Page 61 of Naga General's Mate

“Priscilla is stabilized.” The nurse’s voice cut through his thoughts. “She’ll make a full recovery.”

Relief loosened some of the tension in his shoulders. At least he hadn’t failed both sisters completely. But each second he spent here was another second Mila suffered.

“When can she be moved?”

“Sir, she needs at least—”

“How long?”

The nurse swallowed. “Twenty-four hours minimum.”

Brivul nodded curtly. One day. He had one day to form a plan while keeping his promise to protect Priscilla. His scales clicked against the floor as he resumed pacing.

Maybe he could pose as a buyer? No, Kurg would recognize him instantly. Cause a distraction? Possible, but risky without backup. Every option seemed to lead to either certain failure or Mila’s death.

The scar on his jaw throbbed as he ground his teeth. He was a former general of the Niri forces. He’d led countless successful missions. Why couldn’t he see a clear path now when it mattered most?

Suddenly, the perfect idea came to him, and he made his way down the clinic’s service corridor, his warrior instincts guiding him past the staff. The communication terminal had to be somewhere in the administrative wing. His tail brushed against the sterile walls as he tracked the smell of electronics and ozone.

There. A small office with the door slightly ajar. He slid inside, scanning the room before settling at the terminal. His claws clicked against the keys as he input Lors’s private frequency.

“This better be important.” Lors’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“I need your help. My mate’s been taken.”

“Your mate? Since when do you—”

“Focus. Remember Kurg the kingpin?”

“The slimeball who thinks he owns half of Jorvla? Yeah.”

“He has her. And I’m going to get her back.” Brivul growled. “But I can’t do it alone.”

“Slow down. What’s the situation?”

Brivul outlined everything—the evidence against Kurg, Mila’s capture, Priscilla’s condition. His fists clenched as he spoke.

“You always did find the most interesting trouble.” Lors chuckled. “I’ll contact Nia, Cantos, and Kev. Maybe even Fikleo, if I can track him down.”

“How fast can you get here?”

“Give me twelve hours. We’ll need gear and a solid plan.”

“Make it six. Kurg’s not known for his patience.”

“Eight. And that’s pushing it.” Lors paused. “You really care about this human. Don’t you?”

“She’s my mate.” The words came out as a possessive growl. “Anyone who touches her dies.”

“There’s the general I remember. Eight hours. Keep your comm open.”

The connection closed. Brivul erased all traces of the call and slipped back into the corridor. Eight hours. He could protect Priscilla and plan their assault in that time. Kurg would learn why taking a Niri general’s mate was a fatal mistake.

Brivul soon entered Priscilla’s room, his scales rustling against the sterile floor. The sharp scent of antiseptic couldn’t mask the copper tang of blood that still clung to her bandages. His jaw clenched at the sight of her bruised face, tear tracks cutting through the dirt and dried blood.

“He’s going to kill her.” Priscilla’s voice cracked. “She shouldn’t have traded herself for me.”

“Your sister made her choice.” The words came out rougher than he intended. Seeing Priscilla’s pain reminded him too much of his own failure to protect them both.

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