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The question hit like a punch between his ribs. Lonely. Such a simple word for the vast emptiness that he hadn’t even realized defined most of his adult life. “Yes.”

She nodded against his chest. “Wouldn’t it be amazing to have someone to share that with?

The weight of always having to be strong, always having to have answers shared with someone who understands.

” She stopped abruptly, as if realizing she was wishing for who he could have been.

She lifted her head, her hand cupped his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone.

“”I wished, and prayed, and hoped, and dreamed for you.

” Her voice broke on the last word, tears gathering in her eyes. “For so long, Akoro.”

The vulnerability in her confession, the tremor in her voice, broke him completely. His anguish dissolved into immediate desperation. But even as he claimed her body with possessive intensity, something had fundamentally shifted between them.

This wasn’t just desire anymore. This was need that went bone-deep, connection that transcended the physical. This was something that would change everything between them, whether they acknowledged it or not.

As the days continued, Akoro noticed the shift happening gradually, almost insignificantly at first.

On the fifth night, Naya had left shortly after midnight, citing the need for rest before her morning training.

By the sixth night, she’d lingered until the oil lamps burned low, their conversation flowing too easily to interrupt.

The seventh night found her curled against his chest as the first pale hints of dawn touched the tent walls.

“I should go,” she’d murmured, but made no move to extract herself from his arms.

“Should you?” he’d asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She’d stayed.

By the eighth morning, Akoro woke to find her still sleeping beside him, limbs spread across him like a cat sprawled in sunlight.

The morning light filtering through the tent fabric painted everything in shades of brown and yellow, and he found himself content to simply watch her breathe.

Her face was finally peaceful in sleep, the sharp intelligence that usually animated her features softened into something vulnerable.

She stirred as the camp began to wake around them, voices carrying across the sand drift as his men started their morning routines. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his with sleepy confusion that transformed into awareness, then something warmer.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice husky from sleep.

“Good morning,” he replied, unable to keep the satisfaction from his tone. Waking up with her felt like a victory he hadn’t known he was fighting for.

He insisted on bringing her breakfast—bread, honey cakes, and strong tea that steamed in the cool morning air. She protested that he didn’t need to feed her but settled back against the pillows with obvious pleasure as he arranged everything within easy reach.

“You’re spoiling me,” she accused, accepting a piece of bread dripping with honey.

“Good,” he said simply, and meant it. The sight of her comfortable in his space, accepting his care without suspicion or wariness, sent a pleasure through his veins so potent, it lingered for days.

The new pattern continued over the following days. She would return to him in the evenings and stayed until morning. Soon she was spending more time in his tent than in the Omega community, returning only for her training sessions before coming back to him.

He told himself it was temporary, that he was simply enjoying the dwindling time they had.

But the truth was more complicated. Each morning, she stayed felt like hope, each conversation that stretched past midnight another thread binding them together in ways their original arrangement had never intended.

When she wasn’t with him, he found himself watching the horizon for her return with an intensity that bordered on obsession.

The hours dragged on when she was gone, filled with a restlessness he couldn’t quite shake.

His men had learned to give him wide berth during these times, recognizing the dangerous edge that crept into his mood when separated from his mate.

Not that he would admit, even to himself, that’s what she was becoming to him. More than a temporary arrangement. More than a political alliance. Something that felt dangerously close to essential.

The ninth morning brought particular intensity to their routine.

He watched her dress in the borrowed Omega clothing that had become as familiar to him as his own robes, his hands itching to tear the fabric away and keep her naked in his bed.

But duty called to them both—her magical training had reached a crucial stage, and he could see the anticipation building in her movements.

“The new staff was finished yesterday,” she said, braiding her hair back with practiced efficiency. “Today I’ll test it properly for the first time.”

Pride and possessiveness warred in his chest. “You’ll be careful.”

It wasn’t a question, and she recognized the Alpha command beneath the words. Instead of bristling, she moved to where he sat on the edge of the bed and pressed a soft kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised.

After she left, restlessness drove him through his usual routines with less patience than normal. He checked supplies, spoke with Nrommo about the men’s morale, patrolled their perimeter. But his attention kept drifting toward where she’d disappeared, calculating how many hours until she returned.

When evening came and she appeared through the haze, something in her demeanor immediately caught his attention. She wasn’t upset—there was no distress in her posture, no tension in her movements. But she was quieter than usual, more thoughtful, her smiles coming less easily.

He swept her up as always, carrying her back to their tent with possessive vigilance. But once they were alone, he studied her face more carefully.

“The training went well?” he asked, settling her onto the cushions and reaching for the food he’d prepared.

“Yes and no.” She accepted the plate he offered but didn’t immediately begin eating. “The staff worked beautifully. Better than I’d hoped.”

“That’s good news.”

“It is.” She took a small bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I felt them today, Akoro. The nnin-eellithi. Not just their presence, but their... essence. Their intentions.”

Something in her tone made him go still. “That must be progress.”

“It should be.” She set down her plate, turning to face him fully. “But even if I can communicate with them, what do I do with them? None of the Omegas’ tools have been designed to destroy wild magic—only to move it, direct it, contain it temporarily.”

Understanding began to dawn. “You need somewhere to put them.”

“Exactly. When I escaped from you the first time, a sliver of nnin-eellithi embedded itself in me when I made the portal back to my land. I tore it out and sent it back to the Wastelands where it belonged.” Her voice grew frustrated.

“But there’s nowhere to contain it here. There’s no permanent solution.”

Akoro listened carefully, noting the worry she was trying to hide beneath practical concerns. “We’ll figure it out,” he said finally. “There’s still time.”

But even as he spoke the reassurance, unease crawled up his spine. Four days. They had four days before the storm struck Onn Kkulma, and if Naya couldn’t find a way to contain or redirect the nnin-eellithi ....

He pushed the thought aside. They would find a solution. They had to.

Later that night, after he’d coaxed her into eating more and they’d exhausted themselves in each other’s arms, she lay against his chest with that same thoughtful quiet.

But now there was something else—a vulnerability he recognized, the particular way she held herself when something was troubling her deeper than mere logistics.

“What is it?” he asked, his hand stroking through her hair.

She was quiet for a long moment. Then, almost hesitantly, “Will you tend to my scar tonight?”

The request surprised him. She’d grown comfortable with his almost nightly ritual of treating the mark he’d left on her face, but she’d never asked for it directly. He reached for the small clay pot of healing ointment, settling her more comfortably in his lap.

“Of course,” he murmured, beginning the gentle work of massaging the salve into the thin ridge of raised skin. “Is it itching?”

She nodded and closed her eyes, but he could feel tension radiating from her frame. Something was building toward a question she wasn’t sure how to ask.

“Akoro,” she said finally, her voice careful and controlled. “How did you learn to do this? The nnol ttaehh mael . It’s such a specific technique, so... precise.”

His hands stilled against her cheek. The question hung between them, loaded with implications they both understood. She wanted to know how he’d learned to perform a ritual that had been used to enslave and control Omegas for generations, but the real request was to know why.

The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of their complicated history. When Akoro finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. “My cousin,” he said finally. “Drennek. He was... a very cruel boy. All of the cousins spent time together in the outer villages when we were children.”

“How cruel?” Her question was soft, but he heard the steel beneath it.

“He enjoyed causing pain to others. Taking things from them, saying hurtful things. It led to physical fights as he grew. He had a nnol ttaehh somehow and was practicing with it on stray cats, wild birds. Anything he could catch.” The memory left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You mean nnol ttaehh mael ?”

He shook his head. “The nnol ttaehh is the knife . Mael means wound . So you have a nnol ttaehh mael from a nnol ttaehh,”

“ Oh. What does nnol ttaehh mean?”

“It roughly translates to special knife.”

Naya nodded. “All right, I understand.”