Page 2 of Sold to the Nalgar (Stolen From Earth #3)

T he war room was quiet. Shadows stretched long across the floor, broken only by the red pulse of the data columns before him. Maps hovered in midair, glowing in alien script, but Zarokh paid them no mind.

He sat on the high seat of command, clothed not in battle-armor but in a robe of deep black, woven from the tough, silken fibers of the wild Targarin herds that roamed the southern cliffs of Anakris. The fabric held no insignia, no embellishment. It didn’t need any.

The only mark of his status was the circlet upon his brow: as black as the void, crafted from Vaelian, the rarest mineral in the known Universe. Forged in silence, and worn in silence. Alone. A symbol not of vanity, but supremacy.

He was Warlord of the Lacris, one of the most powerful tribes on Anakris.

And he was Nalgar, a born warrior, feared throughout the Universe.

Standing before him, head bowed, was his most proficient spy, Velkar. Clad in a sleek black combat suit that accentuated his lean, tall frame, Velkar stood with his hands clasped behind his back, all edge and shadow.

Where Zarokh was force and precision, Velkar was insinuation and silence. A killer of whispers.

Cunning.

Loyal.

He obeyed because he knew who Zarokh was.

Because he knew what Zarokh could do.

“Report,” Zarokh commanded.

Velkar looked up. “It is confirmed,” he said, his voice low and dry, like wind sliding through stone. “The Dukkar have procured the asset: a human female, as you have specified.”

Zarokh said nothing. His gaze remained on the holographic map of the Sulgari frontlines, flickering faintly beside his throne.

“Black hair,” Velkar added, with a hint of a grin. “As specified.”

That earned him a glance. Just one.

Velkar bowed his head slightly. “They are rare. Coveted. There are not many left unclaimed. Not… pure ones.”

“Is she intact?” Zarokh asked.

Velkar’s mouth curved in amusement. “Of course. The Dukkar know better than to cross you. She has not been touched.”

Zarokh leaned back in his seat, fingers curling against the carved armrests. His thoughts did not drift toward the woman—yet—but toward the implications. The logistics. The price. Procuring a human was not a matter of coin. It required dominance. Influence. Power.

And for years, he had refused. Others—warlords with lesser minds and hungrier appetites—had indulged. But Zarokh had stayed above such distractions.

Until now.

Velkar tilted his head, studying him. “I’m surprised, Warlord. You’ve never been one to… indulge.”

“I am restless.”

The words hung in the air like a blade suspended mid-swing. Truth, sharp and simple.

But it was more than restlessness.

There was a fracture beneath his calm. A flaw etched into his blood. The very mutation that had made him faster, stronger, more enduring than any of his peers… had also rendered him incapable of producing heirs. The Lacris did not speak of it. Not openly. But he knew. And so did they.

He could command a city. He could crush a legion. But his bloodline would end with him.

And perhaps, in the privacy of his thoughts, that truth had festered longer than he cared to admit.

Velkar gave a slow nod. “War is endless. Victory… predictable. Perhaps you seek a different kind of conquest?”

Zarokh’s gaze shifted once more to the map. “There is only so much blood one can spill before the silence afterward becomes unbearable.”

“Then let this… new thing occupy that silence.” Velkar’s smile was all teeth. “They say human blood is unlike any other. Sweet. Addictive.”

“I’ve heard the stories.”

Velkar stepped forward, lowering his voice. “The Dukkar vessel is en route to Daxan. She’ll be delivered directly to your sanctum.”

Zarokh nodded once, slowly.

“A challenge,” he murmured. “Something that fights back.”

Velkar turned to go, but paused at the threshold. His tone, when he spoke again, was casual—too casual. “What are they like?”

Zarokh raised an eyebrow. “Humans?”

Velkar stepped back into the light. “Yes. Why are they so hard to acquire if they’re so… weak?”

Zarokh exhaled slowly. “You know the answer. Earth is distant. Remote. Surrounded by a volatile, resource-poor system and tucked in a backwater arm of the galaxy. It is shielded. Not technologically—but politically. Their solar system is isolated, difficult to access. Expensive.”

“But the Dukkar have a route.”

“They do,” Zarokh agreed. “And they were going to decimate that world. Strip it for blood, bodies, and fuel. But then…” He tilted his head slightly. “A Marak intervened.”

Velkar’s brows lifted. “One of the ancients?”

Zarokh nodded. “And not just any. Karian. The oldest. The most feared. Even the Dukkar hesitated.”

Velkar let out a low breath. “That one is not to be trifled with.”

“No,” Zarokh said, his voice like stone. “He is not.”

Velkar’s grin faded, replaced by thoughtfulness. “Then perhaps it is good they serve you.”

Zarokh didn’t answer. His mind had already shifted again, back to the woman.

Human. Black-haired. Soon to be his.

And for the first time in cycles, the silence was no longer comfortable. It was… charged.