecks in his gaze have expanded, overtaking the cool silver of his eyes until they glow like embers. There’s no mocking in them. No teasing. Just something quiet and steady that wraps around my frayed nerves like a balm.

“I’m still here,” he says softly.

And he is. Somehow, miraculously, he’s still here. And the panic and fear that has gripped me so tightly ever since I woke to find him sick—no, for weeks, really, ever since Lily and I were taken—starts to loosen. I finally feel like the weight that has been sitting on my chest lifts, and I can take a deep breath.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “You are.”

He shifts again, trying to sit up, but I press a hand against his shoulder.

“Don’t. You need to rest.”

“I need to?—”

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