Page 23 of Sold to the Nalgar (Stolen From Earth #3)

S he woke to silence and light.

For a moment, Cecilia thought she might have imagined everything.

The alien bed, the heavy drapes, the scent of stone and smoke and him .

But then the ache set in. Her body throbbed, especially at her wrists, where his grip had pinned her down.

And her neck—sharp and tender—burned faintly beneath her skin.

She touched the spot and flinched.

He’d bitten her.

The memory rushed back like a punch: his mouth at her throat, the heat of his body, the impossible strength, the taste of pleasure tangled with fury.

She pushed the sheets aside and sat up. The room was quiet, dimly lit by a shaft of pale red light leaking in through the window slits. Her eyes drifted to the ledge beside the bed.

Clothing had been laid out—black again, but not the ceremonial robe from before. This time it was practical: soft trousers, a long-sleeved tunic, and a thick, high-buckled belt. It looked tailored. For her.

Her stomach twisted at the thought.

And beside the clothing: food.

Real food.

Cecilia blinked, uncertain. A slab of meat, seared on the outside and nearly raw in the middle, rested on a black stone plate. A carved wedge of vibrant, alien fruit sat beside it, and a glass held a dark liquid—something thicker than water.

She stared.

Her body responded before her mind could catch up. Hunger surged. Her mouth watered. She hated that it did.

Still, she found herself crawling across the bed and pulling the tray closer. The scent hit her hard—rich, metallic, mouthwatering. It should have turned her stomach. Instead, it made her salivate.

She picked up the meat with trembling fingers. No utensils. No ceremony.

And bit.

It was warm. Juicy. Tender.

It was delicious.

She devoured it like she hadn’t eaten in days—which, she realized, was likely true. The juices ran down her wrist, and she licked them clean without thought. Her body wanted it. Needed it.

Then, suddenly, she stopped.

Her heart pounded.

She stared down at the half-eaten meat on the tray, at her hands—stained with juice, trembling with something that wasn’t fear.

She felt... different.

Cecilia raised her gaze to the far wall, narrowing her eyes. And then frowned.

She could see details in the stone—fine lines, striations, mineral veins—far more clearly than she should have been able to.

The smell of the clothing nearby reached her too easily. Fabric and something smoky, like him. Her skin tingled, feeling tighter and smoother. Her body buzzed with energy beneath the fatigue.

This wasn’t adrenaline.

This was something else .

Her hands curled into fists in her lap. The change wasn’t imagined. It was real. Something was happening to her. Something beneath the skin, in her bones, her blood.

Her blood.

She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking forward slightly as a chill worked its way up her spine.

Whatever Zarokh had done—whatever he had started with that bite—wasn’t just about pleasure or ownership.

He was changing her.