Page 56 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

I lunge, driving the blade into the side of another before he can react.

A roar of fury erupts through the camp.

Hands grab at me, clawing, restraining. A sharp elbow to the gut, a desperate wrench of my arm, I tear free, sprinting toward the tree line.

The world narrows into a singular, brutal focus.

Run.

Branches lash against my face as I push forward, lungs burning. Behind me, the elves curse, their voices sharp and furious.

“Catch her.”

“Break her legs this time.”

Laughter, cruel and eager.

The jungle stretches before me, thick and endless, but not empty. Something thrums in the distance, something just beyond my reach.

A predator.

Not them.

Something worse.

The shadows shift. A figure emerges from the darkness, golden eyes burning like embers against the night.

Xirath.

The elves do not see him yet.

But I do.

My step falters. Hope and terror slam through my ribs at once.

His focus is not on me.

It is on them.

I barely have time to brace before he moves.

A shadow ripping through the dark, too fast, too precise. The first elf barely has time to scream before claws slice through his ribs, a spray of blood painting the jungle floor.

The second stumbles backward, panic widening his eyes. “It’s him?—”

The words never finish.

Xirath’s tail lashes out, wrapping around the elf’s leg, yanking him from his feet. His skull shatters against the rock.

The remaining elves turn, their expressions shifting from confidence to fear.

Xirath steps forward, blood dripping from his claws, his fangs bared in a slow, deadly grin.

“You should have run,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with promise.

The jungle explodes into chaos.

I stumble, pressing a shaking hand to my ribs, my body screaming in protest.

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