Page 117 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

A deep growl rumbles through me, rattling the very foundation of the chamber.

Jalith exhales, exasperated. "Really, Xirath, you of all people should understand. Mates are fate-bound, not chosen. You have no claim on her." His fingers trail lower, just enough to make my vision blur with rage. "I do."

The runes on the floor flicker, magic rising once more, thick and cloying. The spell tightens, forcing Seren closer to him. Her body trembles with the effort to fight it, but it’s relentless.

Her lips part, and in a raw, shaking voice, she gasps, "Xirath?—"

The world snaps.

My chest erupts with heat, a power I have never known unraveling inside me, raw and primal. My bones shift, skin stretching, reshaping. The shadows curling beneath my skin surge forward, overtaking me, spilling into something monstrous.

Jalith’s smirk vanishes as the stone cracks beneath my feet, as the very air trembles under of what I have become.

I step forward, the last remnants of my armor crumbling from my body. My transformation is absolute, horned and massive, darkness seething through my veins, claws extending, my fangs gleaming like obsidian.

This is the gift of my house’ bloodline, and I’m thankful for it as it makes me and my clan formidable warriors.

Jalith takes an instinctive step back.

"Ah," he murmurs. "There it is."

He grins.

"Kill him."

The guards surge forward, their blades gleaming with cursed runes.

I move faster.

The first dark elf meets my claws, his throat ripped clean before he can even register the strike. The second barely raises his weapon before my tail lashes, splintering his ribs in an explosion of blood and shattered bone.

More come. They are nothing.

I carve through them like parchment, tearing limbs, crushing skulls, shattering bones with each devastating blow. Their screams fill the hall, but it is not enough.

My eyes lock onto Jalith.

The fear finally seeps into his features.

He raises a hand, summoning tendrils of darkness, throwing a wave of magic toward me. The spell collides, wrapping around me, trying to crush me, to suffocate me in its grasp.

I take another step.

Jalith’s expression falters.

I reach through the spell and rip it apart like thread.

He barely dodges as I lunge, claws grazing his shoulder. He spins, conjuring another spell, but I am faster. My tail slams into him, sending him crashing into the altar. The force cracks the stone, his body denting the surface.

Blood drips from his mouth as he straightens, eyes wild.

"You—" he snarls. "You should not?—"

"I will rip you apart," I promise.

He summons a dagger, the tip gleaming with dark magic. "Try."

We collide.

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