Page 49 of Sold to the Nalgar
A sharp sting, twin needles piercing her skin. Then heat. A pulsing, dragging pull, as if something ancient had awakened and was feeding.
Her back arched, fingers clawing the bed. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream.
She could only feel.
It was impossible. Horrifying in its intimacy. He drank from her as if she were sacred, as if her blood were an answer to some primal need.
She felt herself weakening.
Fading.
She didn’t know how long it lasted.
When he finally pulled back, he exhaled against her skin like he’d tasted something divine, breath warm, her blood on his lips.
Her pulse thundered.
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.
He rose, eyes bright, possessive, terrifyingly sated.
Then, deliberately, he bit his lower lip, drawing a bead of crimson—her blood. He dragged his thumb across it, then leaned in.
Her breath hitched.
With maddening gentleness, he brushed that blood against her lips like a claim.
A fucking vow.
She recoiled, but it was too late. She could taste it—herself—on him. Warm, metallic, and dizzying.
Then, without a word, he vanished into the shadows.
Leaving her cold and shaking. Marked in ways deeper than the bite.
And still hating him.
Even as her traitorous body pulsed with the memory of his mouth… and the taste of her own blood on his.
CHAPTER 22
The steam rose in heavy coils around him, condensing on the walls of black stone and slicking across his bare skin. Zarokh stood waist-deep in the central basin of his private baths, the water dark and mineral-rich, fed from the volcanic springs far beneath the stronghold.
Heat soaked into his muscles.
But it did nothing to ease the tension.
He stared down at his hands. The ones that had touched her. Explored her.Fedfrom her.
Her blood still lingered on his tongue.
Sweet.Sweeter than he’d ever tasted. There had been rumours, of course—those who had procured humans before him spoke of their exotic appeal. But they hadn’t mentioned this. The way a human female’s bloodchangedafter pleasure. Thickened. Brightened. Saturated with desire and hormonal flush.
He hadn’t known.
Hadn’t expected the taste of her to be this divine.
And her scent—gods above, it was still in his throat. In his chest. He couldn’t scrub it away. Not from his memory. Not from his skin.
