Page 22 of Sold to the Nalgar
He said it again, softly this time.
“Sulika.”
She stared at him, throat dry.
She wanted to scream, to spit, to demand answers—but the words trembled in her chest.
Finally, she whispered, “Why have you taken me?”
He didn’t answer.
There was just the sound of his breath, slow and steady behind that gleaming mask. He didn’t speak her language. Not here. There was no translator.
She was as alone as ever.
And then… he moved again.
He was quick.Tooquick.
She saw the blur of motion before she even registered the blade: small, dagger-like, made of glowingred energy. Pulsing and alive, it buzzed faintly in the silence.
Oh my god…
He raised it. She gasped.
But the blade didn’t touch her.
It sliced cleanly through the restraints.
One. Then the next. Then the next.
In less than a second, she was free.
The cuffs fell away. Her knees buckled.
Before she could drop to the floor—before she could evenreact—he caught her.
Liftedher.
Arms like metal bars slid beneath her legs and shoulders. She was cradled against his chest like she weighed nothing. One armored hand pressed against the small of her back. The other under her knees.
She fought. Reflex. Panic. A low, raw sound escaped her throat as she thrashed.
“Shh.”
Just that.
His voice was low. Quiet.
And the word… ithither. Somehow, it was universal.
Her body stilled.
He held her with effortless strength. She could feel the armor against her skin: hard, ridged, cold in places, warm in others. She was surrounded by him, dwarfed, completely enveloped.
She lay frozen in his arms.
He turned and carried her out.
