Page 82 of Caveman Alien's Heat
“Closer.”
The man swallows and obeys, lowering the belt to the ground.
“Place it at my feet.”
He does, then backs away quickly.
Nator’ax waits until he has retreated before bending to pick it up. He fastens the belt around his waist with practiced ease, then draws the sword halfway, inspecting the edge. The blade catches the light of the burning totem.
Satisfied, he slides it back into place.
“I will inform my chief,” he says as he lifts his gaze to the Gar leader again, “the renowned warrior Korr’ax, master of the jungle, commander of the dragon Praxigor and owner of many flying saucers, that the Gar tribe has chosen its path.”
A ripple of unease passes through the gathered men.
“What happens next,” Nator’ax continues, “will depend on whether he believes you worthy of mercy. Perhaps you can imagine whatmyadvice to him shall be.”
The chief says nothing this time, but even on the saucer’s screen, he looks paler than before.
Nator’ax holds his gaze a moment longer, then turns his back on him without another word and walks toward the open hatch. No one moves to stop him.
He steps inside. The hatch closes with a sharp hiss, sealing us away from the noise, the smoke, and the eyes below.
“Go up,” I command the Plood. “High up. Then back to the Borok village.”
The saucer lifts, smooth and effortless, and the village falls away beneath us. The fire dwindles to a smear of orange against the snow, then to nothing at all. Only the white wastes remain, endless and clean, as if none of it ever happened.
I let out a breath. I’m light as a feather from relief as I lean back into Nator’ax. He’s right there, solid and warm, his arm coming around me without hesitation this time. The tension in him is still there, coiled and watchful, but it’s no longer aimed at me. I feel his hand settle at my side, firm, certain, as if he needs to remind himself that I’m still here.
“We made it,” I murmur.
“Barely,” he rumbles. “But it was good enough.” His voice has lost its edge, softened into something I’ve only heard in the rare moments when he lets his guard down. “And we will not be separated again.”
I turn in his arms, pressing closer, needing the contact. The cold, the fear, the storm, the threat of death… it all falls away in the steady hum of the saucer and the heat between us. For the first time since this began, there is nothing pressing in on us. No tribe. No storm. No immediate threat to our lives.
Just us.
I rest my forehead against his, closing my eyes for a moment. “Next time,” I say softly, “we do things the easy way.”
A faint breath of amusement escapes him. “Next time? What are you planning, my love?”
I frown up at him. “Oh, you think Iplannedthis? With the ice and the snow and the Blood Storm? And the saucer landing exactly on its side in a crack? Freezing to death in the cold?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Did you?”
I slap his massive chest. “Obviouslynot! But I’m sure we’ll findsomethingcrazy to do. We don’t need a plan for that.”
He studies me for a moment. “We have faced death together. More than once. Each time, I chose you. And each time, you chose me.” His hand comes up, rough and warm against my cheek. “I will keep choosing you. As long as I live.”
My breath catches. For a second I can’t think, can’t move. The world outside the saucer might as well not exist.
He searches my face, as if the answer already matters more than anything else. “Riley. I want you to be my wife.”
For a second, everything inside me goes completely still.
“Will you marry me?”
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