Page 31 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

The body collapses at my feet.

Only the jungle remains.

Only the thick, wet silence of death.

Suddenly, the sound of breathing.

I turn.

Seren is watching me.

She is still on the ground where she landed after I killed the first one, her hands braced against the dirt, her chest rising and falling in sharp, measured breaths. She should be trembling. She should be afraid.

She is not.

Her gaze locks onto mine, the moonlight slipping between the vines, illuminating the blood on my hands, the carnage at my feet.

She does not recoil.

Does not cower.

Her lips part, and I almost expect a challenge, another sharp remark that will remind me of why I do not break her.

But she says nothing.

Only watches.

Only sees.

I step forward, closing the space between us. She does not move away.

My claws graze the edge of her chin, tilting her head just enough to assess the bruises along her throat. The mercenary had held too tightly. Had dared to mar what belongs to me.

A cold pulse of rage snakes through me, but I don’t allow it to control me.

“You should not have left,” I murmur.

Seren’s fingers flex at her sides, but she does not pull away from my touch. “You should have let me.”

The words are sharp, but not reckless. She is testing me again.

It is a foolish game.

“You are mine,” I say, voice steady. “That means no one else touches you. No one else takes you.”

Her breath does not hitch. She does not tremble.

She only lifts her chin higher, as if daring me to see the truth in her eyes.

I already do.

She does not hate me.

She hates what I make her feel.

But it is too late for either of us.

I turn from her, stepping over the bodies, my tail flicking behind me. “Walk, little mouse.”

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