Page 14 of Sold to the Nalgar
She was adjusting, adapting, a testament to her unexpected resilience.
Most creatures would have crumbled by now, reduced to whimpering shadows of their former selves. But not her.
She’d made a choice, a conscious decision to survive.
A calculated one.
She wanted to stay conscious, wanted to remain in control. Even here, in alien space, in a place where nothing made sense, she was thinking, assessing, preparing.
He admired that.
Humans moved differently, spoke with more than words. There was tension in her spine, alertness in her fingers. She was soft, yes, but not weak. A dangerous combination.
He watched the curve of her body beneath the robe, the delicate angles of her face, the contrast of her pale skin against the hard metal of her surroundings. Her dark hair spilled around her shoulders like silk, a captivating cascade of darkness.
Rare. Beautiful.
And entirely his.
He studied her in silence, absorbing every detail, cataloging her essence.
What would she sound like when she spoke to him, her voice echoing in the silent chambers of his fortress? When she cried out, whether in fear or something else? What would she smell like beneath those robes, beneath his hands, her scent a foreign allure?
What would her blood taste like?
The thought coiled through him, a slow burn of heat rising from the depths of his being. Intentional. Controlled.
This was not lust, a base, fleeting desire.
It was ownership, a possessive claim that resonated in his very bones.
It was curiosity, a fascination with the unknown.
And, perhaps, something more dangerous, a seed of something unexpected taking root in the barren landscape of his heart.
The feed flickered, a minor disruption.
Still, he watched, transfixed.
Still, he did not look away, his gaze a possessive brand.
The feed hovered in the still air, casting a soft, shifting glow against the black stone walls. Zarokh’s gaze remained fixed on her—his human—long after the last of the footage played, the image burned into his mind.
She was not what he had expected.
She moved with composure, but not submission. A quiet flame pulsed behind her eyes, a spark of defiance that intriguedhim. She wasn’t just enduring her captivity; she was thinking through it, strategizing, subtly probing the boundaries of her prison. That made her dangerous, a force to be reckoned with. But it also made her far more… compelling.
He barely registered the sound of the door sliding open until the presence made itself known, a subtle shift in the energy of the room.
“Forgive the interruption,” came Velkar’s voice, smooth and measured, careful not to overstep.
Zarokh didn’t turn, his attention still caught in the lingering echo of her image. “Speak.”
Velkar stepped into the chamber, his boots silent against the curix floor. He stopped just short of the projection, his eyes flicking once to the suspended image, his gaze sharpening as he took in the soft-clothed figure on the table. The human.
A long pause, a pregnant silence.
“Is it the case,” Velkar said at last, his voice carefully neutral, a delicate dance around a dangerous subject, “that you are… actually fascinated by that creature?”
