Page 32 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

She does not hesitate.

She steps through the blood, past the bodies of the men who would have taken her.

She walks behind me, back toward my stronghold.

There is no need for chains.

She already understands.

She belongs to no one.

But she is not free.

Not anymore.

14

SEREN

The weight of sleep clings to me like a second skin, heavy and stubborn, resisting my return to consciousness. The softness beneath me is deceptive, a cruel contrast to the cold stone floors I’ve been tossed onto in past cages. My fingers twitch against silk, the fabric foreign beneath my rough, calloused fingertips.

My body remains still, pretending to still be lost in sleep as I take in the unfamiliar surroundings.

The room is too warm. The space too quiet, too vast to belong anywhere but a naga stronghold. A slow breath slips through my parted lips, and the stench of burning oils, rich, spiced, edged with something earthy and old coils into my lungs.

Xirath.

My jaw tightens as memory slams back into me, the minotaur mercenaries, the blood, the way he had stood over their bodies like a god of death.

And then, the long walk back.

Back to him.

Back here.

My eyes snap open.

The first thing I see is the ceiling, vaulted stone, lined with carved etchings that gleam with old magic. The walls are just as imposing, designed not for comfort, but for strength.

I am not alone.

He is watching.

Xirath stands near the edge of the bed, arms folded across his broad chest, golden eyes locked onto me with quiet expectation. He doesn’t speak.

Neither do I.

My fingers curl into the sheets, a sharp contrast to the bruises shadowing my wrist, evidence of the hands that had tried to drag me back to Jalith.

“I should kill you for bringing me here,” I murmur, voice hoarse from disuse.

Xirath tilts his head, the faintest flick of his forked tongue flickering between his lips before disappearing. “Should you?”

I push myself up onto my elbows, the ache in my ribs protesting the sudden movement. “You seem awfully fond of deciding where I belong.”

His tail coils slightly against the stone floor, the movement almost lazy. “You belong where you are safest.”

A sharp laugh escapes me before I can swallow it down. “Safest,” I repeat, rolling the word over my tongue as if testing its absurdity. “You think I’m safe here?”

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