Page 72 of Caveman Alien's Heat
“I wasn’t planning to,” I say, easing my hand free.
Above us, the first edge of the swarm arrives. It was a scattering of creatures, but now it’s a mass. A flowing, shifting body of wings and dark shapes, so thick it dims what little light the storm allows. The sound surges with it, a deafening, layered shriek that fills the air and presses into my skull.
It moves like a river in the sky. A living river of flying, alien piranhas.
I stare up at it, transfixed. “Oh damn…”
“They’ll pass,” Prak’ox says, leaning closer so I can hear him over the noise. His hand settles on my shoulder now, heavy and warm. “As long as we stay here, we’re safe.”
The swarm thickens, pouring overhead in a continuous torrent. Some strike the invisible edge above the hot water and veer away sharply, as if repelled. Others spiral down too low and jerk back upward again.
But I don’t feel safe anymore.
Prak’ox’s hand slides from my shoulder down my arm, slow, deliberate.
“You were right to leave him,” he says.
My attention snaps from the swarm back to him. “What?”
“Nator’ax.” His grip tightens slightly. “He’s not one of us. He was never going to survive the fifth day. The council was determined that he should die, despite the talk of the dragon.”
“That’s not—” I pull my arm free. “How do you know?”
“I know what was decided.” His tone remains calm, almost gentle. “We all know. Now you need to be with someone who can keep you safe.”
“Iamsafe,” I say, sharper now. “Here. That’s all.”
“Withme,” he corrects.
Another wave of bloodwings roars overhead, the sound rising to a pitch that makes me flinch. The air vibrates with it.
Prak’ox leans in closer. Too close. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Not of the storm. Not of the tribe.” His hand comes up again, this time settling at my waist. “I’ll take care of you.”
I push against his chest, trying to create space. “Don’t.”
His other hand closes over mine, firm and unyielding. “You can imagine what happens to men out there,” he says, nodding toward the storm, toward the endless river of wings. “And he will not be allowed in any cave. Was he in yours?”
Shit.Is that what happened back there? Nator’ax was denied shelter because the tribe knew what was coming, but he didn’t, so he didn’t care?
Prak’ox leans in close. “He’s gone, Riley. You know that.”
“No,” I say, more forcefully now. “Let go.”
His grip tightens. “You came here,” he insists, voice low under the shriek of the swarm. “You came to me. You knowI’mthe only man for you.”
“No! It didn’t come to you!” I try to pull away, but he’s already shifting his weight, turning toward me, closing the space completely. His arm slides around my back, locking me in place.
“Don’t fight,” he says. “You’ll only make it harder.”
Above us, the bloodwings pour past in a deafening torrent, a living river that drowns out everything else.
I twist, trying to break his hold. “Get off me!”
He doesn’t. His grip only tightens. With one hard yank, he snaps the twine of my fur and drags it open. Cold air hits my skin. Then his icy hand follows, shoving inside, rough and clumsy, grabbing through the thin dinosaur skin beneath.
“No!” I seize his wrist, trying to tear it away, but it’s like pulling at iron.
He forces me back against the rock. My shoulders slam into it, breath jolting out of me as he pins me there. One arm wrenches mine behind me, trapping it. The other stays inside my clothing, groping, claiming.
