Page 15 of Storms of His Wrath

Then, just as deliberately, she moved her hand and traced the same finger along the fresh scar on Naya’s cheek. The connection slammed into Naya like a thousand tramplingnnirae. Her hand flew to her face, fingers pressing against the raised tissue of her wound as her mind raced to comprehend the horror of what Oshrun was implying.

“The-the proximity wound?” she whispered.

“Thennol ttaehh mael, yes,” Oshrun said. “This was how the Sy Dynasty ensured that Omegas didn’t escape, and if they did, they wouldn’t live long enough to tell anyone anything.”

Naya stared at her in horror. So the Omegas had borne the same kind of proximity cut that Akoro had given her—but theirs had been across their necks. The Sy Dynasty had treated them like cattle, like livestock, not just marking them but ensuring they could never escape, even if they found the opportunity.

And Akoro had done the same thing to her.

Her stomach lurched with confusion and hurt. All this time, she’d thought of the cut as a possessive gesture of an entitled Alpha, a way to ensure she’d never be far from him. Never had she imagined it was part of a generations-old tradition of controlling and enslaving Omegas.

Naya turned away from the wall, her thoughts in turmoil. Akoro’s accusation against her land wasn’t wrong, just misdirected. Kaharine’s actions had caused both waves ofdestruction and created scars that marked generations, but it had nothing to do with the Lox Empire.

The Akoro she had come to know during their time together—the man who had shown her vulnerability, who had spoken of his pain, who had begun to talk about their relationship beyond him controlling her… was he knowingly continuing such a cruel tradition? His grief over his people’s suffering had seemed so genuine, his determination to protect them so fierce.

Yet she couldn’t deny the evidence before her eyes. The Omegas’ version of history filled in so many gaps, answered so many questions that had lingered at the edges of her understanding; why someone from her land would have become so invested in this land, why there were two waves of destruction, why the visitor Kaharine called the Sy Dynasty cruel, why Omegas were banished yet thought of sympathetically by the people—all of it painted a picture she couldn’t dismiss.

She pressed her palm against the cool stone wall, steadying herself as conflicting emotions washed through her. Perhaps Akoro didn’t know the full truth of his ancestors’ actions? Maybe generations of half-truths had left him as much in the dark as she had been. Or maybe he knew everything and had deliberately kept it from her, calculating that she would never discover the connection between his family’s abuse of Omegas, between the cut he gave her, and the brutal history of Omega enslavement.

Uncertainty sprouted, thorny and harsh in her chest. What did this mean for her and Akoro? For the fragile understanding they had begun to build?

Before Naya could respond, the sound of running footsteps echoed through the chamber. An Omega appeared at the entrance, her expression urgent. She spoke rapidly to Oshrun in their native tongue. Oshrun’s face hardened as she listened.She replied with a series of short, clipped commands, and the messenger hurried away.

“What is it?” Naya asked, tension coiling in her stomach. “What’s happening?”

Oshrun turned to her, eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “King Sy has entered the Isshiran Sands, searching for something—or someone.” Her gaze bore into Naya. “He’s looking for you.”

The thought of Akoro searching for her sent a confusing mix of emotions swirling through Naya—anger at his persistence, fear for what might happen if he found this hidden community, and beneath it all, a traitorous flicker of warmth that he came after her.

“How could he even know where to look?” she asked. “I don’t even know where we are.”

“I don’t think he knows exactly,” Oshrun said, moving to grab her crystal staff. “But it was still quick. He seems to be following a trail.”

“Isshiran…” That word was familiar. “Isn’t that the Sands that keep shifting? Aren’t they dangerous?”

“They are, yes,” Oshrun said. “The king and his people would likely die before they get here, but I don’t like to underestimate this king.”

A cold weight settled in Naya’s stomach. They were coming—Akoro and his soldiers—and when they arrived, there would be blood. These women would fight to protect their home, their freedom. And Akoro... Akoro would fight to reclaim what he considered his.Her. “What will you do?” she asked.

“What we do with anyone who gets too close to the canyon,” Oshrun said, her voice low. “We attack them under the cover of the Sands. Once they are injured, the Sands will do the rest.” She began to pace, her movements sharp and precise. “If he finds us, he will destroy everything we have built here. He will takeour knowledge, our history, our very freedom.” Her eyes found Naya’s again. “We cannot allow that to happen.”

Naya stared at her in horror, the realization struck with terrible clarity: she was a liability. Her connection to Akoro would lead him straight to their sanctuary and cause a conflict that would result in death. Just as she had been the cause of so much death in Onn Kkulma. More innocent lives would be lost because of her. Unless she did something to stop it.

“Let me talk to him,” she said suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could second-guess herself. “I’ll tell him to leave.”

“Why would he listen?” Oshrun said sharply. “He now knows there’s something in the Isshiran Sands that he wasn’t aware of. We cannot allow our community to be discovered.”

“You won’t,” Naya insisted. “But I need to talk to him. I can’t allow more deaths because of me. If I don’t speak to him and let him know I’m alive, he will keep searching.”

Oshrun studied her for a long moment, calculation flickering in her dark eyes. “You’re willing to risk a great deal for a man who carved your face like you’re a slave. Why?”

Naya’s mind jumped in a million directions, tangled with so many emotions she couldn’t even name. But before she could answer, another woman appeared at the entrance gripping a spear, her face drawn with urgency. “Khesh,” she called, her voice tight. “They’ve entered the borderlands. What do we do?”

CHAPTER FIVE

The Isshiran Sands had tested every fiber of Akoro’s resolve for hours, each grain of desert seeming to conspire against their journey. The dunes shifted beneath their mounts’ feet like living things, treacherous and unpredictable. What should have been solid ground one moment became a sliding trap the next, forcing constant vigilance from every rider.

The Sands weren’t merely difficult—they were resistance itself. As if the desert understood what he was after and rose up to deny him. It gnawed at his control, clawed at the edges of his patience to see how much the so-called King of Tsashokra could endure.

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