Page 13 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

A rustle shifts in the distance, a change in the currents threading through the jungle. Something watching. Something waiting.

The beasts of the deepwood don't step too close to the city. But they sense weakness. They are drawn to the smell of defiance just as much as fear.

Much like me.

The wind shifts, and I inhale deeply, drawing in the salt of the distant coastline, the wet stone from the carved pathways below, the sharp iron tang of steel being polished by the guards in the courtyard.

Beneath it, her.

Not her skin, not her sweat, not the shallow perfume of humans that often reeks of too many bodies pressed into too little space.

No.

Seren smells like thunder before a storm. Like something about to break.

My claws flex against the stone, irritation curling through me.

The bond doesn't pull. The curse doesn't lift. Yet I hunger.

Perhaps more cruel than any torment the gods have bestowed upon me is this.

To crave something I cannot yet take.

The soft scuff of bare feet against stone drags my attention back to the archway leading into the main hall.

I don't turn.

She has already noticed me. Already hesitated in the shadows before stepping into the open.

She is learning.

Good.

I listen to the measured quiet of her breath, the way her pulse betrays the coolness she tries to cloak herself in. She is steady, but not unshaken.

She should not have come here. Not so soon.

"I thought you were sleeping," I say, my voice threading through the night, slipping between us like the cool wind curling in from the jungle.

"I was," she murmurs, stepping closer. "Then I decided I had enough of pretending."

The honesty in it surprises me.

I flick my gaze toward her, the slivers of silver starlight catching against her skin, painting shadows along her collarbone.

She has not covered the brand on her wrist tonight.

She notices where my gaze lingers. Her fingers twitch, the barest hesitation before she clenches her fist.

Not shame.

Rage.

I lean back, resting my weight on my coils, watching her. Assessing.

"You wear your defiance like armor," I murmur. "But armor doesn't make you invincible."

She lifts her chin, moonlight carving sharp lines against her jaw. "You wear your patience like a leash. Tell me, does it chafe?"

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