Page 31 of Naga General's Mate

A blush crept across her cheeks. She turned to examine some dried herbs, but not before he caught her smile.

The spice merchant’s stall filled the air with exotic aromas. Brivul watched as Mila haggled skillfully, her chin lifted in that defiant way he loved.

“Your mate drives a hard bargain,” the merchant said in Niri.

Before Brivul could correct him, Mila had already secured their purchase at half the asking price. He couldn’t help but admire how she’d transformed from the frightened slave he’d first met into this fierce, capable woman.

“What did he say to you?” Mila asked as they moved away from the stall.

“Nothing important.” He shifted the bags to one arm, using his tail to clear a path through the crowd.

Movement flickered in Brivul’s peripheral vision as they turned down the narrow alley that led back to Ellri’s. Five figures detached from the shadows, blocking their path. His battle instincts surged.

“Well, what do we have here?” A scarred Niri slithered forward.

Brivul shifted the bags to one arm and angled his body between Mila and the thugs. His tail coiled tightly, ready to strike. “Back off.”

“Or what, pretty boy?” The leader’s forked tongue flicked out. “Hand over the girl and your credits.”

The old familiar battle-calm settled over Brivul. These weren’t trained soldiers. Their stances were sloppy, weapons held wrong.

“Last warning.”

A knife glinted as one of the thugs lunged. Brivul’s tail whipped out and caught the attacker’s wrist with a satisfying crack. The knife clattered to the ground.

“Behind you!” Mila’s warning gave him time to dodge as another thug swung a metal pipe.

Brivul spun, using his momentum to slam his elbow into the pipe-wielder’s throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mila grab one of their shopping bags and swing it like a flail, catching a third attacker in the face. Pride surged through him. His mate was no helpless damsel.

The leader charged. Brivul caught his wrist, twisted, and used the thug’s momentum to throw him into his remaining companion. They crashed into a stack of crates with a satisfying crunch.

“You’re going to regret this,” the leader snarled, struggling to his feet.

Brivul bared his fangs in a predatory grin. “I already don’t.”

Two more figures appeared at the alley’s entrance, fresh muscle joining the fight. The leader’s confidence returned as his reinforcements approached.

“Still feeling brave?”

Brivul’s blood sang with battle-joy. He might not be a general anymore, but he was still a warrior. And now he had something worth fighting for.

“Stay close,” he murmured to Mila.

“Not going anywhere.” She pressed her back against his, her makeshift weapon ready.

The new arrivals drew closer, and Brivul tensed for the next round.

The two new thugs charged forward with raised weapons. Brivul’s battle instincts took over as he tracked their movements. Sloppy form, untrained strikes—these were street fighters, not soldiers.

“Left!” Mila shouted.

Brivul’s tail whipped out, catching the first attacker in the chest. The thug crashed into the alley wall with a satisfying crunch. Pride surged through him as Mila ducked under the second attacker’s wild swing and drove her elbow into his gut.

The leader lunged at Brivul from behind. Something stung his side, but adrenaline pushed the sensation away. His focus stayed locked on Mila as she fought beside him.

“Getting tired yet?” The leader sneered.

“Just getting started.” Brivul turned, seized the leader’s arm, and twisted. The knife clattered to the ground.

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