Page 25 of Naga General's Mate

With each passing hour as he watched her sleep, the primal bond between them grew stronger. Her courage, her loyalty, her fierce intelligence—everything about her called to his very essence.

Exhaustion finally won out as Brivul’s eyelids grew heavy. His tail remained coiled protectively around Mila’s bed even as sleep claimed him.

In his dreams, sunlight streamed through tall windows in his home on Nirum. The sweet scent of morning blooms drifted in on the breeze. Mila stood at the window, her black hair loose and flowing, unmarred by bruises or fear. She turned to him with a radiant smile that made his chest ache.

The scene shifted to them walking through Nirum’s famous crystal markets, her hand tucked safely in his. No one dared lookat her with anything but respect. Here, she was his equal, his cherished mate. Her eyes sparkled as she examined the intricate craftsmanship of the stalls.

“This would look lovely in the study,” she mused, holding up a delicate crystalline sculpture.

“Then it’s yours.” In his dreams, he could give her everything she deserved.

The dream dissolved into domestic bliss—quiet evenings spent reading together, her laughter echoing through their home, the simple joy of watching her pursue her passions without fear.

A loud thump from the hallway jolted Brivul awake. His muscles tensed as reality crashed back. They weren’t on Nirum. They were still fugitives in a seedy hotel, and Mila still bore the marks of her captivity.

His eyes found her sleeping form, peaceful despite their circumstances. The dream’s warmth lingered in him. Someday, he vowed silently, he would make that dream real. She would know freedom, safety, and the respect she deserved.

Chapter 12

Mila

The rusty bell abovethe shop door chimed as Mila stepped inside. Brivul ducked his massive frame through the doorway behind her. The early morning sun filtered in through the windows. Stale air and musty shelves filled her nostrils. The suspicious glare of the shopkeeper followed them as they headed toward the back of the shop.

“Water first.” Mila grabbed a few bottles from a dusty shelf. Her muscles ached from yesterday’s beating, but she refused to show weakness. “And protein bars.”

Her fingers brushed against a small medkit, and she added it to their pile. The bruises on her ribs screamed at the movement.

The shopkeeper’s tongue flicked out, tasting the air. Mila kept her head down, but her skin crawled. One word to Kurg’s people and they’d be done for.

“That’ll be fifty credits.” The shopkeeper’s voice rasped.

Brivul placed the credits on the counter. His massive form blocked most of Mila’s view, but she caught the shopkeeper’s eyes lingering on her.

“Let’s go.” She tugged at Brivul’s arm, eager to leave the shop’s oppressive atmosphere.

Outside, the air tasted of metal and decay. “This way.” She led them down a narrow alley where pipes leaked steam fromoverhead vents. “I know of a maintenance tunnel entrance two blocks down.”

Mila’s boots splashed through shallow puddles as they made their way through the dimly lit maintenance tunnels. The occasional flicker of ancient light panels cast dancing shadows on the curved metal walls.

“My mother used to sing to me and Priscilla,” Mila blurted out. Strange how comfortable she felt sharing with him now.

“What kind of songs?”

“Old Earth lullabies. She learned them from her mother.” The damp air carried the scent of rust and mildew. “What about your family?”

“Just me and my father. My father trained soldiers.”

“Is that why you became a security guard?”

He paused. “Something like that.”

Their footsteps echoed off the walls in a rhythmic pattern that reminded her of her mother’s songs. The ache in her chest had nothing to do with her bruises.

“What’s your favorite food?” Brivul’s question pulled her from darker thoughts.

“Fresh fruit. Real fruit, not the synthetic stuff Kurg fed us.” She stepped over a broken pipe. “I had a real apple once. A trader snuck it to me.”

“Just wait until you try Niri oranges.”

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