Page 47 of Sold to the Nalgar (Stolen From Earth #3)

B y Cecilia’s own reckoning, six months had passed since the day she was taken from Earth. Six months since her old life burned away, since her name and her body were stripped to something raw and unrecognizable—only to be reforged, piece by piece, into someone new.

The stronghold stood whole again. Its blackstone walls gleamed beneath the twin suns, banners rippling in the dry desert wind.

Where fire and ruin had once gutted the halls, life now thrived.

Warriors trained in the courtyards, their blades catching the sunlight like lightning.

Children darted across the wide stone steps, laughing, while women carried baskets of grain and water with an ease that spoke of strength born from survival.

The Nalgar were alien, yes. Brutal, unyielding.

Yet the more Cecilia learned of them, the more she saw reflections of humanity.

They were loyal. Fierce. They protected their own.

She had watched them bleed for one another, laugh and mourn together.

They were a people bound by fire and steel, but also by something softer—an unspoken understanding that no one stood alone.

And Zarokh… he carried all of it on his shoulders.

She understood him now in a way she hadn’t before.

He wasn’t just a warlord. He was the protector of his people, the unshakable force that held them together.

The fear he inspired was not hollow—it was earned.

And now, she could see why they followed him.

When the Nalgar bowed to her, it was no longer out of fear. It was respect. Recognition.

She sat beside him on the raised platform of the war hall, not as a captive, not collared or trembling, but as his equal. His mate. Her spine matched the proud line of his, but her hand rested on his thigh, his warmth anchoring her in this new world.

The language no longer tasted foreign on her tongue.

She’d learned its cadence—the sharp consonants, the flowing vowels, the fierce poetry woven through every phrase.

She could speak to his warriors without hesitation.

She knew the gestures of honor, of loyalty.

She understood the rituals and the weight of their oaths.

And most of all, she understood him.

That night, after the hall emptied and the torches burned low, Zarokh turned to her. His crimson eyes softened in a way they never did for anyone else.

“There are others,” he said in their shared tongue, voice low and intimate, like a secret meant only for her. “Other humans. Taken long before you. You will meet them soon, if you wish.”

Her breath caught. She hadn’t let herself imagine there were others like her—others who had been ripped from Earth.

“And Earth?” she asked quietly, the name strange now, as though it belonged to someone else. “Could I go back?”

He studied her, his gaze unreadable but not unkind. “Yes. If you want it. I would take you there, in disguise. You could walk your home again.”

The thought tightened her chest. For months she had dreamed of it—of standing barefoot on warm sand in the Bahamas—her favourite holiday spot—of hearing the waves crash against the beach, of seeing the skyline she once knew by heart. But now… the image felt distant. Hollow.

“No,” she said at last, her voice soft but certain. “I don’t want to go back.”

His head tilted, a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. “Why?”

“Because I’m not her anymore,” she said. “The woman they knew. I would terrify them.” A bitter laugh escaped her throat. “And you would terrify them even more.”

Zarokh’s mouth curved into a slow, dark smile. “Good,” he said simply.

She smiled despite herself.

It was true. Only they understood each other now—the hunger, the strange, crackling energy that came with power. Only he knew what it meant to be both feared and followed.

Cecilia looked at him, at the ruthless beauty of his face, at the strength that radiated from every line of his body, and she realized she didn’t need Earth anymore. She didn’t need the version of herself that belonged to that fragile, distant world.

This was her world now.

He was her world now.

Zarokh reached over, hooking his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his. “You have no idea,” he murmured, “how strong you’ve become.”

A smile ghosted her lips, his words ringing through her like truth. “Maybe I do,” she whispered.

And when he kissed her—slow, fierce, claiming—she knew there was no going back. Not now. Not ever.

She had been taken as prey. But now she stood beside him as his equal, his mate, his queen. And anyone who dared to challenge them would drown in blood and fire.