Page 59 of Storms of His Wrath

He nodded gravely. “Justice must be swift. And symmetrical.”

Naya dissolved into laughter first, her whole body shaking against his, and the sound was so infectious that he found himself laughing too. Deep, genuine laughter that seemed to come from somewhere he’d forgotten existed.

The sound filled the tent, warm and unguarded, and suddenly they both went still. Their eyes met in the flickering lamplight, and he saw his own realization reflected in her gaze—this was the first time they had laughed together. The first time he had laughed with her at all.

Something passed between them in that moment of recognition, a wordless connection that spoke of barriers dissolving, of intimacy that transcended the physical. The laughter faded into something quieter but no less significant.

She settled back against his chest, her breath warm against his skin. “I like the sound of your laugh,” she murmured.

He liked how it felt, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like that. Pushing away the discomfort of what that might mean, he turned his attention back to her. “What about you?” His thumb stroked along her spine. “If you weren’t heir to the Lox Empire, what would you want to do?”

She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers resuming their gentle brushing movement on his chest. “I’d want to establish a school,” she said finally. “Somewhere Omegas from different lands could come to study magic together, share techniques, preserve knowledge. Maybe attached to a great library where we could document everything we learned.”

The conviction in her voice when she spoke of her people sent a spark spiraling through him—not just desire, that was always there, but something deeper. Admiration for the woman who could envision a better future even while navigating the complexities of her impossible situation.

“You’d be brilliant at that,” he said quietly. “Teaching, organizing, building something lasting.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” His hand tightened in her hair with gentle possession. “You have the mind for it—systematic but innovative. And the heart for it too. You’re curious and driven, and you care about others. Teachers were always special in the villages here. It’s how we even knew anything about our history.”

She lifted her head again, studying his face with an intensity that made his chest tighten. “Sometimes I think we would have been good co-conspirators,” she said softly. “If we’d met differently. Under different circumstances.”

He nodded. “Allies.”

“Accomplices.” A smile was in her voice.

He grinned. “Criminal associates.”

“Unprincipled colluders.”

“Schemers.”

She was silent for a moment. “True mates.”

The words hit harder than they should have, carrying implications neither of them was ready to examine. Instead of responding, he rolled her beneath him, crushing her in an embrace full of possibilities and regret in equal measure.

Outside, the desert wind whispered against the tent walls, carrying the distant sounds of the camp settling for the night. But inside their small sanctuary, time felt suspended, precious and finite as the days counting down to the storm’s arrival.

That night was no different from the others, yet somehow it felt more significant. He watched her braid her copper hair back from her face, her movements a little clumsy but confident, and he found himself memorizing details—the curve of her neck, the way her waist pinched in emphasized her perfect shape, the unconscious elegance with which she moved through her routine to leave him.

“I should go,” she said, catching his gaze in the polished metal that served as her mirror.

“Should you?” he murmured, rising from the bed in one fluid motion.

She watched his approach with darkening eyes, her heaving chest rising and falling with increased rhythm. When he reached her, he grabbed her waist with possessive certainty, drawing her against him until her softness surrendered to his hardness.

“The other women will be expecting me,” she said, but her protest lacked conviction.

“They can wait,” he said, his mouth finding the sensitive spot beneath her ear that never failed to make her sigh in that beautiful way that was just for him.

For a moment, she melted into his touch, her hands fisting in the fabric of his sleeping tunic. Then, with visible effort, she pulled back.

“I need to go, Akoro. But tomorrow...”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed, releasing her with reluctance.

He carried her into the dark and watched her disappear, then turned to face another day of waiting.

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