Page 119 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

“I will return,” I murmur.

I rise, stepping away before the pull of her keeps me here longer than I should.

The minotaurs await me in the ruined courtyard, standing among the wreckage of slaughtered dark elves. The leader, Karavu, watches as I approach, his massive frame outlined by the burning remains of Jalith’s empire.

“You’ve done it,” Karavu says, voice rumbling with approval. “The dark lord is no more.”

I nod. “And now, this place must fall.”

He grins, pleased. “Then we take what we want.”

The demand is unsurprising. The minotaurs did not fight for free, nor did I expect them to. They are mercenaries, warriors of profit and blood. This stronghold, its gold, its weapons, its wealth is theirs now.

“I don’t care for this place or what it holds,” I tell him. “Take everything. Burn the rest.”

Karavu gives a sharp nod before his warriors move in, tearing through what remains, looting, destroying. The fires grow, licking up the stone walls, smoke rising into the heavens like the last breath of a dying god.

As the flames spread, Karavu turns back to me, his expression unreadable.

“You gave me your word, Xirath,” he says, crossing his arms. “Someday, I will collect.”

A debt unnamed.

“I keep my word,” I say simply.

Karavu smirks. “Then I’ll see you again, naga.”

He doesn’t linger. His warriors move in unison, their heavy footfalls fading into the night as they take their spoils and vanish into the darkness.

I watch the stronghold crumble, the fire swallowing it whole.

A fitting end for Jalith’s legacy.

The ceremonial chamber is quiet when I return, the firelight from the destroyed fortress casting shadows along the walls. I expect to find her still resting, but the moment I step inside, movement catches my eye.

Seren.

She is standing.

She turns, and the second her eyes lock onto mine, she moves, no hesitation, no words. Just motion, fierce and undeniable, as she closes the distance between us.

“Xirath,” the longing in her voice calls out to me. She falters a bit, her weakness apparent but the look in her eyes hints of determination to reach me. I meet her halfway.

Then she’s in my arms.

Her hands fist into my shoulders, her breath uneven as she crashes against me. And before I can say a word, before I can tell her to rest, to recover, her lips are on mine.

Heat ignites, violent and consuming.

I don’t think. Don’t hold back.

I seize her, my hands curling around her waist, pulling her into me. She tastes like defiance, like survival, like something raw and desperate. The bond flares between us, no longer fractured, no longer tainted by Jalith’s magic.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping against my scalp as she presses harder, as if she can pour all of her anger, her relief, her emotions into this one act.

I let her.

I take all of it.

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