Page 71 of Sold to the Nalgar
But she didn’t feel rage. Not really.
Because this was the truth: Zarokh had stolen her world, her freedom, her future. But in its place… he’d given her power. The ability to survive here, on this ruthless, alien world.
And maybe, just maybe… the strength to rise above the role he’d cast her in.
If she was becoming Nalgar, even in part, then she would make sure she wasn’t just his pet. Or his pleasure slave. She would carve out her own place here, even if she had to bleed for it.
Because there was no going back.
Earth was a distant memory. That life—a mortal, fragile, limited life—was gone.
She stared at the mirror one last time.
“I’ll find a way to stand beside you, not beneath you,” she whispered. “You have no idea who you’ve turned me into.”
CHAPTER 35
Zarokh walked alone through the winding obsidian halls of his sanctum, the soles of his boots silent on the polished black stone. The torches along the walls cast flickering crimson light, mirroring the fire still burning low in his veins.
He had left her in his bed. Sated. Changed.
The scent of her still lingered on his skin—sweeter than any spice, more addictive than the battle-high. She had clawed her way into his senses with surprising ease, and he was beginning to realize the truth of it: she hadn’t been taken.
She’d claimed him just as thoroughly.
He had expected a trembling, broken thing when he first ordered her brought from the auction. A pretty creature to feed on, to indulge in during moments of indulgent cruelty. That was what he’d been promised. What the others assumed.
But what he'd received was… feral.
Not at first. No—at first, she’d been like all the others: dazed, frightened, bound by the weakness of her species. But then she looked at him. And fought him. And bled him.
She had stabbed him with precision, not panic. Waited until her chance came. She’d endured the loss of her world,her freedom, and then her humanity—and instead of weeping endlessly, she’d adapted.
That was what made her different.
She was human. But she was becoming Nalgar. Not in skin alone, but in spirit.
Zarokh turned down a narrower passage, lined with carved runes that whispered of past victories. His mind, though, was with the woman curled in the tangle of sheets he'd just left—her body bruised with pleasure, marked by his blood and seed, and soon... by his name.
Yes. He’d decided.
Let the clans talk. Let them whisper. He didn’t care. The old rules could rot. His kind would understand soon enough.
She was his mate.
He would not keep her hidden anymore.
She had earned the right to be revealed.
To stand beside him.
To show them all what he already knew: that this sweet, savage little human was not weak.
She was becoming something new. Something worthy of fear and awe.
His fingers brushed the edge of the iron crest affixed to the doorway ahead, the symbol of his dominion etched deep in metal. The war council would meet soon. They would expect blood and strategy.
They would get both.
