Arilee

ARILEE

I woke with a jolt, my skull throbbing from a night on the merciless desert floor. My wrists burned, scraped raw by unyielding bindings. No amount of squirming freed me. I'd tried when Rokan dozed off, but he'd secured the ropes too damn well this time.

Rokan bustled about, tearing down our pitiful camp with brutal efficiency. The harsh sun stabbed my eyes, but it made Rokan's skin glitter like crushed diamonds. His hair shone impossibly smooth, as if some desert magic had washed and dried it. My traitorous fingers itched to run through those silky strands.

Last night's memories crashed over me, a tidal wave of sensation and turmoil. Much as I wanted to lie to myself, call it all a ploy to win him over, I couldn't. I'd loved every second. More than I should have. He sure as hell wasn't doing it for my pleasure.

Rokan's gaze snapped to mine. He stalked toward me, each footfall screaming his presence. Heat flooded my face as desperation radiated off him in waves.

Fear and anticipation warred inside me. Would he use me again? The thought sent liquid heat pooling between my thighs. Vivid flashes of our coupling replayed in my mind.

I craved him. Needed more. A dangerous idea wormed its way in – if I pleased him thoroughly enough, maybe he'd keep me for himself.

For some reason, I liked that idea. Very much.

"Let's get going," he said sternly, his tone shattering any illusion of connection I'd foolishly entertained. I'd actually thought he might not take me back after our encounter. But no.

He'd used me for his pleasure, nothing more. He cared only about himself, taking what he wanted simply because he could.

He released my bindings from the ground, and I rolled my shoulders, desperate to alleviate the all-consuming tension. He produced another rope from his bag, thicker and longer, clearly meant for more practical purposes.

"What's that for?" I asked hesitantly. "A hobble?"

"A leash," he replied flatly.

The word felt like a slap. "Why?"

"I'm taking you directly to the spaceport. I don't have the time or patience for this anymore."

I flicked my gaze to his lips. They beckoned, impossibly soft and tempting. His eyes darkened, expression unreadable.

"Up," he barked.

I obeyed, rope biting my wrists. Rokan hefted his bag and yanked the leash.

I lurched forward, stumbling. His relentless pace forced me into an awkward half-jog. Staying close slackened the rope, offering brief relief to my raw skin.

Grim reality crashed over me. At this rate I'd be back with Gorin before the next dawn.

The Crimson Sands showed no mercy. I'd known the risks when I fled, but the oppressive heat and shame of trailing Rokan like a whipped dog crushed my spirit. Hope of escape evaporated, along with the foolish notion of Rokan as my savior.

Suddenly, Rokan yanked the rope violently, sending me sprawling to the ground. A massive beast soared over us – he'd pulled me down just in time. My heart raced, equal parts terror and grudging gratitude.

The creature resembled an Earth buffalo on steroids – shaggy fur, enormous curving horns, and beady black eyes full of malice. Its hot breath disturbed the sand, leaving gigantic paw prints in its wake.

"Don't move," Rokan commanded, drawing his knife and staying low to the ground.

The beast reared, swinging its head from side to side as it sought its prey.

"Shouldn't we run before it attacks?" I whispered urgently.

"No. They have horrible eyesight and can only fully see movement."

The creature locked onto our general direction and charged. Rokan rose to his feet, keeping low and holding the knife at arm's length. His muscles tensed, coiled and ready to strike. My traitorous heart fluttered again.

As the beast bore down on us, horns poised to impale, Rokan's arm blurred. The knife found its mark, burying itself in the creature's skull. It stumbled, whimpering pathetically as it crashed to the ground. Rokan calmly retrieved his weapon, wiping the blood on the beast's matted fur. The blade gleamed dangerously in the harsh sunlight.

He tugged the leash, urging me forward. I marveled at how effortlessly he'd handled a monster twice my size. I would have been its dinner without him.

God, that was hot.

This was such a bad idea.

Logic screamed he only cared about himself, about the payday. But my heart refused to listen. He'd saved my hide twice now. Anyone would be confused.

We abandoned the beast to its fate. A sliver of pity wormed through me. Why hadn't Rokan ended its suffering? But that was the desert's brutal way - and everyone else's since I'd left Earth.

Still, beneath that brooding exterior, I'd bet good money Rokan had a heart. He cared deeply about something, even if it was just credits. A truly emotionless man wouldn't possess such unwavering drive. I longed to crack his shell, futile as it might be.

The scorching sand swallowed my feet, grit working between my toes. Relentless wind pelted my legs with countless tiny barbs. Sand assaulted my eyes. I blinked furiously, irritation bringing unwanted tears. My parched body mourned the wasted moisture.

Rokan stopped by a thick leaf jutting from the barren landscape. He yanked it free and squeezed it like toothpaste. He guzzled greedily while I watched, green with envy. Once he'd drained it, he pressed another to my lips. Bitter water hit my tongue. I coughed and jerked away.

"Never mind, then," he muttered, withdrawing the leaf.

"No. Please," I begged, and he reluctantly offered it again. The water burned as it slid down my parched throat, but it quenched my thirst surprisingly well.

Rokan discarded the shriveled leaf, and I hurried to fall in step behind him before he could yank the leash again.

"Thank you," I said softly.

He paused, head tilted. "You're welcome."

I considered that progress. "I appreciate you keeping me alive, even though you don't have to."

"I don't want you dead."

My face heated up once more, a small, hopeful smile tugging at my lips. "Thanks."

"You're worth more breathing."

Damn. His icy words pierced through me, shattering any foolish hopes I'd entertained. He saw me as nothing more than merchandise - a living, breathing commodity to be bought and sold.

I'd been a fool to search for a shred of humanity in those cold eyes. Sure, he cut an impressive figure - tall, chiseled, with features that could make a girl's heart race. But beneath that alluring exterior lurked a heart of stone.

His raw physicality and rugged good looks ticked every box of what I found irresistible in a man. Yet what did it matter when he lacked even a hint of warmth or humor? Any attraction I felt withered in the face of his callous nature.

If only circumstances were different. If only he wasn't about to hand me over to a life of chains and misery. But wishing wouldn't change cold, hard reality. He'd made his priorities crystal clear - and I wasn't one of them.

It was kind of hard to argue with that glaring red flag.