Page 64 of Naga General's Mate

The familiar rhythm of planning calmed the rage burning in him. Every second without Mila felt like torture, but he’d do this right. For her.

“Questions?”

Five heads shook in unison. They knew their roles, just like always.

“Good,” Brivul said. “Let’s bring my mate home.”

As their ship was en route to Kurg’s stronghold, the familiar scent of military rations filled the ship’s common area. Brivul watched his old unit settle around the table. His tail curled with satisfaction at their easy camaraderie, despite the year apart.

“Remember that time on Vega Six?” Lors passed around the protein packs. “When the general here had us eat bugs for three days straight?”

“Better than starving.” Brivul’s scales rippled with amusement. “Though Fikleo’s face when that beetle crawled out—”

“We swore never to speak of that again.” Fikleo pointed his fork accusingly.

Nia snorted. “At least bugs don’t compare to that mystery meat from the Zenith campaign.”

The laughter that followed loosened something in Brivul’s chest. He’d forgotten this—the way they could find humor even before the deadliest missions. His gaze swept over each of them, committing their faces to memory.

“Getting soft on us, General?” Cantos caught his look.

“Just appreciating having the best unit in the galaxy at my back again.”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else.” Kev’s quiet voice carried weight. “You led us through worse.”

Brivul’s jaw tightened. He’d walked away from all this—the responsibility, the brotherhood. Thought he could live a simpler life. But watching them now, sharing a meal like old times, he realized how much he’d missed it.

“Should’ve kept in touch better,” he admitted.

“You needed time.” Lors’s understanding tone made Brivul’s scales itch. “That civilian ship hit us all hard. But you’re still our general.”

“And we’ve got your mate to rescue.” Nia’s practical reminder brought nods all around.

Brivul’s claws flexed against the table. Mila. Every instinct screamed to charge in guns blazing, but having his unit here steadied him. They’d do this right.

The familiar routine of a pre-mission meal settled over them. They ate efficiently, their bodies preparing for action, while trading the kind of casual banter that came from years of trust.

Brivul’s scales tingled in the cool night air as their ship settled onto the abandoned landing pad. The familiar weight of his tactical gear pressed against his chest as he led his unit down the ramp. Street lights cast an oily sheen across the deserted industrial district of Jorvla.

“Formation Delta,” he whispered, and his team fell into position without hesitation.

Kev melted into the shadows ahead as their point man. Lors and Nia flanked Brivul while Cantos and Fikleo brought up the rear. Their footsteps whispered across the stone, a sound that brought back countless midnight raids.

“Two guards, northwest corner,” Kev’s voice crackled through their comms.

Brivul raised his fist, and the unit froze as one. His tail twitched with predatory anticipation as he watched the guards pass. Every muscle in his body yearned to charge forward, to tear through anyone between him and Mila. But years of command experience held him in check.

“Clear.” Kev’s signal sent them moving again.

They wove through the maze of warehouses, each member instinctively covering the others’ blind spots. The acrid tang of industrial chemicals couldn’t mask the familiar scent of his unit—the metallic bite of weapons oil, the leather of their gear.

“Like old times,” Lors murmured as they pressed against a wall, waiting for Kev’s next signal.

Brivul’s jaw clenched. This was different. This wasn’t just another mission. Mila’s face flashed through his mind—her fierce green eyes, her determined chin. His mate needed him.

“Kurg’s outer perimeter ahead,” Nia reported. “Security’s tighter than intel suggested.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Brivul’s voice carried the steel of command. “We’re getting in.”

---