Page 18 of Naga General's Mate

Brivul’s tail whipped out, knocking over a stack of crates behind them. The crash and cursing told her it had bought them precious seconds.

“The market’s ahead.” She pointed to where neon signs cast multicolored shadows. “We can lose them in the crowd.”

“Too many civilians.”

“Better than getting caught in these alleys.”

More shots flew past. One grazed Mila’s arm, sending sharp pain through her shoulder. She stumbled, but Brivul caught her before she fell.

“Keep moving.” His voice was steady despite their pace. “I won’t let them take you back.”

The sincerity in his words struck deeper than her wounds. Why did he care so much? She pushed the thought aside—survival first, questions later.

They emerged onto a wider street. The night market sprawled before them, a maze of stalls and bodies. Perfect for hiding, if they could reach it. But her strength was fading fast, each step harder than the last.

The guards were gaining ground. Mila heard their heavy breathing, the click of weapons being reloaded. Her heart pounded so hard, she thought it might burst.

“Almost there.” Brivul squeezed her hand. “Just a little further.”

Chapter 9

Brivul

Plasma fire sizzled pastBrivul’s head as he pulled Mila behind a row of market stalls. The acrid smell of burnt synthetics filled the air.

“This way.” He led her through a narrow gap between vendor carts.

“They’re gaining on us.” Mila stumbled, clutching her wounded arm. Blood seeped between her fingers.

Brivul’s jaw clenched at the sight. He scanned the bustling marketplace, mapping escape routes in his mind. A fruit cart provided temporary cover as more plasma bolts scorched the air.

“Under here.” He lifted the edge of a heavy canvas awning.

Mila ducked beneath without hesitation. The tight space smelled of spices and dried herbs. Brivul’s bulk barely fit as he crouched beside her.

“Let me see that arm.”

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not fine.” He gently but firmly took her arm, examining the plasma burn. The wound wasn’t deep, but it needed treatment. He ripped a strip from his shirt.

“You’re destroying your clothes.”

“They’re not that important.” He wrapped the makeshift bandage around her biceps with practiced efficiency. “Too tight?”

“No.” Her voice wavered slightly. “Thank you.”

Heavy boots thundered past their hiding spot. Brivul tensed, ready to fight if needed. His body curved protectively around Mila’s smaller frame.

“You’re good at this,” she whispered.

Their eyes met in the dim light. The fierce determination in her gaze stirred something within him. His mate was a fighter.

“We need to move soon.” He finished securing the bandage. “Can you run?”

“Yes.”

The guards’ footsteps faded. Brivul peered out from their hiding spot, his battle-trained senses alert to any threat. The market bustled with its usual activity, no sign of Kurg’s men.

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