Page 22 of Naga General's Mate

Mila wished she could share his certainty. But with every shadow that moved, every echoing footstep behind them, her nerves frayed further. They needed a real plan, and soon. Before Kurg’s men caught up with them. Before her sister paid the price for her escape.

Suddenly, movement flickered at the edge of Mila’s vision. Three figures emerged from the shadows, their boots scraping against broken pavement. The tallest one, a scarred human with yellow teeth, leered at her.

“Well, what do we have here? A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be wandering these parts alone.”

“She’s not alone.” Brivul’s tail coiled protectively around her feet.

The second man spat on the ground. “A Niri? Didn’t know they let your kind slither down here.”

“Come on, sweetheart.” The third man stepped closer. “Ditch the snake. We’ll show you a better time.”

Mila’s stomach churned. The way they looked at her—like she was meat—reminded her too much of Kurg’s parties. But before she could respond, Brivul rose to his full height, his massive form blocking her from view.

“Back off.” His voice carried the edge of command that spoke of authority.

The men hesitated, clearly reassessing their odds against an angry Niri. After a tense moment, they melted back into the shadows with muttered curses.

Mila released a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Brivul turned to her, concern etched in his features. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, but her mind raced. Why was he protecting her really? The thought of Niri reproduction issues crossed her mind. She’d heard whispers among Kurg’s associates about how desperate some Niri were for human surrogates. Was that what Brivul wanted from her?

But no, he could have simply bought her contract at the clinic. Instead, he’d thrown away his position, broken laws, and was now hiding in this cesspit with her. His actions spoke of something deeper than mere biological necessity.

His eyes met hers, filled with genuine worry. “We should keep moving.”

As they turned down another street, a flickering sign marked “Trade Goods” caught Mila’s attention. Through the grimy window, she spotted racks of worn clothing. Perfect for blending in.

“We need to change,” she whispered to Brivul. “These clothes scream ‘fugitive.’”

The shop’s bell chimed as they entered. Musty fabric and stale incense assaulted her nose. An elderly Jorvlen woman barely glanced up from her datapad.

“Just browsing,” Brivul said, his tail sweeping aside a fallen hanger.

Mila peered through the racks, selecting a threadbare gray tunic and loose pants. The fabric felt rough against her fingers, but it would help her fade into the shadows.

“This should work.” She held up a hooded cloak large enough for Brivul’s broad shoulders.

His eyes crinkled. “Planning to make me look mysterious?”

“Better than looking like a security guard.”

The shop owner rang up their purchases without comment. As they stepped back into the dim alley, Mila caught herself studying Brivul’s profile.

“So, what made you choose security work?” The question slipped out.

“Needed a change.” He adjusted his new cloak. “What about you? Before…”

“Before being a slave?” The words tasted bitter. “I was born to it.”

Silence stretched between them as they walked. Their footsteps echoed off the crumbling walls of the buildings surrounding them.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “That’s not right.”

“Life rarely is,” she said softly. “But sometimes it surprises you. Like random acts of kindness from strangers.”

A laugh rumbled from deep in his chest. “I’m hardly a stranger now.”

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