Page 16 of Sold to the Nalgar (Stolen From Earth #3)

T he door hissed open.

Cecilia jerked upright, breath catching.

Then she saw him.

Not in armor. Not a looming shadow of metal and menace.

Just him.

And her breath stuttered for an entirely different reason.

He was humanoid. Almost. Every detail was slightly wrong… or too perfect.

His black hair, glossy as ink, fell over his shoulders in two loose braids, the rest tumbling freely down his back. His smoky-gray skin had a pearlescent shimmer beneath the gold lighting. Alive. Luminous.

And his face…

God.

She hated how beautiful he was.

He had sharp, refined features. High cheekbones. A jaw cut like a blade. A mouth too perfect for someone with no mercy. But his eyes…

They were disturbingly red; deep and glimmering like bloodlit gemstones.

They locked onto her.

Her stomach turned to ice.

They didn’t just look. They claimed, as if he could see straight through her, as if she already belonged to him.

He wore black, like her, his robe loose, belted, and open at the chest to reveal muscle honed by war. His body was magnificent. Wide shoulders. Strong arms. Lean, lethal power.

He stopped at the foot of the bed, took a slow breath…

And scented her.

Like a predator.

Cecilia recoiled, crawling backward until her spine hit the carved headboard. The robe twisted around her legs, the collar cold against her throat.

He didn’t move.

He just stared.

What does he want?

The answer rose, dreadful and obvious.

Her mouth went dry.

No.

Her mind whispered, Don’t find him beautiful. But her body didn’t listen. Her pulse throbbed in her throat, every nerve alive, traitorously aware of his gaze.

She hated him.

She hated herself more.

She wanted to scream. To fight. To hide.

Instead, she stayed frozen.

He raised a hand.

Not the commanding stop gesture of before. This was different. Two fingers, graceful, curling inward.

Come.

Cecilia didn’t move.

Pressed hard against the wall, knees tucked in, fingers gripping the robe. Her heartbeat drowned out everything else. She stared at him, then shook her head, slow and disbelieving.

“No,” she whispered. Her voice cracked.

His eyes didn’t blink.

He beckoned again.

Something in her snapped.

“No,” she said, louder this time, her voice shaking with anger. “I’m not coming to you. I’m not a dog.”

She wasn’t sure he understood, but her defiance was clear. Her fists tightened in the robe as she pushed herself upright, spine rigid.

How dare he?

Did he think she was a toy? That she’d simply obey, accept this as if it was normal?

Her pulse hammered as the truth hit her again—she had been taken. Stolen from her life, her work, her world.

By him.

Because he could.

Her breath came faster, chest heaving. Not from fear.

From fury.

“Is this fun for you?” she hissed. “Do you think I’ll play along just because you’re… whatever the hell you are?”

His expression didn’t change.

But the air in the room tightened.

“I had a life,” she spat. “A name. I worked hard for everything I had. And you…” She jabbed a trembling finger at him. “You ripped it all away.”

Her throat burned, but she didn’t stop.

“I don’t care if you’re strong. I don’t care if you’re some kind of warlord. I’m not yours. I’ll never be.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just watched.

And that made it worse.

She wanted a reaction. Something. Anything.

But all she saw were those blood-red eyes, unblinking, fixed on her like she was a puzzle he intended to solve.

Her hands balled into fists, trembling.

She didn’t know what he’d do next.

She didn’t care.

She had nothing left to lose.

He stayed still, eyes glowing faintly, studying her like she was rare prey.

Then he inhaled deeply. Deliberately. The sound was soft, but she felt it, the hairs on her arms rising.

His gaze lowered slightly. A strange expression passed over his face.

Bliss.

No.. hunger.

The sight made her stomach twist.

What the hell was that? What was he smelling?

Me?

God.

She recoiled, yanking the robe tight, as if that could shield her from whatever burned behind his eyes.

Didn’t his kind have women?

Why her?

Was she a novelty, some exotic trophy?

Her face flushed with humiliation and rage.

She curled tighter, hugging her knees.

“Leave me alone, you spooky fucker,” she muttered. “Creep. Bastard. Fuck you.”

She didn’t care that he probably didn’t understand.

Except… maybe he did.

Because there was a pause, a subtle tilt of his head.

Then, without a word, he turned, walked to the door… and left.

Just like that.

She stared at the empty space, her pulse pounding. Silence settled upon the room, heavy and suffocating.

What the hell?

There was no shouting. No punishment. No forced compliance.

He was just… gone.

Her arms tightened around herself as confusion bled into the storm of fear and fury.

What is his game?

What does he want with me?

She sat there, curled and trembling, waiting.

Dreading what came next.