Page 116 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

Jalith looms over me, his fury barely restrained. He grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes, but there’s something else in his gaze now.

Doubt.

His fingers tighten. "No more games, little one. You will be mine. Even if I have to carve Xirath’s name from your very soul."

The magic swirls again, darker, crueler.

But deep in my chest, beneath the agony, beneath the pull of Jalith’s spell, something else stirs.

A whisper in the blood.

A presence on the horizon.

He is coming.

I will hold on until he does.

51

XIRATH

The ceremonial hall looms ahead, its spires jutting toward the storm-cloaked sky. The stone walls, sleek and unyielding, echo with the rhythmic chants of dark elves weaving their cursed magic. Blood drips from my blade, a trail of crimson marking my path through the slaughtered guards who tried to stand in my way. Their bodies litter the courtyard behind me, limp and broken, the scent of iron thick in the air.

They were nothing. A mere delay.

She is inside.

My mate.

The realization hits like a strike to the chest, raw and unforgiving. It makes no sense. I tested her, and wasn’t my mate. But I feel it, the bond reaching for me, weak, corrupted, struggling under the force of another.

Jalith.

He is trying to take her from me.

The great doors shudder as I slam against them, the stone cracking under the force. Magic swirls around the threshold, a ward meant to keep intruders out. Pitiful.

I snarl and dig my claws into the crack between the doors, muscles coiling as I rip them from their hinges. The temple shudders, and the elves inside turn in unison, their chanting breaking into gasps of shock.

I step into the hall, blood-soaked and seething.

Jalith stands at the altar, his violet robes flowing like liquid darkness, his smirk sharp enough to slice through bone. He watches me with amusement, one hand lazily resting on Seren’s shoulder.

She kneels at his feet. The collar around her neck glows, tendrils of magic snaking through her body, forcing her submission. Her fingers dig into the marble, her entire body locked in rebellion, but the spell keeps her still.

I see the fear in her eyes. The fury.

I feel it, the wrongness in the air, the distortion in the bond that should belong to me.

Jalith chuckles. "Ah, Xirath. You’re late."

The smugness in his voice scrapes against my nerves like a rusted blade.

My gaze flickers to Seren. The magic coils around her like chains, binding her soul, suffocating the tether that should only ever belong to me. I bare my teeth.

"You dare tamper with a mate bond?"

The laughter that leaves him is mocking. "Mate bond? How delightful. You truly think she belongs to you?" He crouches beside her, tilting her chin up, his nails skimming over her skin. She jerks back, but the spell holds her in place.

---