Page 13 of Naga General's Mate

His tail lashed in frustration. Even if he did find her, what then? He couldn’t claim her while she belonged to another.

A flash of movement caught Brivul’s eye. Through the clinic’s windows, a convoy of sleek black vehicles pulled up, their engines purring like predatory beasts. His scales bristled at the sight of the Jorvlen kingpin’s crest emblazoned on their sides.

“Here comes trouble.” Brivul’s tail coiled tighter beneath him as he watched guards pour out of the vehicles.

The clinic’s glass doors slid open with a hiss. The kingpin strutted in, his bulk taking up most of the doorway. Gold chains draped his neck, clinking with each step.

“Kingpin Kurg.” The receptionist’s voice wavered. “We weren’t expecting—”

“A man of my status doesn’t need appointments,” Kurg snarled. “I’ve brought fresh merchandise for your facility.”

Brivul’s claws dug into his palms. The word “merchandise” made his stomach turn. Through the windows, he spotted guards yanking women from the cargo holds like cattle.

“Of course, sir. How many surrogates this time?”

“Seven.” Kurg’s lips curved into an oily smile. “All prime breeding stock.”

Blood roared in Brivul’s ears. His warrior instincts urged him to intervene, to tear the smug look off Kurg’s face. But the vow of noninterference burned in his mind like a brand.

“Just sign here.” The receptionist pushed forward a datapad.

Kurg’s jeweled fingers tapped the screen. “Have them processed quickly. My clients are eager.”

Brivul forced his breathing to steady as he watched the exchange between the receptionist and Kurg.

“Security.” Kurg’s eyes suddenly landed on Brivul. “Ensure my property is handled with care.”

Brivul stepped closer to Kurg, towering over the kingpin. “That’s not my job.”

“Everything in this clinic is your job,” Kurg hissed. “Or should I speak with your superiors about your attitude?”

The former general in Brivul wanted to show this pompous slimeball what real attitude looked like. Instead, he gave a curt nod and eased aside.

The line of women shuffled through the doors with their heads bowed. Then Brivul’s heart stopped. That familiar scent of jasmine and vanilla cut through the antiseptic air.

Finally, he spotted her. Her black hair hung loose, partially obscuring her face. But those fierce green eyes, now rimmed with purple bruises, were unmistakable. His claws extended involuntarily.

“Move faster.” Kurg’s hand shot out, catching Mila across the face.

Red filled Brivul’s vision. His tail whipped forward, inserting itself between Kurg and Mila before another blow could land.

“These women are meant to carry children,” Brivul said, his voice steady despite his rage. “Damage them, and your investment becomes worthless.”

Mila’s head lifted slightly. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Fresh rage surged through Brivul as he cataloged her injuries—fingerprint bruises on her throat, welts visible beneath her torn sleeve.

“The security guard has opinions now?” Kurg’s laugh echoed off the clinic walls. “Perhaps you’d like to purchase her services yourself?”

Brivul’s scales bristled on his arms, every protective instinct screaming to snatch her away immediately. The mating bond thrummed between them, demanding action.

“I simply ensure the clinic’s interests.” He kept his voice steady despite the fury coursing through his veins.

Mila’s eyes met his for a fraction of a second. Recognition flickered there, along with something else. Hope? Fear? He couldn’t tell through the haze of his own rage.

Kurg’s laughter grew louder. Then his lips curled into a sneer. “Maybe I won’t rent this one out after all. Trash is where disobedient slaves belong.”

His fist connected with Mila’s jaw. The crack echoed through the clinic’s sterile halls as blood sprayed across the white tiles.

Brivul’s claws dug even deeper into his palms. The scent of her blood filled his nostrils, stoking the inferno building in him.

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