Page 120 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

When she finally pulls away, her breathing is ragged, her pupils wide. “It’s you,” she whispers, voice breaking. “You’re my mate.”

The words strike deep.

I had known it the moment I entered that chamber, the moment the bond had screamed for me through the chaos. But hearing it from her lips, hearing her acknowledge it, claim it undoes me.

I grip her chin, forcing her gaze to stay on mine.

"You are mine," I growl, the words leaving no room for argument, no room for doubt.

Her hands press against my chest, her heartbeat thundering beneath my touch. “And you’re mine,” she fires back.

The possessiveness in her tone does something wicked to me.

I crush my mouth against hers again, claiming, devouring, sealing what has already been written in blood and fate.

She was never meant for Jalith.

She was always meant for me.

My curse is finally undone.

53

SEREN

The ceremonial chamber is bathed in flickering torchlight, the aftermath of war still clinging to the walls like ghosts unwilling to fade. The scent of blood and magic lingers, heavy with destruction, but none of it matters.

Not when Xirath stands before me, his body still hewn with battle, his golden eyes locked onto mine like I’m the only thing left in the world.

Heismy world.

I don’t think. My body moves before my mind catches up, feet barely brushing the floor before I crash into him. His arms wrap around me instantly, pulling me close, and the sheer heat of him scorches through every nerve in my body.

His breath is ragged against my hair, his tension unyielding, as though he's still standing in the middle of the battlefield, sword in hand, ready to carve through whatever stands between us. But there’s nothing left to fight. No one left to take me from him.

Yet, neither of us speak.

I tilt my head up, searching his face, tracing the sharp angles and the wounds he hasn’t yet tended to. His lips are parted, his chest rising and falling with heavy restraint, but his grip on me never falters.

"Say it," I whisper, my voice barely a thread of sound, but it cleaves through the tension between us like a blade.

His throat bobs, something dark flickering in his expression.

"I own you," he rasps, the confession dragging itself from deep within him, rough and unshakable.

I close my eyes, exhaling against his skin.

The bond between us sings, something ancient, unbreakable, curling around my heart like vines taking root. It doesn’t matter how it happened, why fate decided to intertwine us like this. What matters is the way his hands tremble against my back as though he’s still afraid I’ll disappear.

What matters is that I want him. That Ichoosehim.

I open my eyes and lift my chin. "Then take me."

The words unravel something in him.

Xirath moves fast, too fast, his grip tightening as his lips claim mine in a searing, all-consuming kiss. There is no hesitation, no lingering restraint, only the raw force of everything we’ve held back for too long.

I meet him with equal fervor, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until there’s no space between us, no barrier to keep us apart.

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