Primal Planet Prey by Skylar Clarke

Return to the fire side of Veloria … if you can handle the heat.
My brain has been stuck in a blender.
That is my first thought upon waking, and it seems an accurate description of the pain in my head. My mouth is dry as cotton and I can scarcely do so much as clear my throat. The air feels too thin, and I cannot catch my breath. I open my eyes, and am spared the feeling of light searing them. I am in coplete darkness, and my head is pillowed on something broad and warm.
I sit up abruptly, panicked and disoriented, as the room spins in sickening circles. “Easy,” a voice says, and there is a large, warm hand on my shoulder as I reach for my blaster. The ever-present gun is nowhere to be found, and I feel the loss of it as though it were another phantom limb. Nausea twists in my stomach, almost too overwhelming to ignore. It’s the pervasive sort that overtakes your thoughts until you allow it to win.
“Tess,” the voice says. “You’re fine. Relax.”
“Jari,” I say in recognition. My hands are locked behind me with a somewhat flimsy pair of handcuffs. I flail about in the dark with them as best as I can manage, finally settling on the warmth of him behind me. I soon realize that the rather comfortable object on which my head had been resting when I awoke was likely the expanse of his lap.
I force down the rising fear and inject as much false bravado into my voice as I can manage. “You didn’t tell me you had handcuffs.”