Page 47 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

The tunnel swallows us whole.

The exit spills into the dense jungle beyond the stronghold walls. Moonlight slants through the treetops, illuminating the clearing just enough to reveal figures waiting in the shadows.

Too many figures.

The naga steps forward, dragging me beside him. He does not let go.

A dark elf stands at the front of the gathered warriors, his silvered hair gleaming under the night sky, his red eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

My heart slams against my ribs.

No.

The soldier’s grip tightens.

“You’re late,” the dark elf muses, examining his nails with a look of exaggerated boredom.

The naga grunts, unbothered. “Wasn’t easy getting her alone. The high lord doesn’t let his pet out of sight.”

Pet.

The word curdles like poison in my gut.

The realization strikes hard, brutal, inevitable.

Betrayed.

A sharp inhale presses against my ribs, but I force my muscles to stay still. If I move too soon, I die.

The dark elf steps forward, gaze flickering over me in lazy assessment. “Jalith will be pleased.”

I twist violently, ripping against the naga’s grip, kicking against his tail.

He doesn’t loosen his hold.

The dark elf’s smirk grows.

“Ah,” he hums. “She fights.”

The naga extends his hand, palm up. “Give me my payment.”

A flicker of steel, too fast to track.

Blood sprays across my arm.

The naga collapses forward, his head rolling in the opposite direction.

A scream nearly rips from my throat, but a sharp fist tangles into my hair, yanking my head back.

Panic surges, my hands scrabbling for the dagger at my hip.

Cold steel presses against my throat.

The dark elf hums, clicking his tongue as he watches me struggle.

“Tsk. You should have been grateful to come home so easily.”

I lunge, kicking out, twisting, anything to break free, but the grip in my hair only tightens.

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