Page 72 of Sold to the Nalgar
But they would also get a warning.
He was no longer alone.
And she—Cecilia—was no longer just his pleasure.
She was his future.
And woe to anyone who dared challenge it.
CHAPTER 36
The war chamber thrummed with tension.
Iron sconces cast a red, flickering glow against the obsidian walls. At the center of the chamber stood the war table—carved from the spine of a stonebeast and lacquered in the black blood of a hundred victories. Around it, the high commanders sat or loomed—battle-scarred, hulking Nalgar warlords, each dangerous in his own right. But only one ruled them.
Zarokh stood at the head, silent.
Velkar entered without flourish, dust streaking his crimson armor, eyes hard.
“We followed the eastern ridge down to the old chasms,” he said. “Vuvak’s numbers have tripled.”
The room stirred—grunts, curses, murmurs.
Velkar continued, “He’s recruited the Bone Claws. And the Skarn horde.”
A shift of weight from the warlords. Even Zarokh raised a brow.
“He’s not just gathering strength,” Velkar said flatly. “He’s positioning himself. Waiting. He wants your seat.”
Zarokh remained quiet for a moment, letting the heat rise. Letting them wonder.
And then he spoke—soft, low, lethal. “He may want it. He’ll die trying to take it.”
Across the table, Bokut shifted, folding his massive arms. His scarred lip curled.
“There was a time,” Bokut drawled, “you’d have crushed such a rebellion before it began. Before you were distracted.”
The air in the chamber went still.
Zarokh didn’t blink. “Say that again.”
Bokut sneered. “You’ve gone soft, warlord. Ever since you brought that little Earth-bred thing into your sanctum. Whispering about her. Keeping her locked away. We’ve seen the signs.”
A low growl rippled through the room—not from Zarokh, but from Velkar.
Zarokh didn’t growl.
He moved.
One moment, he was still. The next, he was across the table.
Bokut never stood a chance.
Zarokh seized him by the throat, lifting the hulking warrior clean off the ground. Bokut’s boots kicked the air, hands scrambling, the cartilage in his neck crunching beneath Zarokh’s fingers.
“I have spilled blood before your ancestors ever hatched,” Zarokh hissed, eyes glowing like coals. “Do you think a human could dull my blade? Do you think desire weakens me?”
Bokut gargled.
