Page 40 of Sold to the Nalgar (Stolen From Earth #3)
H e didn’t say a word when the meeting ended.
Not as the lords filed out in silence, the scent of blood still hanging in the air. Not as he rose from his throne and descended the steps like a shadow with purpose.
Not even as he reached for her wrist—not roughly, but with command—and led her through the towering archways of the great hall, out past flanking guards and torchlit corridors.
Cecilia followed, heart thudding.
The halls wound upward. Past stone-carved balconies and iron-framed windows, past quiet alcoves filled with alien glyphs and strange relics. They climbed higher and higher, until the air thinned, and the ceiling disappeared entirely.
They emerged onto a parapet.
Open sky. Wind. Crimson light washing over everything.
The height made her stomach dip. They were on one of the tallest spires, a jutting platform with no guardrails, only a wide edge of black stone that overlooked the entire fortress… the entire world.
Zarokh let her go and strode to the edge, arms folded behind his back. His long cloak stirred with the breeze. The twin suns loomed overhead, casting his shadow sharp and regal across the stone.
“This,” he said quietly, “is my domain.”
Cecilia stepped beside him. The air up here was different—cooler, drier, clearer. The city stretched out below, an intricate sprawl of onyx towers, open squares, and sleek, angular buildings that shimmered faintly in the sun’s dying light.
And beyond it… the wilds.
Forests thick with shadow. Jagged mountain peaks. Rivers like veins carved through blood-red soil.
It was… beautiful.
And terrifying.
And it didn’t belong to her.
But the longer she looked, the more her chest ached with something else. A hollow yearning.
“You brought me up here to show me what I can’t have?” she muttered, eyes still scanning the horizon.
Zarokh didn’t answer.
Of course he didn’t.
He thought this gesture was generous. Magnanimous. Showing her the world like a king showing off his kingdom.
He had no idea.
She stepped closer to the edge. Peered down. Not to the ground—but to the balcony just below.
Three stories, maybe four.
The wind stirred her hair, and something wild stirred in her blood.
She could do it.
Her body felt… charged. Perfectly balanced. She’d been testing it. Small things. Watching how cuts vanished. How heavy things no longer seemed so heavy. How her muscles coiled with readiness.
She could leap.
“Do you want me to bow?” she asked softly.
He turned toward her, one dark brow lifting. “I want you to understand.”
She smiled.
Then she jumped.
The wind screamed past her ears. Her boots struck the balcony below with a heavy thud , knees bent, one hand splayed to catch balance.
She didn’t fall.
Didn’t stumble.
She landed like she was born for it.
Adrenaline surged through her. Her pulse was lightning.
She looked up—Zarokh was already moving to the edge, his form dark against the sky. But she didn’t wait.
The next jump was easier. Down again, over the terrace railing, to the broad stone street below.
And then?—
She ran .
Not away from him. Not really.
She ran because she could .
Because the world had stretched its gates before her and she refused to stay locked inside.
The streets blurred around her. Guards and servants snapped to attention as she tore past, but none moved to stop her. They must’ve been ordered not to. Or perhaps they were too stunned by the sight of a half-changed human, running like fire itself.
Buildings flashed past—temples, barracks, open plazas. The hum of technology somewhere beneath it all. And always, always the city’s strange beauty—alien but intoxicating.
She reached the outer gates. No one stopped her.
And beyond them—the forest.
She didn’t hesitate.
The trees swallowed her whole.
The wilds were darker than she expected. The sun bled through in slashes, filtered red light streaking over moss-covered roots and thorny undergrowth. Alien birds screamed in the canopy. Something large shifted in the shadows, pacing.
She ran faster.
Feral joy flooded her veins. The madness of movement. The freedom .
She leapt over gnarled trunks, vaulted boulders. Barely felt her feet hit the ground. She could run forever. She wanted to.
Because this—this was what she’d been denied.
And she wasn’t human anymore.
She didn’t know what she was.
But whatever Zarokh had made her into… it wanted the wild.
And it wanted to be free .
She ran until the trees thickened and the air grew wilder—wetter, sharper, filled with scents she couldn’t name. Each breath felt electric. Her feet barely skimmed the ground. Muscles coiled, responded. God, this body. This strength.
She laughed. Genuinely. Breathless with the rush.
She was a blade unsheathed.
No longer confined. No longer tethered.
Not to Earth. Not to fear.
She was free.
Her boots splashed through a shallow creek. She leapt from stone to root, ducking under branches. Sweat dampened the back of her neck. She didn’t care. She could run forever. She wanted to run forever.
Until she heard it.
A snarl.
Low. Guttural. Not behind her—but ahead. And to the left. Then the right.
She slowed.
The forest held its breath.
Something moved in the undergrowth—several somethings. Shadows, large and fast. A glint of eyeshine in the dim light.
Then the first beast stepped out.
It was enormous. Wolf-shaped, but wrong. Taller than her hip. Slabbed with muscle. Its coat was black and sleek, shimmering faintly with an oily sheen. Its mouth split wide—too wide—revealing rows of serrated teeth.
One beast became two. Then three. Then six.
Cecilia took a step back.
Her heart didn’t race. Not like it used to. But something primal still twisted in her gut.
Run.
No. Stand your ground.
She crouched, breath steady. Fists clenched. Her body pulsed with strange readiness. A corner of her brain—some buried, savage part—welcomed the challenge.
They lunged.
The first hit her shoulder. She twisted with it, slammed her elbow into its ribs. The crack of bone. It yelped, fell.
Another went for her legs. She kicked, felt something give beneath her heel.
She screamed—more from effort than fear—and grabbed a heavy branch from the forest floor, swinging it into the side of another one’s skull.
Blood sprayed. Alien, black.
She was winning .
Until she wasn’t.
A set of jaws clamped down on her forearm. She cried out, stumbling. Another beast rammed her side. She fell hard, back to the earth, the air knocked from her lungs.
A third creature loomed over her, growling, drool dripping from its fangs.
Fuck.
She was going to die out here. Alone. In the dirt. Torn apart by monsters on a planet that wasn’t hers.
The beast’s weight shifted.
Then—
A flash of motion. A blur of black.
And a sound.
Like thunder meeting steel.
The wolf-beast exploded backward.
Zarokh.
He moved like death incarnate.
No hesitation. No wasted motion.
He caught the nearest beast mid-lunge, snapped its spine with one brutal twist, and flung it into a tree. Another charged—he grabbed it by the muzzle and ripped its jaws apart. Bone cracked. Blood poured. The body collapsed in twitching ruin.
The rest tried to flee.
He didn’t let them.
In less than a minute, it was over.
Six bodies on the ground. Twitching. Silent.
Cecilia lay frozen in the grass, blood slick on her side, chest heaving. Her skin stung, her muscles screamed. But her eyes never left him.
Zarokh stood among the carnage, breathing hard, bare-chested, spattered in gore. His eyes were bright, wild. A beast, hers.
And he was beautiful.
Terrible.
Unstoppable.
He turned to her slowly, a snarl still lingering on his lips. But his gaze softened when it met hers.
He came to her side and crouched, one hand brushing her blood-matted hair from her face.
“I told you,” he said, voice low, quiet with rage, “the wilds are not for you.”
She blinked at him. “You followed me.”
“I always will.”
His hand touched the bite on her arm. Gentle. Reverent. “This body of yours—it heals quickly. But you are not invincible. Not yet.”
She wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. But all she could do was whisper, “You killed them all.”
He looked out at the mess. “Yes.”
A pause.
“Good.”