Page 46 of Sold to the Nalgar (Stolen From Earth #3)

N ight draped itself over the stronghold, cool and still, the red sun having slipped beneath the jagged horizon.

The fires from the battle had been extinguished, the smoke carried away by the desert wind.

Now the halls were quiet, the blood scrubbed from the stone, the bodies gone. Order had been restored.

Cecilia sank into the warm waters of Zarokh’s private baths, the heat seeping into her tired muscles, washing away the stink and grime of the day.

Across from her, Zarokh lowered himself into the pool, the water lapping over his broad shoulders.

His dark hair was wet and loose, streaming over his back like a black river.

She found her gaze lingering on him—on the hard planes of his chest, the cut of muscle along his arms. She’d admired him before, but now… after watching him fight, after seeing what his body was made for—every brutal, perfect motion—she felt a deep, hungry awe.

“Is this…” she began, her voice softer than she intended, “a regular occurrence for you? Fighting like that?”

Zarokh’s mouth quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He rolled one shoulder in a lazy shrug, droplets sliding down his skin. “It happens occasionally.” A beat of silence. “I’m used to it.” His tone carried an almost humorless humor—wry, sharp-edged.

Cecilia shook her head, a breathless laugh slipping out. “That’s insane.”

He moved closer through the water, and then his hands were on her hips, firm and possessive. “This is my life,” he said simply, leaning in. His lips brushed her jaw, her neck, his breath hot against her ear. “And now… it is yours, too.”

Her pulse leapt. She felt the solid warmth of his body, the heat radiating from him, and when his arms came around her, the world outside of this pool ceased to exist. She was naked in his embrace, the water rippling around them.

And beneath the surface, she felt him stir. Both of him.

A shiver ran through her. That hunger—dark and overwhelming—rose in her blood again.

“You were never going to escape me,” he murmured against her throat, his voice low, rough silk.

“Now you understand that. Earth is lost to you. Your old life… gone.” His hand slid down her back, tracing the curve of her spine.

“You haven’t had time to grieve. You will.

In time. Perhaps you’ll see that place again, if it’s possible. But you’ll never be the same.”

She swallowed, her breath catching. He was right.

She hadn’t grieved. But she had accepted.

This fate… it wasn’t so bad.

Not with him.

Zarokh shifted suddenly, the water rippling as he disappeared beneath the surface.

Cecilia gasped—then cried out, her back arching.

His mouth was between her thighs, his tongue stroking her clit with a fierce, relentless skill.

The shock of it tore through her, amplified by the wild energy of his blood still thrumming in her veins.

Her climax hit like lightning. Harder. Sharper. A hundred-fold what it should have been. The water around her sloshed as she gripped the pool’s edge, moaning his name.

He rose, his gaze burning red, his mouth wet from her. She barely had time to catch her breath before he was on her again, kissing her, lifting her. They made love in the water, his strength overwhelming but never careless, his dominance a dark, consuming thing that pulled her under like a riptide.

When she came again, he held her, his fangs grazing her neck. And then—sharp pain, hot pleasure—he bit her. He fed from her, slow and deliberate, each pull of his mouth sending shocks down her spine.

“You are mine now,” he growled against her skin, his voice low and dangerous, filled with something that felt like both promise and command.

“You always have been,” he added, licking the blood from her wound. “You just didn’t know it. My world is yours.”

And Cecilia—breathless, trembling—believed him.

Zarokh shifted beneath the water, lifting her effortlessly into his lap. His hands roamed her body with a possessive reverence, as though memorizing every curve, every shiver of her skin. She could feel him—both of him—pressing against her, hard and insistent, and it stole her breath.

He kissed her again, a deep, consuming kiss that left her dizzy, his tongue tasting of iron and heat. Every movement of his hands was deliberate, as if he owned not just her body but every breath she took. And maybe he did.

When he pushed into her, it was slow, almost reverent. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, every nerve alight as the water rippled around them. His forehead pressed to hers, his breath mingling with her own, his gaze locked on her like she was the only thing that existed.

“Mine,” he growled softly, the word vibrating through her chest. His movements were sensual, controlled, drawing out every tremor of pleasure until she felt she might shatter. Every thrust was a promise, every kiss a claim.

The pleasure built until she couldn’t hold it anymore, a wave of heat crashing over her as she cried out his name. Zarokh held her close as if he would never let her go, his pace fierce but unhurried, relentless in his need to brand her as his.

When she came again, the world dissolved into white heat, and his voice rumbled against her ear, low and certain:

“You are mine, Cecilia. Always.”