Page 20

CHAPTER EIGHT

T he morning had been a delightful blur of children’s laughter and games, especially after the heaviness of the assembly’s discussions.

Naya had spent time with Nnimi and the other children, chasing them between scattered cushions, growling in their imaginary adventures, and collapsing in breathless giggles when little hands finally teamed up and caught her.

The pure, unguarded happiness had been exactly what her spirit needed.

When an Omega arrived with exaggerated sternness to collect Nnimi for her hair appointment, the little girl clung to Naya’s side with desperate fingers.

“I don’t want to! It pulls!” she pleaded with Naya, her golden-brown eyes wide with panic.

The Omega’s stern facade had cracked immediately when she caught Naya’s amused expression, explaining with fond exasperation how Nnimi always tried to slip away when it came time for her hair to be done, for example, insisting this morning that she simply had to find her mima.

Naya had laughed and offered to stay. She watched in fascination as skilled fingers worked aromatic oils and creams through the wild explosion of frizz on one side, transforming it into neat braids along the scalp that matched the other side.

Then it was time for reading, which had captivated Naya completely.

Written down, their language, Shtǒnma, flowed across parchment like art — graceful curves and angular marks that held a beauty entirely different from any of the languages she’d learned.

At Nnimi’s level, the symbols were simple enough for Naya to begin recognizing patterns, especially when the little girl kept pausing to explain pictures and proudly pointing out repeated words.

They were both deep in their studies, Nnimi’s small finger guiding Naya through a story about a lonely desert flower trying to find friends, when footsteps approached. Naya looked up to see Oshrun walking toward them, exhaustion evident in every line of her body.

“Mima!” Nnimi abandoned the book immediately, launching herself into her mother’s arms. Oshrun caught her easily, pulling her close in a warm embrace that softened the weariness around her eyes. Over Nnimi’s head, she met Naya’s gaze and smiled.

“The deliberations are finished for now,” she said. “But I’ll be spending lur ennen with Nnimi in our chambers. I hope you understand.”

Naya rose, nodding. The strain of leading such discussions, of weighing the safety of her people against the greater good, would be overwhelming for anyone. Every parent deserved time with their child away from that kind of burden.

“Of course,” Naya said warmly. “It can’t be an easy topic to navigate.”

Gratitude relaxed Oshrun’s features. “Most of the others will gather in the communal dining area before their rest, if you’d like company.”

Naya nodded, but her thoughts had already turned elsewhere.

A pull tugged at her chest, stronger and more insistent.

She wanted to see Akoro again. The memory of him in the shifting sands, the raw vulnerability when he’d asked if she would ever give him a real chance, had been haunting her thoughts throughout the morning. They needed to talk.

“Actually,” she said, “I was wondering... might it be better for me to visit the king now? During lur ennen, rather than this afternoon?”

Oshrun studied her face for a moment, then nodded slowly. She reached into her robes and pulled out the crystal pendant, its faceted surface glinting. “You’ll need this. Hold onto it while you’re here. You know where to go?”

The chain was cool against Naya’s palm as she nodded and accepted it. “Rest well,” she said, smiling at both mother and daughter.

As she walked toward the canyon’s hidden exit, anticipation and nervousness warred in her chest. She hoped this time she might get real answers from Akoro—about the Omegas, about his intentions, about the future he envisioned for them both.

The Isshiran Sands parted around Naya again like a sandy sea of gold, each grain seeming to recognize her presence and flow away in rippling waves. Wherever she stepped, the surface solidified into firm ground, as natural as walking across the palace courtyard.

She marveled at the sophistication of Omega magic—not the raw force she was accustomed to wielding, but something refined, precise, and responsive.

The protective bubble surrounding her was invisible yet firm, holding the hostile Sands at bay while allowing her to move freely through terrain that had cost so many lives.

As the distant outline of Akoro’s camp emerged from the shimmering heat, movement caught her eye.

A massive figure broke away from the collection of tents, running toward her with powerful, determined strides.

Even at this distance, she knew it was him—the familiar bulk of his shoulders, the predatory grace of his movement, the way he devoured ground with each step.

Her pulse quickened, recognition flooding through her veins, warm and comforting. He’d been watching for her, waiting for her return. A flutter of appreciation warmed her chest that she tried to suppress but couldn’t quite manage.

He came closer and his sheer size struck her again.

The thick protective clothing couldn’t disguise the coiled power in his frame, the way muscle moved beneath leather and fabric with each stride.

He was a force of nature charging across the desert, and she was his singular focus, just like when he’d chased her with determination back in her forest.

“Naya.” Her name tore from his throat as he reached her, rough and low, saturated with relief and desperate need. Without hesitation, he swept her up into his arms, crushing her against his chest as though he could press her into his bones.

Every rational thought fled as she melted into his embrace.

The scent of him—his deep, earthy Alpha richness that haunted her—enveloped her completely, making her inner Omega purr with satisfaction.

Even through his thick protective clothing, she reveled in his solid heat, the way his chest expanded with each breath, the corded strength of the arms that held her as though she weighed nothing at all.

For that moment, she pushed away the uncertainty and disappointment from their last encounter. She ignored the complex web of history and betrayal that tangled between them. Right now, there was only this, being held by her Alpha, feeling the rightness of it settle into her bones.

He turned and strode back toward the camp, his steps careful now that he had her secure in his arms. He held her with absolute ownership. One large hand fisted in the fabric at her back while his other arm cradled her body, fingers digging in with enough pressure to leave marks.

The moment they crossed into the sand drift’s boundary, the oppressive sand that had been hitting against her protective bubble vanished.

The sand beneath Akoro’s boots shifted from unreliable and dangerous to stable and firm.

She caught a glimpse of Oppo emerging from a smaller tent, his face brightening with relief when he saw her, but Akoro didn’t pause.

He stormed directly for the largest tent at the camp’s center, shouldering aside the heavy fabric entrance and ducking inside.

The interior was simple yet clearly suited to his status—rich carpets layered over the sand, cushions in deep jewel tones, a low table bearing maps and documents, weapons secured along one wall.

Oil lamps cast warm, flickering light that danced across the tent’s cream-colored walls, creating an intimate space despite its generous size.

Without a word, Akoro dropped onto the largest collection of cushions and settled her into his lap, arranging her exactly as he wanted; her legs draped across his thighs, her side pressed against his chest, trapped between his arms. They fit together perfectly, her softness yielding to his hardness, her curves molding to the planes of his body.

And then it was quiet. Neither of them spoke.

Words were unnecessary against this bone-deep need to be in his arms. His large hands moved over her, hungry to feel her.

One splayed across her hip in a harsh grip, the other trailing up her arm with a claiming touch.

She could feel his heartbeat thundering against his ribs, could sense the storm building beneath his deceptively calm exterior.

His dark eyes began scanning her, checking for new injuries or signs of mistreatment. When his gaze found the scar across her cheek again, his entire body went rigid. One finger traced the raised line with deceptive gentleness, and a growl rumbled from deep in his chest, low and wholly possessive.

Naya looked up at him, desire twisting in her despite the simmering of darkness behind his demeanor.

His hair hung loose and thick, dark waves framing features that seemed carved from stone.

The heavy beard couldn’t disguise the sensuality of his mouth, and those fierce, piercing eyes that promised both possession and destruction burned with an intensity that made her breathless.

He was devastating in the way storms were devastating, beautiful and terrible and impossible to escape.

A warrior-king whose very presence commanded submission, whose barely leashed violence made the air around him thrum with dark energy.

Even dressed for desert travel, he radiated the kind of raw power that could either protect or destroy.

He’d always had that power, even when he chased her in her forest.

The attraction between them was magnetic, pure and primal and absolutely mutual. She could see it in the way his pupils dilated as he stared at her, in the subtle flare of his nostrils as he breathed in her scent, in the territorial way his body surrounded hers.

Finally he spoke, his voice coarse and rumbly. “You came to me for lur ennen .”