Page 75 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

The impact sends me to my knees, blade ripped from my grasp, a foot pressing against my chest, pinning me to the dirt.

The world tilts, the weight of him crushing, immovable.

Jhoren stares down, his expression unreadable. "You are nothing. A parasite feeding off a power you do not deserve."

Fingers tighten around my throat.

Pressure builds.

"You should not be breathing."

The world darkens.

A snarl cuts through the silence, sharp as a blade.

Jhoren is ripped away, thrown like a discarded ragdoll.

Xirath stands between us.

His tail lashes once against the ground, claws extended, molten gold eyes brimming with something lethal.

His fury presses down on everyone.

"Enough."

The single word is not shouted. It does not need to be.

It is a sentence. A warning. A promise of violence waiting at the edges of his restraint.

Jhoren rises from where he was thrown, his own fury crackling. "She is your undoing."

Xirath’s hand clenches into a fist, claws cutting into his own palm.

"Leave."

Jhoren hesitates.

Without another word, he steps back, tail flicking once before he turns and disappears into the crowd.

Silence stretches.

Eyes are still watching. Waiting.

Xirath’s gaze never leaves mine.

"Are you hurt?"

The question is quiet.

I wipe blood from my mouth and shrug. "I’m always hurt."

His jaw flexes.

I expect him to say something else.

Instead, he walks away.

The ache that settles in my chest has nothing to do with the fight.

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