Page 104 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

"No—"

I lunge back, but the magic coils around me again, an unseen fist closing around my throat.

"You will be silent," Jalith orders, his voice laced with power.

My throat tightens. My voice vanishes.

My entire body trembles as the collar snaps around my neck, it’s heavy, suffocating. The second it locks into place, a searing pain erupts through my spine.

Agony unlike anything I’ve ever known.

A scream rips from my lips, my body convulsing as raw, electric power lashes through my veins.

Jalith’s lips part in a slow, satisfied grin. "Perfect."

I writhe against the collar’s punishment, my fingers clawing at the metal. The magic woven into it is alive, burrowing into my flesh, branding me as his.

Tears burn at the edges of my vision.

This is worse than death.

Jalith crouches before me, reaching out to brush his fingers along my trembling jaw. I jerk away, but the collar tightens, sending another shock through my limbs.

He watches me convulse, eyes dark with satisfaction. "You will learn, little one. You will kneel when I command it. You will obey."

I gasp, barely able to lift my head. "I—will—kill you."

Jalith only laughs. "Oh, you are exquisite when you’re furious." He leans closer, his breath ghosting against my cheek. "But I promise, soon enough, you will beg for my touch."

Revulsion and rage coil inside me, a storm barely contained. I will kill him. I will tear him apart with my bare hands.

But I am powerless.

Jalith straightens, turning to the robed figure at his side. A dark elf mage, the one responsible for my body’s betrayal.

Jalith flicks his fingers. "Take her. Bind her wrists. And prepare the ceremony chamber. She needs to be properly broken in before we complete the bond."

The mage bows. "As you wish, my lord."

The soldiers step forward, ropes in their hands.

I thrash, but the collar reacts again, sending a final wave of agony through my bones.

As the darkness swallows me whole, I hear Jalith’s final words.

"We have eternity, my little mate. And soon, you will thank me for this."

45

XIRATH

The wind carries the stale stench of human filth and desperation, but beneath it, something more insidious lingers. Dark elf magic.

Xirath stands at the boundary of the merchant town, his jaw tight, claws flexing as his eyes sweep over the clustered hovels and weathered stalls. The place stinks of livestock and unwashed bodies, but the people, they are too quiet.

Merchants stand stiff behind their carts, hands trembling as they pretend to busy themselves. Fear slithers through the streets, thick and cloying.

Something happened here. Recently.

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