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CHAPTER NINETEEN

A koro secured the last of his travel packs, the leather straps cutting into his palms with familiar bite.

Around him the camp buzzed with controlled urgency—Nrommo barking orders to the remaining soldiers, Oppo checking weapons with methodical precision, the sound of nnirae snorting and stamping as they sensed the tension radiating from their riders.

Naya stood near the center of camp testing her modified crystal staff with fluid movements that made her borrowed earth-toned clothing shift against curves that never failed to stir his blood.

Even now with the fate of his kingdom hanging in the balance, her proximity sent heat crackling along his nerves like lightning before a storm.

She finished her practice sequence and caught him watching. Their eyes met across the distance between them, and electricity arced through the morning air. Her smile bloomed slowly and private, a shared thought between an Omega and her Alpha.

“We should move,” Nrommo said, shattering the charged moment. “We have to ride back through the Isshiran Sands.”

Akoro nodded, though his chest tightened at the idea of leading Naya into danger. She was his Omega, his mate, and he was about to take her directly into the path of magical forces that could tear them both apart.

His massive nnirae stood ready, the beast’s flanks gleaming in the golden morning light. Akoro mounted first, settling into the saddle with practiced ease before extending his hand to Naya. She stepped close without hesitation, her fingers threading through his as he pulled her up behind him.

The familiar sensation of her arms sliding around his waist, her soft curves molding against his back, sent satisfaction purring through his chest. This was how it should be—his Omega pressed against him, safe within the circle of his protection.

Her scent wrapped around him, that intoxicating blend that made his mouth water and his cock thicken despite the dangers ahead.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice rougher than intended as her thighs bracketed his hips.

“Always,” she murmured against his shoulder blade, her breath warm through the fabric of his robes.

The single word sent possessive hunger roaring through his veins.

He spurred the nnirae forward, setting a punishing pace across the shifting sands.

Behind them, the Isshiran desert writhed and moved like a living thing, but ahead lay stable ground and the ancient ruins where they would make their stand.

Naya’s body moved with his as they rode, her balance perfect as she adjusted to the nnirae ’s powerful gait.

Her staff remained secured across her back, but her hands splayed flat against his chest, fingers pressing into muscle with unconscious possession that made his blood sing.

Every breath brought her closer, until he could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse against his spine.

Two hours from camp, they reached the edge of the Isshiran Sands where the landscape solidified into stable ground. The endless golden dunes gave way to rocky outcroppings, and it was in the first of these passes that death found them…

The crossbow bolt lanced Akoro high in the shoulder without warning, spinning him sideways with brutal force.

Pain exploded through his chest as steel punched through leather and muscle, hot blood immediately soaking his robes.

He fought to stay mounted as his nnirae reared in alarm, his arms instinctively tightening around Naya’s arms to keep her secure to him.

“Ambush!” Nrommo’s roar echoed off stone walls as mounted warriors emerged from concealed locations on both sides of the canyon.

“Akoro!” Naya’s cry cut through the chaos, her arms tightening around his waist as their nnirae reared again in alarm.

“Hold on,” he snarled, drawing his sword with his good arm while his injured shoulder screamed in protest. Blood soaked through his robes, but he moved his free arm and locked it around Naya’s thigh, keeping her secure. “Defensive formation! Protect the princess!”

Otenyo appeared from behind a boulder, flanked by perhaps fifteen men—fewer than Akoro had expected, but positioned for maximum surprise. The Soge’s face held grim satisfaction as he studied their group.

“King Sy,” he called over the clash of steel, “your reign ends here!”

But the ambush had been poorly planned. Nrommo’s battle cry urged the twenty-five soldiers Akoro had brought from the sand drift to respond with the deadly efficiency of seasoned warriors.

What Otenyo had meant as a killing blow became a brief, brutal engagement as superior numbers and training overtook the soge’s weak troop.

Akoro fought to control his nnirae with his knees, his sword arm moving in deadly arcs while Naya pressed tight against his back. Her staff hummed with restrained power, but in close quarters combat, steel would serve them better than magic.

“Take him alive!” Akoro called as his men swarmed over the remaining attackers.

Within minutes, it was over. Otenyo was kneeling in the dust with his hands bound behind him, blood trickling from a split lip where Nrommo’s pommel had found its mark.

He had no idea that this irritating incursion could destroy the kingdom he thought he could overtake.

His men lay dead or dying around him—the price of treachery against the crown.

“You should have stayed in your district for I doubt the king will allow you to ever return, much less live,” Nrommo said coldly, hauling the Soge to his feet.

But Akoro swayed dangerously in his saddle, the crossbow bolt still protruding from his shoulder. Blood loss was taking its toll, the world beginning to blur at the edges. Only Naya’s arms around his waist kept him upright.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” she said, her voice tight with concern as she examined the wound over his shoulder. “The bolt has to come out.”

“Let’s do it,” Akoro gritted through clenched teeth.

He slid off the nnirae and Naya slid down after.

Her hands moved to his shoulder with steady precision, snapping the wooden shaft close to the wound and leaving only a stub protruding from torn flesh.

Fire shot through his chest, but he didn’t cry out—not with his Omega pushed up against him, her fingers gentle as she worked.

Her cloak pressed against the wound to slow the bleeding that threatened to drain his strength.

“Secure the prisoners,” he ordered Nrommo, his voice hoarse but commanding. “We continue to the ritual site.”

“My king,” Nrommo said eyeing his wound, “perhaps we should return to?—”

“No.” Akoro’s voice was resolute despite his weakened state. “The storm approaches. We finish what we came to do.”

The ancient ruins of Kessarok rose from the desert like the bones of some long-dead giant.

Crumbling towers reached toward the cloudless sky, their broken walls telling stories of glory and devastation.

Once this had been the jewel of the Vos Dynasty—a city of scholars and architects whose innovations had shaped the known world.

Now it stood empty, haunted by memories and the faint hum of a dormant magical infrastructure.

Nrommo and the remaining soldiers that didn’t escort the prisoners back to Onn Kkulma, stationed themselves around the city perimeter.

Akoro slumped forward in his saddle as they passed through the ruined gates, blood loss finally claiming its due.

Only his iron will and the desperate need to protect Naya kept him conscious as their nnirae picked its way through rubble-strewn streets.

“Let’s stop,” Naya said. “I need to look at Oshrun’s maps.”

They dismounted near the plaza’s edge, and Akoro’s legs nearly buckled as his boots hit ancient stone.

Naya was beside him instantly, her arm sliding around his waist to steady him.

Her warmth pressed against his uninjured side, and he found strength in her proximity despite the fire burning through his shoulder.

“Sit,” she commanded, guiding him to a fallen column. “Let me examine the wound properly.”

She knelt beside him, her brown eyes sharp with worry as she studied the injury. “The bolt missed major vessels, but you’ve lost significant blood. This needs proper treatment before you attempt the ritual.”

“There’s no time,” Akoro said, though the world swayed alarmingly around him. “The storm?—”

“We’ll wait another hour,” Naya said firmly, her hands gentle but insistent as she helped him lie back against the stone. “You’re no good to anyone if you collapse during the binding.”

She worked with swift efficiency, cleaning the wound with water from their supplies and applying healing salves from their packs that numbed the worst of the pain. The broken bolt shaft came free with a wet, sucking sound that made Akoro’s jaw clench, but her ministrations were skilled and sure.

“This will hold,” she said finally, binding his shoulder with strips of clean cloth torn from her cloak. “But your arm will be weak. Can you still perform the ritual?”

Akoro flexed his left hand, testing the range of motion. Pain shot through the joint, but his fingers obeyed his commands. “I can manage.”

Naya pulled out Oshrun’s maps and plans, the guidance on how to navigate the magical infrastructure.

It was so old that using the wrong entry point could destroy it, and then there’d be no way of transporting the nnin-eellithi to the Nnin-kaa Sands.

Studying the guidance, she drifted a little farther to the east. “Here,” Naya said, her voice tight with concern as she scanned the map again. “The magical convergence points are strongest there.”

Her modified crystal staff hummed with responsive power. Ancient symbols carved into the stone still held traces of power, dormant but ready to be awakened. She knelt beside a cracked fountain, her hands hovering over runes that pulsed faintly in the afternoon light.

“The convergence points are intact,” she reported. “Damaged, but functional. This will work for what you need.”