Page 25 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

The second one laughs, a low, grinding sound that sets my skin crawling. "No?" He flicks his gaze along my body, not with lust, but with something worse. Calculation.

They are deciding if I am worth the trouble of dragging back.

They are deciding how much fight I have in me.

I let the silence stretch, let the tension tighten between us.

Then I strike.

The blade flashes, aiming for the throat of the closest one, but he is faster than he looks.

A brutal block of his arm knocks me sideways, my feet skidding over damp moss as I twist, barely managing to dodge the next blow.

I move again, fast, precise, but they are stronger. Bigger.

There are three of them.

The first one lunges, his massive arm swinging like a club. I duck, spinning beneath him, but the second grabs my wrist before I can land the next strike.

The dagger is wrenched from my grip, sent spinning into the jungle.

My ribs explode in pain as the third mercenary slams an elbow into my side, sending me staggering backward, breath ragged.

Still, I do not fall.

Still, I do not break. But my chances of surviving this are shrinking.

I need to run.

They are not interested in killing me.

They want to take me back.

I will not go back.

I force my body to move, twisting free just as the first one lunges again.

This time, I do not fight.

I run.

The jungle stretches before me, vast and endless, a tangled thing of darkened paths and glowing trails.

I sprint, dodging thick roots, leaping over broken logs. The ground shifts beneath me, unsteady, as if the jungle itself is warning me of every wrong step.

The mercenaries are close.

A roar erupts behind me, they have lost patience.

They will not chase forever.

They will bring me down.

A snarl rips from my throat as I push harder, my body a thing of burning muscle and raw will.

I will not be taken.

I will not be caged.

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