Page 1 of Sold to the Nalgar
CHAPTER 1
Cecilia Lim leaned back against the plush cushions of her outdoor lounge, feeling the sharp New York breeze whisper over her bare feet. She swirled the dark ruby liquid in her glass—an indulgent Californian shiraz—and took a long, soothing sip, hoping it would silence the relentless whirlpool of thoughts spinning in her mind.
It had been a grueling day, as most days tended to be. But tomorrow’s court appearance loomed particularly large. Medical malpractice. A surgeon who’d carelessly removed a healthy kidney instead of the one afflicted with cancer. Her client, a fifty-four-year-old father named Jim Reed, would now spend his remaining years tethered to a dialysis machine, desperately awaiting a transplant. A simple surgical mistake had changed an entire family's fate. Cecilia planned to make the hospital pay dearly, her suit demanding a cool fifteen million dollars—enough, she hoped, to at least ease Jim’s suffering and provide security for his children.
She let her head rest against the back of the chair, eyes closed, listening to the perpetual heartbeat of Manhattan. Her elegant but understated apartment in Tribeca had always beenher refuge, high above the city's chaos, her sanctuary where ambition momentarily yielded to quiet reprieve.
A brief sigh escaped her lips, tension slowly uncoiling from her shoulders as the wine worked its subtle magic.
Then—a noise. Not from the streets below, but close. A dull thud.
Her eyes snapped open. Adrenaline sparked through her veins.
In an instant, they were there—figures in dark, sleek outfits, faces obscured by smooth, featureless masks that caught and distorted the faint ambient light.
“What the fu—” Cecilia's startled scream was abruptly silenced. A gloved hand clamped over her mouth, another arm wrapping vice-like around her waist. Her glass crashed to the floor, shattering violently, wine pooling darkly like spilled blood.
Panic exploded through her as her limbs flailed uselessly, her pulse pounding deafeningly in her ears. How the hell had they gotten in? She was ten stories up, her building secured, monitored.
A sharp chemical scent filled her nostrils. Her vision blurred, edges darkening, consciousness slipping through her fingers like smoke.
Her final, terrified thought echoed into nothingness: How was this possible?
And then, the world vanished into darkness.
CHAPTER 2
The war room was quiet. Shadows stretched long across the floor, broken only by the red pulse of the data columns before him. Maps hovered in midair, glowing in alien script, but Zarokh paid them no mind.
He sat on the high seat of command, clothed not in battle-armor but in a robe of deep black, woven from the tough, silken fibers of the wild Targarin herds that roamed the southern cliffs of Anakris. The fabric held no insignia, no embellishment. It didn’t need any.
The only mark of his status was the circlet upon his brow: as black as the void, crafted from Vaelian, the rarest mineral in the known Universe. Forged in silence, and worn in silence.Alone.A symbol not of vanity, but supremacy.
He was Warlord of the Lacris, one of the most powerful tribes on Anakris.
And he was Nalgar, a born warrior, feared throughout the Universe.
Standing before him, head bowed, was his most proficient spy, Velkar. Clad in a sleek black combat suit that accentuated his lean, tall frame, Velkar stood with his hands clasped behind his back, all edge and shadow.
Where Zarokh was force and precision, Velkar was insinuation and silence. A killer of whispers.
Cunning.
Loyal.
He obeyed because he knew who Zarokh was.
Because he knew what Zarokh could do.
“Report,” Zarokh commanded.
Velkar looked up. “It is confirmed,” he said, his voice low and dry, like wind sliding through stone. “The Dukkar have procured the asset: a human female, as you have specified.”
Zarokh said nothing. His gaze remained on the holographic map of the Sulgari frontlines, flickering faintly beside his throne.
“Black hair,” Velkar added, with a hint of a grin. “As specified.”
That earned him a glance. Just one.
