Page 45 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

“I did.” My head tilts slightly, studying the frustration sharpening her features. “And you think one victory means you are ready for war?”

She does not blink. “I think I can kill.”

The words slip from her lips like a truth she has already accepted it settling between us.

She means it.

She means every damn word.

My fingers flex at my sides. The urge to drag her forward, to press her against the stone and make her understand what she is becoming claws against my restraint.

Not a human learning to survive.

A human learning to wield violence.

The shift in her is happening too fast, too naturally.

I am letting it.

“You will not fight.” My voice does not rise. “You will not leave the stronghold.”

Her lips part, a protest rising, but I step closer, cutting it off before it begins.

“Stay, or I will have you chained to this chamber myself.”

A flicker of rage sparks in her storm-gray eyes.

She believes me.

She should.

I turn away before I let this pull between us consume me. The war is my focus, not her, not the way she makes my body react, not the way I crave the fight in her.

She does not belong to me.

Fate doesn’t dictate for her to be mine.

But the thought of her on that battlefield, torn apart by minotaur hands, is unacceptable.

I walk to the doors, casting one last look over my shoulder.

“Stay alive, Seren.”

The way her fingers curl against the chair, the way her jaw tightens in anger, tells me she wants to defy me.

But she doesn’t.

Not yet.

The doors slam shut behind me, sealing her inside.

And I march to war.

20

SEREN

The chamber is too still, too quiet.

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