Page 12 of Naga General's Mate

“Enough.”

Mila’s heart hammered so hard she feared it would burst. One wrong word and Priscilla would pay the price. The thought of her sister gave her strength to keep her voice steady.

“I swear on my life, master. It was an accident.”

Kurg studied her, his yellow eyes narrowed. The silence stretched until Mila’s legs trembled from the effort of standing still.

“Teach her a lesson.” Kurg’s words suddenly pierced through the silence.

The first blow caught Mila in the stomach. Air rushed from her lungs as she doubled over. The second strike snapped her head back, copper flooding her mouth.

“What did you see in those files?”

“Nothing.” Blood dripped down her chin. “I swear—”

A boot connected with her ribs. Pain exploded through her chest as she crumpled to the floor. The plush carpet did nothing to cushion her fall.

“Still playing stupid?” Kurg’s voice floated above her. “Hit her again.”

Knuckles crashed into her jaw. Stars burst behind her eyes. The evidence chip pressed against her hip, a reminder of why she had to endure this.

“Master, please.” Each word sent daggers through her ribs. “It was just an accident.”

“Wrong answer.”

More blows rained down. Her world narrowed to pain and the taste of blood. Priscilla’s face flashed through her mind. She had to protect her sister, had to keep quiet.

“You’ll regret the day you were born, slave.” Kurg’s boots appeared in her blurred vision. “Take her away.”

Rough hands seized her arms again. Her feet dragged across marble floors and then concrete. Cool night air hit her face as they emerged outside.

Metal scraped against metal. They tossed her into what felt like a cargo hold. Her shoulder slammed into something hard. The doors clanged shut, plunging her into darkness.

The engine rumbled to life. Every bump sent fresh waves of agony through her battered body. She tried to track their direction, but pain made it impossible to focus.

Priscilla would be waiting in the kitchen, wondering where she was. The thought hurt worse than any blow.

The vehicle lurched to a stop, and footsteps approached the back doors.

Chapter 6

Brivul

The night shift draggedon at the clinic. Brivul coiled his tail beneath him, his scales scraping against the polished floor as he adjusted his position. The scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils, but underneath it lingered something sweeter—a phantom trace of jasmine and vanilla on his skin from the market.

“Sir?” One of the clinic workers approached. “Everything all right?”

“Fine.” His jaw clenched. The memory of her green eyes flickered through his mind, the way they’d sparked with defiance when that vendor tried to cheat her.

The worker scurried away. Brivul rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the tension that had built since their encounter.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. “One conversation doesn’t make her your mate.”

But his primal instincts suggested otherwise. The brush of her fingers against his at the market had sent electricity through his entire body.

Yet she was a slave. His mate was a slave, and he had no way to find her.

He pushed away from the wall. The corridor stretched empty before him as he began his rounds. Each slither brought fresh torment—imagining her smile, the way her black hair had fallenacross her face, how she’d lifted her chin when speaking to him. No meek slave, that one. A fighter.

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