Page 63 of Storms of His Wrath

Something warm and private passed between them then, recognition that went beyond shared burdens to shared understanding. She settled back against his chest, and he found himself memorizing the weight of her, the way she fit against him.

So perfect.

“Tell me about your parents,” he said, surprising himself with where his mind went.

Her face lit up. “They’re extraordinary together. Papa’s the strategic mind—he can see ten moves ahead in any political or military situation. He is fierce and in control and Alpha in everyway. But Mama keeps him grounded, reminds him that policies affect real people. She’s empathic, smart, and one of the most beautiful women ever.” She paused. “They leaned into their Alpha and Omega traits to build their empire. And they have mutual trust and respect. They complement each other. Studies have even been written about them.” She chuckled. “But all you have to do is be in the room to feel it.”

The way she spoke of her parents’ partnership stirred something unfamiliar in his chest. He’d grown up surrounded by power struggles, by alliances built on dominance. The idea of true partnership—of strength that came from unity rather than trying to outdo each other—felt both foreign and appealing. Especially if it involved an Omega.

His parents were an Alpha and Omega couple but they had been materialistic and competitive, always trying to outdo one another with expensive and rare gifts and experiences. That didn’t mean they didn’t have the deep connection Alpha and Omega couples have, but Akoro didn’t see it. He preferred spending time in the villages.

“Is that what you want?” he asked tentatively. “That kind of relationship?”

“I thought I did,” she said slowly. “But maybe I need to learn to be certain on my own first.”

Her brother’s voice seemed to echo between them—the frustration of waiting for wars that might never come sounded like the burden of proving oneself worthy of trust. “Your brother,” Akoro said. “He’ll make a good leader when the time comes.”

“Yes, but he’ll struggle with the isolation. He’s used to having brothers-in-arms, people who understand his burdens.” She lifted her head, studying his face with intensity that made his pulse quicken. “You’ve carried your responsibilities alone for so long. Doesn’t it get lonely for you?”

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.

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