Page 20 of Sold to the Nalgar
Minutes passed—she had no sense of how many. Her muscles ached with impending cramps. The air pressed down on her, either too thin or oppressively heavy, making her dizzy with possibilities.
Did the ship land? Was it crashing now? Was that an attack?
Are they all dead?
Am I?
Her throat tightened painfully, constricting her breath.
Until…
She heard footsteps.
They echoed in the quiet. Heavy boots, steps deliberate and measured. Not the soft, quiet steps of the masked ones. These footsteps had purpose, authority. Each step reverberated through the floor, echoing in her bones. No rush, no clamor. Just a quiet certainty that made her certain of one thing: someone, or something, was coming.
And they weren’t in a hurry.
She tensed, every nerve alive. Her heart threatened to leap from her chest.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t hide. She was pinned like some rare insect under glass, exposed for inspection.
The footsteps closed in, drawing nearer.
Then, suddenly, they stopped.
A hiss.
Not the clatter of a door, nor the grind of a sliding panel. It was an almost silent opening, as if the ship itself unwillingly parted for whoever approached.
A rush of cool, dry air filled the space, tinged with a sharp, metallic scent and a hint of heat.
Cecilia slowly turned her head, her pulse pounding against the collar around her throat.
That’s when…
She saw him.
CHAPTER 11
He stepped through the door like gravity followed him.
The moment he entered, the air changed. Itthickened. Every part of her body went still, every breath locked in her chest.
He was enormous.
Encased in dark, burnished armor that gleamed like polished obsidian streaked with veins of living metal. The plating was angular, sharp-edged, and layered like scales, but fluid in the way it moved—as if it had grown over him, not been forged. Blades curled from his shoulders and elbows, not ornamental, but functional, threatening. Predatory. The helm alone was a thing of nightmares—smooth, expressionless, with a narrow, angular slit that might’ve concealed eyes… or nothing at all.
He wasn’t human.
Nothing about him couldeverbe mistaken for human.
And yet, he stood there… silent.
Watching her.
She was still restrained—arms pinned, ankles spread slightly, back flat against the wall—vulnerable in a way that felt bone-deep. The robe barely covered her. The collar was cold against her throat. Her skin still burned from the earlier punishment.
But now, she barely noticed the sting.
