A distant howl of the native-wolves caused her to swivel around towards the noise. Her heart gathered speed, and the tiny hairs that covered her flesh became erect with fear. It took long a moment to realise she wasn’t alone any more. There was Fly. But what was that going to cost her?
She looked over.
He was leaning against the broken boulder; his eyes fixed steadily on her face. He held out his hand to her.
She stared, mortified.
You’re not going to survive on your own, Jennifer Daykin; you’ve become a pathetic excuse for a human.
With that truth she allowed herself to be pulled down next to him, and was held so close that she could hear the beat of his heart. She sat tense, aware and afraid. His arm was firm around her middle. His hand, the fingers bunched into a loose fist, rested lightly on her upper thigh. She could feel the hardness of his body against hers, and she held herself as rigid as she could. Heat poured off him, warming her and worrying her at the same time.
The light gave way to the dimness of night, and the howling became louder and more frequent. The fire had faded into bright embers, and hardly any warmth came from it. Jenny peered up at Fly, his eyes were closed but she had never been more awake in her life.
She glanced down at the hand that lay on her thigh. It was large; the nails soiled. She peered closer and noticed the tiny slits on the tip of each finger where the claws emerge and retract. He came from such an ugly and violent race; she was extremely lucky she was female and able to provide him with light entertainment otherwise, as he had already said, she’d be dead.
No! I won’t become entertainment for anyone. I’ll die first!
And you will, Jen, you will.
The knowledge was like a presentiment, and she mentally recoiled at the thought of clawed, soiled hands on her body, and of the emotionless eyes that would see her at her most vulnerable. She thought for a moment of his hard, lean body against hers and a shiver, different to her repulsed thoughts, swept her body.
She stared into the fire. After a few minutes gathering courage, she began to move away. The hand on her stomach abruptly splayed out and stopped all movement.
Jenny physically cringed.
She was a woman from the 23rd century, and had made mincemeat out of men as big as Fly, yet she was unable to defend herself or seemingly survive without him. She was a strong woman, so why was she reduced to being at the mercy of a man? An alien man?
She pushed his hand off her, and made space between them, but her voice let her down. ‘It isn’t going to happen, Fly. I won’t let you rape me.’
‘There will be no need for rape.’
Jenny closed her eyes, and struggled to regain normality – but there was nothing except a black-eyed alien, vicious animals and deadly flowers in her mind to remind her that nothing would be normal again.