Page 98 of Storms of His Wrath

Naya tilted her head, exposing the graceful column of her throat to him. The gesture sent murmurs through the watching crowd, but she heard nothing beyond the thundering of her own heartbeat. Akoro’s breath ghosted across her skin, warm and unsteady.

“My Omega,” he whispered, the words a reverent prayer against her neck.

His lips found the spot where her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird, and Naya’s eyes fluttered closed. The first brush of his mouth sent electricity racing through her veins, awakening every nerve ending until she trembled in his arms. He kissed her there, gentle at first, then with growing hunger.

When his teeth scraped against her skin, Naya gasped, her hands fisting in the rich fabric of his desert robes. The sensation sparked something primal deep in her core, an answering call that demanded completion.

Akoro’s fangs pierced her throat with exquisite precision. The sharp pain bloomed into something deeper, more profound—a claiming that resonated through her very bones. Blood flowed between them, metallic and warm, and with it came a rush of sensation that stole her breath.

The bond intensified, burning through her chest and settling deep in her soul. Suddenly she could feel him—not just his body pressed against hers, but his emotions, his thoughts, the fierce possessive love that had driven him to madness for her. The intensity of it nearly brought her to her knees.

Naya pulled back, her lips stained with her own blood, and she looked up into Akoro’s face. His eyes had gone completely black, pupils blown wide with the rush of the partial bond. She could taste his hunger through the connection now forming between them, could feel his desperate need for her to complete what they’d started.

Something fierce and primitive flashed in his eyes. His hands found her waist, pulling her against him until no space remained between their bodies. The crowd might as well have vanished—there was only this moment, this choice, this irrevocable step into their shared future.

The crowd erupted in cheers, but they sounded distant and muffled through the haze of the bond. Nothing existed except Akoro’s hands on her face, his thumbs brushing away tears she hadn’t realized she was crying.

“My queen,” he said, and through their connection she felt the reverence behind the title. Not a queen because she would rule his people, but queen because she ruled his heart absolutely.

Papa’s voice boomed across the square. “It is done! The bond is complete. Princess Naya goes to her new kingdom not as prisoner or pawn, but as equal and mate to her chosen Alpha!”

The cheers grew deafening, thousands of voices raised in celebration of what they’d witnessed. Through the noise, Mama stepped forward, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“The old stories speak of bonds forged in love rather than duty,” she said, her words somehow audible despite the crowd’s roar. “May yours be blessed with joy and strength for all your days.”

Naya turned to face her people one last time, Akoro’s arm secure around her waist, the bond between them thrumming with contentment. The faces looking back at her were no longer confused or afraid—they were proud. Proud of their princess who had chosen love over duty, who had found a way to serve both her birth home and her chosen one.

“Thank you,” she said, grateful to them all.

As the celebration continued around them, Akoro leaned close to her ear. “Ready to go home?”

Home. Not his kingdom, but theirs. Not his city, but the place they would build together, rule together, love together.

“Ready,” she replied, and meant it with every fiber of her being.

Together, they walked toward their future, leaving one home to claim another, building a new world from the ashes of conquest and the foundation of an unbreakable bond.

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR LATER

Akoro

Morning sun blazed through the tall windows, setting fire to marble floors that reflected amber and gold across surfaces polished to mirror perfection. Akoro stood motionless at the edge of the room, dark eyes fixed on the vision before him—Naya cradling their infant daughter against her breast, copper hair tumbling over bare shoulders like molten flame.

Nnava’s tiny fist curled against skin, her dark eyes—mirrors of his own—gazing upward with sleepy contentment that sent primal satisfaction roaring through his chest. The scent of milk and innocence mingled with his mate’s intoxicating fragrance, creating an atmosphere so rich with completion that breathing became a conscious effort.

His daughter. His blood. The living proof of their bond made manifest in copper curls and determined chin.

Pride blazed through him, territorial and consuming. This perfect creature had grown beneath Naya’s heart, been born from her strength, now fed from her body with the trust onlyinnocence possessed. Every fiber of his being hummed with the Alpha drive to protect, to provide, to ensure his females wanted for nothing.

“She refuses to sleep without you,” Naya murmured, voice soft and light. “Last night she fussed until I placed your shirt in her cradle.”

Dark amusement curved his mouth. “Intelligent girl. She knows her pappa’s scent means safety.”

Nnava finished nursing and settled into drowsy satisfaction. Akoro moved forward, lifting her with reverent care—this tiny tyrant who commanded his devotion with nothing more than her existence. She nuzzled into his chest, seeking warmth, and fierce protectiveness crashed over him like annin-eellithistorm.

“Perfect,” he breathed against downy hair. “Just like her mother.”

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