Page 77 of Storms of His Wrath

“Good,” he murmured, but his attention had shifted to the delicate skin of her throat, watching the rapid flutter of her pulse. “Naya.”

“Yes?”

“When we reach the palace...” He trailed off, jaw clenching as though the words required physical effort to produce.

Her hands stilled against his shoulder. “What?”

He met her gaze, and for a moment she saw past the Alpha dominance to the man beneath—vulnerable, uncertain, desperate not to lose what they’d found together. “It can wait.”

But she read the question in his eyes, the same one that had been haunting her own thoughts.What happens now?Their agreement had been clear from the beginning—help him stop the storm, then return to her empire. Yet here they sat, both avoiding the conversation that would determine their future.

“Rest,” she said instead, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “We’ll talk when you’re stronger.”

He caught her wrist as she started to pull away, his thumb stroking across her racing pulse. “Stay close.”

“Always,” she whispered, the word escaping before she could stop it.

The ruins on the outskirts of Onn Kkulma were a welcome sight. Naya never thought she would miss seeing them, but relief flooded through her when they rose in the distance.

The palace gleamed in the harsh desert light when they finally arrived. Servants rushed forward as their small procession entered the courtyard, alarm rippling through the crowd as they took in their king’s condition and the blood-stained bandages visible beneath his travel robes.

“My king!” The palace healer appeared as though summoned by magic, his weathered face creased with concern. “What happened?”

“Crossbow bolt,” Akoro said curtly, allowing Naya to help him dismount despite the curious stares of the gathered servants. “Clean the wound properly and stitch it closed.”

“The healing chambers, my king,” the physician said. “If you’ll come with me?—”

“My chambers,” Akoro interrupted, his voice dropping to that Alpha tone that made argument impossible. “Princess Naya will assist with my treatment.”

Heat flooded Naya’s face at the implication, but she didn’t correct him. The truth was, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him in someone else’s care. Her inner Omega… no, her instincts, demanded that she tend to her wounded Alpha, ensure his recovery with her own hands. The primitive need overrode any concern about palace gossip or impropriety.

They made their way through corridors that felt both familiar and strange after her time in the hidden canyon. The opulenttapestries and gleaming marble seemed almost excessive now, a sharp contrast to the practical beauty she’d grown accustomed to among the Omegas. Yet being here with Akoro felt right in ways that made her chest ache with longing.

His chambers were exactly as she remembered—massive windows overlooking the city, rich fabrics in deep blues and golds, the enormous bed where they’d spent so many passionate nights together. Servants scurried to prepare hot water and fresh linens while the physician laid out his instruments with practiced efficiency.

“Remove your robes, my king,” the physician instructed.

Akoro’s eyes found Naya’s across the room. “Everyone out,” he said quietly. “Except the princess.”

“My king, I really should—” the physician began.

“Out.” The command resonated with absolute authority.

Once they were alone, Naya helped him ease out of his blood-stained clothing, her fingers careful as she peeled fabric away from the wound. His skin was fever-hot beneath her touch, radiating the kind of heat that spoke of his body fighting infection despite her careful field treatment.

“This needs professional cleaning,” she said, studying the ragged edges where the bolt had torn through muscle. “And proper stitching.”

“Then do it,” he said simply.

Her hands stilled. “Akoro, I’m not a healer?—”

“You have battle training,” he said, his voice rough with something deeper than pain. “That means you have basic healing skills.” His eyes searched hers. “You’re my Omega. I trust your hands more than anyone else’s.”

The designation sent fire racing through her veins despite her attempts to remain clinical. Her scent shifted involuntarily, sweetening with the arousal that always accompanied his casual claims of possession. His nostrils flared in response, darkeyes heating even as he struggled to remain still beneath her ministrations.

“I need proper supplies,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“Whatever you need.”

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