Page 51 of Caveman Alien's Heat
Okay, no. Let’s calm down here. I’ve known him for four days.
Actually, yes. Exactly that. Because I may have four days left to live. And I would love to put some actuallivinginto those days. On that beach, in the dead saucer, that wasn’t living. That was just existing. And barely even that. The life in the Borok tribe… well, it wasn’t bad, not compared to the beach. But it wasn’t how I wanted my life to play out, as a spectator to the lives of others.
I press my lips together, trying not to smile at myself, which feels completely insane under the circumstances. But the feeling doesn’t go away.
If anything, it grows stronger as the afternoon stretches on, as I watch him work alongside the others, as I hear his name spoken with something that almost sounds like approval and inclusion.
Hope and desire twist together in a way that feels dangerous and addictive. Maybe this is working. Maybe we can survive this.
And if we can, then… my gaze drifts back to him again, and my pulse quickens. Then who knows what might happen.
The work of cutting and carrying the meat goes on until the light starts to fade, and I try to stay out of the way, watching how the tribesmen move, how they divide everything, and how nothing gets wasted. The air fills with the smell of blood and raw flesh, sharp and metallic, mixing with the cold that never leaves. It should make me sick, but instead it feels like proof that they know how to survive out here.
My attention keeps drifting back to him anyway. Nator’ax moves among them like he belongs. The others watch him now in a way they didn’t before. They listen when he speaks, and a few of them adjust what they’re doing based on what he says, which is subtle but impossible to miss once I notice it.
Every time someone looks at him with something that resembles respect, something inside me tightens and then eases again, like I’ve been holding my breath. I keep telling myself that this is good, that it means we’re doing something right, that maybe we’re not completely out of options.
By the time the meat is set to dry and the worst of the work is done, the temperature drops even further, and fires are lit in careful spots out of the wind. Men gather in small groups to eat and talk, and the energy still feels different, lighter than anything I’ve seen since we got here, as if the whole village is running on the success of the hunt.
I sit with Nator’ax and a few others, holding a piece of cooked meat that’s tougher than anything I’m used to, but rich enough that I don’t really care. I’m hungry, and that helps, and for a little while I can pretend that this is just a strange, uncomfortable version of normal.
Conversation moves around me, not always including me, but no longer avoiding me either, and a few questions come my way.They’re simple, careful, like they’re still trying to figure out what I am and where I fit, and I answer just as carefully, giving them enough without giving them anything that could turn against me later.
At one point, one of the younger boys tries to imitate the hunt, acting out how Nator’ax stood in front of the charging dondar, and it’s so exaggerated that I can’t help it when I laugh. The sound feels strange coming out of me in a place like this, but it breaks some of the tension, and a few of the men laugh with me.
“That’s good,” Nator’ax rumbles to the boy, whose cheeks are red with excitement. “That is exactly how it was. You’ll be a leading hunter for your tribe. Just make sure you exchange that stick for a spear before you leave the village.”
The men around us chuckle at the mild joke. It’s as clear a sign of approval as any.
For a moment, everything almost feels normal, as if I’m back in the Borok tribe with the mostly well-meaning cavemen.
Which is exactly what makes the next part worse. I still catch the looks.
They’re still there, sliding over me when they think I won’t notice, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle. Every time it happens, I become more aware of Nator’ax beside me, of the heat of him, and of the quiet way his presence shifts the space around us.
At one point, his hand settles briefly against my back when someone passes a little too close, and the touch is deliberate in a way that makes my breath catch for a completely different reason. It doesn’t stop the looks entirely, but it changes howI feel about them, and suddenly I’m not just exposed; I’m standing next to someone who makes people think twice.
The thought that follows is unexpected and a little dangerous, but I don’t push it away.
By the time the meal winds down and people start drifting back to their shelters, I can feel the exhaustion of the day settling in. I stand and brush my hands against the fur at my sides, aware of how much I want to be somewhere else.
“I think I’m ready for the cave,” I say, glancing at Nator’ax.
He looks at me in a way that makes it very clear he understands exactly what I mean.
“That’s a wise decision,” he replies, his voice steady, but carrying something under it that feels very different from the way he spoke earlier.
We walk back toward the cave at a normal pace, side by side but not touching, as if this is nothing more than the end of a long day. We attract enough attention as it is, if we’re not going to run back there. I feel every step of that walk.
I feel the space between us like something physical, something that keeps brushing against me even though we’re not actually touching. By the time we reach the cave, the tension has built to the point where I’m not sure I can keep pretending much longer.
The moment we step inside, everything changes.
The noise from outside dulls immediately, replaced by the quiet crackle of the small torch we left burning, and the air feels warmer, held in by the stone around us. For a second, we just stand there, facing each other, and I can feel it in the way he looks at me that Nator’ax has stopped pretending too.
His hand comes up to my face, rough and warm, and he pulls me in without hesitation, kissing me hard enough that it steals my breath. I react instantly, my hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer even though there’s nowhere left to go.
He tastes like smoke, dinosaur blood, and something deeper that makes my pulse jump, and the heat that’s been building in me all day flares up all at once.
