Page 11 of Sins of His Wrath (Myth of Omega: Wrath #2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T he hours blurred into a feverish cycle of pleasure and exhaustion.

Akoro took her again on his bed, then dragged her down to the floor to fuck her, then pinned her against the wall and claimed her again. Naya howled and wailed, her cries echoing through his chamber as he bent her, folded her, twisted her to suit his needs. His touch was unrelenting, his hands positioning her as though she were his—a possession, a prize, a thing meant to take whatever he gave.

Even when he carried her to the bathing pool, lowering her into the warm water, he gave no reprieve. Among the fragrant oils and the rising mist, he took her again. Slow, deep, thorough. Her back pressed to the smooth stone edge, her legs wrapped around his waist, his thrusts measured but merciless.

Eventually, she realized there was an undercurrent to it, something dark and smoldering, laced beneath the brutal pace of his claiming. At first, she thought it was anger that she’d dared to escape him. Or worry that she’d been hurt. But as time stretched on, those seemed unlikely.

His fingers lingered too long on her skin, his mouth dragging over the curve of her throat, teeth grazing but never biting. His grip was fierce—possessive—but not cruel. It seemed he wasn’t just claiming her—he was consuming her, as if losing himself in her was the only way to anchor her to him, to leave no doubt where she belonged—right here, beneath him, bound to him.

And her inner Omega rejoiced.

When she finally reached the breaking point of exhaustion, he pulled her against his chest and let her sleep.

Later, servants entered—silent shadows, placing food and drink beside the bed before vanishing without so much as a glance. Akoro watched her closely as she ate, making sure she drank deeply from goblets of cool water. By the time night fell, draping the chamber in velvet darkness, they lay tangled in the sheets, her body deliciously sore, his arms a heavy weight across her waist.

But he was not sated.

The next day, and the next, he took her again.

For days, they did not leave his chambers.

Servants brought fresh clothing she rarely wore and meals for them to share.

They rarely talked, and while there was pleasure in his touch and presence, Naya did no more than was required of her. She accepted him into her body, encouraged his need to claim, and reveled in him, but in quiet moments when his scent clung to her skin and his seed seeped out of her, while her inner Omega was quiet and sated, she turned over the memories of home—of conversations she’d had, and theories she needed to explore when she got the chance.

At times Akoro lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, as though checking to see if she was still present, and she always stared back at him, making it clear that she was willing. This wasn’t like last time—not her Haze or her withdrawal. Their interaction wasn’t the same. She was maintaining a detachment and he could sense it.

One afternoon he was driving into her with merciless force, his fingers digging into her hips as she lay sprawled on her stomach at the edge of the bed. Arms stretched out, she fisted the sheets, humming with the satisfaction. Her legs dangling, toes barely grazing the floor. Each thrust sent a delicious jolt rippling through her, her body tightening, tumbling toward the inevitable. Pleasure clawed up her core, cresting higher, throbbing hotter. She moaned into the bed, her fingers pulling the sheets, the addictive, primal bliss surging through her.

Suddenly, Akoro pulled out, and, seizing her by the waist, tossed her further up to the head of the bed.

Disoriented, Naya gasped. She sat up, blinking at him as the jagged peak of her pleasure ebbed, leaving her aching. He stood at the edge of the bed, as naked as she was, his slick-coated cock rigid and weighted.

Her body throbbed in protest, desperate for the release he had ripped away. But something in his posture made her pause—the tight coil of tension in his muscles, the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his chest heaved.

"You think this is enough?" he said, frustration in his booming voice.

She inhaled slowly, gathering her scattered thoughts. After so many days in an orgasmic bliss, she couldn’t pull together her thoughts quick enough to address his sudden anger. “What?”

He gestured between them. "You think I’ll be satisfied with this?"

Naya stared at him. "Isn’t this what you wanted?"

“No,” he growled. “I want you to stop this foolishness.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What foolishness? You set the terms. I’m doing everything you want.”

His nostrils flared, tension sparking through him. “You’re not behaving like my mate.”

Naya tucked her feet under her, so she sat on her heels. “How do you want your mate to behave?”

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. "Not like this."

“Not like what?” she said sharply. “Willing? Obedient? Isn’t that what you want? I’m right here like you wanted, Akoro. And you still don’t seem satisfied.”

His jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek ticking. "You act like what I want is unreasonable, like either of us has a choice." His voice dropped, low and lethal. "You were meant to be mine. Say it. Say you’re mine."

So that was what this was. He didn’t just want submission—he wanted everything. The pieces of herself she still held onto, the ones she refused to surrender. "I've never denied we were true mates."

His nostrils flared. "You tried to hide it from me. Don’t deny it."

"When was I supposed to tell you?" she said tightly. "When you were threatening to murder my people or when you were coming to my cart uninvited?"

Akoro’s face darkened, his nostrils flaring. Then his fury cracked through the chamber. "You knew that long ago?"

Naya stared at him, her pulse steady, letting silence stretch between them. This was pointless. What did he expect her to say? He could be as angry as he liked about it. His need to control slammed firm against the reality that no matter how deeply he buried himself inside her, no matter how many times he knotted her or made her climax, she had nothing else to give him. Any more discussion was a waste of her energy, unless it involved him leaving her empire alone.

She let out a slow breath, then began crawling toward him on the bed, never breaking eye contact. "I am here now," she said, her voice starkly quiet against his bellowing anger. "Isn't that enough?"

“No,” he barked. His chest heaved, his fists clenched at his sides, but she saw it—the way his eyes tracked her unhurried movements. She was small, vulnerable, inching toward him in a way that would rouse any Alpha to claim.

Before he could make any more demands, Naya reached him. Leaning forward, she took his smooth, thick column in her mouth, humming at the heady taste of him. With her sticky slick slathered over him from root to tip, the result was intoxicating.

His reaction was immediate. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. Their eyes locked—his seething, hers defiant. He could take her body, but that was where his power over her ended.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. Then, with a growl, he shoved her back down, guiding her over him, his cock sliding deep into her throat.

Naya adjusted quickly, relaxing her throat to accommodate him. He controlled the pace, sliding in and out of her mouth in a smooth rhythm, but she’d forgotten just how much she enjoyed it. She let herself melt into it. Her saliva gathered, frothing past her lips. But that was how he liked it, messy and dripping, like her cunt. She curled her tongue, wriggling it along his ridges, savoring the feel of him.

A harsh sound—half growl, half groan—tore from his throat, and he held her head still and thrust deep, his scent turning beautifully pungent and sharp, but then his restraint finally snapped.

With a rough jerk, he pulled her up and flipped her onto her side, positioning her on the bed in one fluid motion. His body curling around hers like a living fortress.

"I never wanted a mate, tmot zia ," he murmured against her ear. “Family is nothing but disappointment. But you are mine, whether you like it or not.” He entered her again in one smooth, powerful thrust, stretching her, claiming her. “I want you. And I will have all of you.”

The position allowed him deeper, and Naya gasped, unable to respond. The new angle sent sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine with each thrust. He kept one leg on his shoulder, stretching her wider for him, and increased his speed until he was pummeling her into the bed, his frustration and need driving his body into hers, stripping them down to their primal form—an Alpha who needed his Omega’s surrender.

When release finally came, it shattered her completely, the crush of ecstasy gripping her with such intensity that tears sprang to her eyes, leaving her gasping. And as the last tendrils of pleasure softened, a chilling certainty settled in her gut.

Akoro wouldn’t be satisfied with what he had—he wanted everything.

This was not enough for him. He would try to take more.

They slipped back into a rhythm—one that felt familiar but now carried an unspoken weight.

Akoro still took her with relentless hunger, still pulled her beneath him like he could devour her whole, but his mounting frustration was impossible to ignore. Naya pretended not to notice. Sometimes, she even enjoyed it, the raw, untamed force of him almost mesmerizing.

Then a knock on the door shattered the fragile balance they’d built.

Naya lay sprawled across silk sheets that still held the warmth of their bodies, and watched Akoro rise. Naked and magnificent, he padded to the door with the irritation of a predator disturbed from his prize.

The visitor’s voice was a whisper, but whatever they said made his spine go rigid. He dismissed them with a harsh word and prowled back to the bed.

He didn’t speak or offer an explanation. Instead, he dragged the blankets over them both, locking her against him. His powerful arms encircled her body, drawing her back against his chest until she could feel his heartbeat—steady but quick—against her shoulder blade. His face buried in the curve of her neck, breathing her in as though memorizing her scent.

Naya opened her mouth to ask what had happened—but shut it just as quickly. It wasn’t her concern. He was a ruler, and just like last time, he had other responsibilities. In fact, he’d said he needed to get back to his land quickly for his people, yet he hadn’t left the bedroom in at least two weeks. Relaxing, she settled against him, and enjoyed the feel of his body cradling hers.

For three days, the knocks came more frequently.

Each time, Akoro rose, spoke quietly, dismissed the messenger, and returned to bury himself inside her, drag his tongue through her folds, or pull her against his chest and simply hold her.

The fourth morning, sunlight cut through the latticed windows and he lifted her from the bed and carried her to the bathing pool to bathe with him. Then he dressed in his royal attire, the patterned layers transforming him from raw, rugged Alpha to statuesque king before her eyes. Damn, he was a very handsome man.

As he secured his hair back into its binding, his gaze met hers. A moment passed. Then, without warning, he seized her by the throat, pulling her into him. Pressing his nose to the gland at her neck, he inhaled long and deep before pulling back to meet her gaze. Without a word he turned and left the room.

The door clicked shut, and unease curled in Naya’s stomach. This was the first time he’d left her alone since she’d surrendered herself to him. She climbed back to bed and, surrounding herself with his scent, fell back into restless sleep.

He returned hours later, his mood somber, his silence thunderous. He tore his clothes off and dragged her down to the middle of the bed, knocking her legs apart and entering her with the intensity she loved.

It became a pattern.

Each day, he was gone longer, and each night, he took her with the same ruthless hunger.

On the fifth morning, Naya woke alone. Sunlight streamed through the high, arched windows, illuminating the room’s grandeur—the ornate pillars, the latticed shadows cast over the shimmering bathing pool, the pale gold and deep blues of a space that felt more like a throne room than a bedroom.

She rose, wrapping herself in the bedsheets. Her fingers trailed along the richly decorated walls, following the dips and grooves of their intricate patterns as she traced the room’s perimeter. She stopped by the pool. A magical structure hummed somewhere underneath the water.

She hadn’t noticed it much before, but it made sense. Sometimes the water churned and flowed on its own, old water replaced by new, without anyone draining it. She continued walking unhurriedly, examining everything she could find. The chamber was luxurious by any standard, but with the pillars and high vaulted ceiling, it felt incredibly special.

She halted at the sight of the weapons stand along the back wall. She’d forgotten he had one in here. It was like the ones on the rooftop where she and Akoro had sparred. But this one held an array of royal armaments—swords with glittering blades, curved daggers with jewel-encrusted hilts, staffs inlaid with silver. Weapons meant for a king.

Naya approached them slowly. They certainly were beautiful. Her hand hovered over a slim dagger before grasping its hilt.

Lifting it, she tested its balance, the weight perfect in her palm. Slowly, and still clutching the bedsheet around her, she moved through one of her favorite sequences, muscles protesting after days of nothing but Akoro’s attention.

Placing the dagger back, she searched for clothes but found none in her size. So she tied the sheet into a makeshift tunic and returned to the stand. This time she lifted a sword and began training, just like she did when she was captured last time, but now it was just for fun, for something to do. It felt good to move through those motions again and use her body for something other than submission. She moved through the drills, the blade an extension of her body, each movement smooth, familiar, freeing. For the first time in days, she felt like herself, before her inner Omega took over.

She had no idea how long she trained before exhaustion took her, but by the time Akoro returned and moved between her legs, she was already asleep.

Each day, Naya would wake alone, spend hours honing her skills with the weapons on Akoro's wall, and return them carefully before his return. He never spoke of what kept him away, and she did not ask.

On the eighth day, she got careless. She had progressed to more complex patterns with a short sword, pushing herself harder, faster. The weapon was beautiful—curved and deadly, its dark steel etched with intricate symbols, the gilded hilt wrapped in strips of leather, and a single obsidian gem gleaming in its center. But she slipped, and the edge caught her forearm, opening a clean slash that immediately welled with blood.

Hissing, Naya dropping the weapon with a clatter. Blood dripped onto the intricate rug. She pressed her hand against the wound, but the cut was deeper than she had first thought and blood seeped between her fingers.

Cursing inwardly with annoyance, she headed to the door. She hadn’t touched it since she arrived, not wanting to give Akoro any reason to accuse her of trying to escape or not sticking to his terms.

At least four guards stood outside. "I need a healer," she said to the nearest one.

He glanced at her arm and then nodded, disappearing down the corridor.

Akoro arrived moments later, bursting through the door with such force that it slammed against the wall. His eyes narrowed on the makeshift bandage she’d made from a torn strip of bedding, now soaked through with red.

"What the fuck happened?" he bellowed.

A healer scurried in behind him, an older woman who approached Naya with caution. As she unwrapped the crude bandage, Akoro's gaze fell to the blood-stained rug and then darted to the weapon’s stand. His entire body tensed.

He said nothing as the healer treated her wound, but as soon as she finished, he ordered her out.

“Why are you touching those weapons?”

Naya pressed the secure bandage around her arm and met his gaze. “Why not?”

He stepped forward. “If you’re trying to hurt yourself, I will?—”

“No,” she said, alarmed. “I’m not trying to do that! I just wanted to do some drills, try the weapons out.”

“They are dangerous,” he barked.

Indignation flared through her. "I’ve handled sharp weapons since I was five years old, Akoro. Are you forgetting I was trained as a warrior of Lox? I used to get scrapes all the time—it’s not serious. Just because I’m on your knot for days on end doesn’t mean I was bred for your pleasure."

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. “I don’t want you touching them again.”

“And what do you expect me to do while you’re gone?” she shot back at him. “There’s nothing to do—nothing to read, no one to talk to, nowhere to go. I don’t even have clothes.”

“You don’t need clothes,” he thundered.

For some reason, that incensed her. “I’m fucking bored in here! What did you expect? That I would cease to exist when you don’t need me.”

"Bored?" He repeated the word as though it were foreign to him. "You are here by your own choice. To be mine. Not to slice yourself up with weapons you clearly can’t handle."

“No?” she said, feigning surprise. “Why? Is that pleasure reserved for you alone?”

His nostrils flared, and for a heartbeat, Naya thought he might snap. Instead, he yanked her against him. But in her anger, she shoved him back hard—pushing him back to the bed. In his surprise, he let her.

And then everything dissolved into raw, reckless need.

What followed was not gentle. It was a frantic, ravenous, and perverse, a clash of wills expressed through bodies. Naya fought him to let her climb on top and then rode him hard, impaling herself on him, slamming her ass down with almost the same strength that he fucked her. Akoro bellowed, releasing a string of foreign words in the sexiest raspy voice that made her slick froth. He groaned, grabbing at her hips, but she kept slapping his hands away, until he roared, flipping her over to take back control.

The wound on her arm reopened, but she barely felt it.

Blood streaked their bodies, smeared across his chest, her thighs, the tangled sheets beneath them—war paint on the battlefield of their bed. But neither of them noticed, too consumed with their latest clash.

When it was over, when the last tremors of pleasure faded and left them gasping, Akoro retrieved a fresh cloth and a small vial of healing balm from a carved wooden chest near the bed. He returned to her side, his movements slower now, his touch surprisingly gentle as he wrapped the wound with precise efficiency.

Naya lay still, watching him, barely able to keep her eyes open.

His fingers trailed over her body, exploring, caressing, "Do not touch those weapons again," he said, his voice quiet but leaving no room for argument. Then he pulled her against him, her body molding to the heat of his.

Naya was too exhausted to argue, but she murmured her dissent against his skin as she drifted to sleep.

Two days later, after they bathed, Akoro dressed and handed her a tunic.

Naya stared at it, confused. The fabric was rough, dark gray—plain, almost crude. She glanced up at him and stilled.

Something was wrong.

He looked agitated, angry even. “Do not speak.”

Naya blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You are not to speak,” he said, the warning in his tone clear and grating. “No matter what comes next, don’t say anything. Do you understand what I’m saying? Not a word.”

A ripple of unease curled through her. “What is happening?”

Akoro stepped forward, slowly. “In two days, you’ll get your first opportunity to work on the Solution.”

At that, Naya straightened, her mind lurching in a thousand directions at once.

“But if you speak,” he continued. “If you say one word between now and tomorrow night, you won’t get it. Do you understand?”

Naya nodded, her mind still working to figure out what was going to happen between now and then.

“Put that on.” He gestured to the tunic.

As she pulled the rough fabric over her head, Akoro moved to the door, his back rigid, his hands braced against the wood. He turned to look at her for a long moment, his hands on the door. “Always remember you are safe.”

Sudden nerves trembled in her stomach. What did that mean?

Before she could think, Akoro pulled the door open. A group of guards stood outside. “Go with them,” Akoro commanded.

Naya’s heart thrummed, confusion flooding her mind, but she said nothing. She joined the guards outside.

They led her through a network of empty corridors until they reached a busier area of the palace that bustled with the sounds she remembered. She couldn’t see anything though—the guards were so big and so thick around her she could only see the ceiling.

They turned down a series of flights of stairs twisting down underneath the building. The air became musty and damp, heavy with the scent of earth. The torches lining the rough-hewn walls flickered, throwing jagged, shifting shadows.

Naya tried to remain calm. Akoro had promised that she wouldn’t be hurt as part of his terms, but this felt dangerous. That foolish Omega ached with disappointment that he’d sent her away—and worried she’d done something to displease him—but that was why she couldn’t pay attention to that foolish side of herself. Just because he could fuck her into oblivion didn’t mean he wasn’t a cruel, dangerous man. He was. He always had been. She had to remember that.

Finally, they reached a heavy door banded with iron. One guard stepped forward to unlock it, the key turning with a grinding sound that echoed in the confined space. The door swung open, and they led her along several dark corridors until they reached a small, dark chamber at the end of the passageway. Naya’s breath was steady, measured. But inside, her pulse pounded.

Before her eyes could adjust, the guard led her forward, directing her through a small doorway into darkness. Naya almost told them she couldn’t see, but Akoro's warning echoed in her mind.

A door clanged shut behind her, and a lock clicked into place. Darkness pressed in around her, and she inhaled sharply, reaching out, searching—only to feel damp, slimy stone.

Finally, as her eyes adjusted and she could see, clarity rushed in.

She was in a prison cell.