Page 43 of Sold to the Nalgar (Stolen From Earth #3)

T he smoke hit first. A vicious, acrid sting that scalded Cecilia’s throat and made her eyes water. She doubled over for a breath, one hand pressed against her ribs, and then she saw it—saw everything.

The city below was burning.

The blackstone walls, once towering and unbreakable, lay fractured and bleeding fire.

The gates were wide open, their jagged shadows stretching across streets slick with ash.

The air trembled with the scream of engines—ships cutting low, their metal hulls slicing through the haze.

Blazing towers leaned like dying giants, the spires glowing red against the twin suns.

She felt Zarokh still beside her. He stood at the rocky overlook like a carving of a god, the wind rippling through his dark hair. His jaw tightened as he took in the chaos below, and the silence around him deepened, thickened, until Cecilia’s skin prickled.

Then she saw them.

Soldiers. Armored in blood-red. Vuvak’s colors, as Zarokh had explained.

Her stomach turned. Vuvak.

Who was he? Another Nalgar, fierce and bloodthirsty like Zarokh. A faceless enemy.

She didn’t understand the brutal politics of this world, but she had picked her side.

Or, rather, the side—the overwhelming, indomitable force—had picked her , and she had no choice but to see this through.

She glanced up at Zarokh’s face, and what she saw there made her shiver. He didn’t just look angry. He looked betrayed.

Velkar.

The name flickered through his expression like a shadow. And in that moment, Cecilia understood: someone on the inside had let this happen. Someone had handed the city over.

He was the traitor, Zarokh told her. He knew without a doubt. Only Velkar knew what could bring down Zarokh’s rule. Only he knew how to do it.

And Zarokh had trusted him.

She felt the sting of betrayal as keenly as any human.

As any Nalgar.

The growl that came from Zarokh’s chest didn’t sound human.

He moved. A blur of black and bronze down the path that wound toward the city. His strides were savage, reckless, and she stumbled to keep up. Her heart banged against her ribs as they descended. Below, chaos raged—Nalgar civilians screaming, ships strafing the streets with fire.

Cecilia’s fear spiked, but Zarokh didn’t hesitate.

He hit the ground like a storm, slamming into the first red-armored soldier that crossed his path.

One strike—just one—and the man crumpled, lifeless.

Another soldier came at him, blade raised.

Zarokh’s arm moved faster than thought, and the enemy’s head spun free, thudding to the ground with a metallic clang.

Cecilia froze for a heartbeat. She’d seen violence before, but not like this. Not this fast, this brutal.

No sword.

No gun.

Just his fucking hands, tipped with claws that retracted when not in use.

Like a big cat, a pure predator.

Zarokh spared her no glance. His voice tore through the air, bellowing commands in his guttural language, rallying any Nalgar who could still fight. His blade—no, his hands —moved like weapons forged by war itself.

And then she saw the mother.

A young Nalgar woman crouched under a broken stall, her arms wrapped around a small child.

A soldier closed in, weapon raised, and Cecilia’s breath caught—until Zarokh was there.

One brutal strike, and the soldier was gone.

Zarokh’s hand, bloodied and huge, reached down to lift the mother and child to their feet, pushing them toward safety.

Something shifted in Cecilia’s chest.

This wasn’t just a man fighting for power. This was a warlord trying to protect.

Then she saw another soldier. Behind him. Creeping through the chaos with a blade drawn. Zarokh didn’t see him. He was too busy shielding a crowd of Nalgar civilians.

She didn’t think.

She moved.

Her body slammed into the soldier’s back. He roared, twisting, and they both hit the ground. His armor was heavy, his strength brutal, but her nails raked across his exposed skin, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. He screamed, but not before his blade caught her side.

White-hot pain seared through her.

Then Zarokh’s roar—deep, feral, devastating —ripped through the square. The soldier was yanked off her like a rag doll. Cecilia’s vision blurred just in time to see Zarokh’s hands twist and tear . The man’s head came free with a wet snap, and Zarokh hurled it into the dust.

He dropped to his knees beside her, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

“You will not die,” he snarled, his voice raw and dark. “Not now. Not with my blood.”

She blinked at him, disoriented, confused. He tilted his head, baring his throat to her.

It was an offering.

A command.

Her breath hitched. Around them, the battle slowed, a strange hush sweeping through the square. The Nalgar were watching, as if this moment meant something she couldn’t comprehend.

“Drink,” Zarokh ordered, his voice low and electric.

Her mind screamed no , but her body… her body leaned in. Her lips brushed his skin, warm and battle-hot. She could feel the pulse there, hammering like a drumbeat.

And then she bit.

Once again, the taste hit her like fire.

Sweet. Dark. Addictive. Nothing on Earth had ever tasted like this—rich and electric, like drinking raw power.

She would never tire of this. It would never cease to be this addictive, this shocking.

She moaned against him, her fingers clutching at his arm as she drank.

Zarokh growled, his massive hands steadying her, his entire body taut with something between fury and surrender.

When she finally pulled back, blood wet on her lips, the world sharpened. Her pain was gone. Every sense stretched wide open. She could see every flicker of flame, hear the clash of blades half a street away.

Zarokh smiled a mad, brutal, beautiful smile, baring his fangs.

There was pride in his expression, and something else. Something deeper than lust, than love, even.

Something purely alien.

Cecilia’s pulse thundered, but fear was no longer there. Something hotter and wilder had taken its place.

“Come,” Zarokh growled, rising and pulling her to her feet. “We take back what is mine.”

And when they moved, storming through the ruins together with an army of Nalgar falling in behind them, Cecilia realized a terrifying truth.

She wanted this.

The blood, the power, the heat.

She wanted war.