Page 52 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

Branches tear at my skin, but I do not stop, feet barely touching the ground as I leap over fallen logs, ducking under twisting limbs. The night sings with pursuit, shouts rising behind me, Elvish curses slicing through the thick air.

They are faster.

I am smaller.

More desperate.

Leaves blur past, shadows twisting, the pulse of the jungle a living thing pressing against my back. The chase tightens, sharp as a noose.

One of them gains on me, his breath a rasp just behind my ear.

A sharp pivot sends me sliding down a slope, rocks tumbling with me. My body collides with the earth, pain flashing through my ribs, but I use the momentum, rolling back onto my feet.

No time. No hesitation.

A hand snatches for me.

I spin, dagger flashing. The warrior grunts as steel carves across his arm, his grip faltering. I tear away, legs screaming as I push forward.

They are still coming.

The jungle narrows, walls of thick stone rising on either side. A gorge.

Trapped.

The realization shudders through my bones.

I slow, breath ragged, burning.

The elves emerge from the dark, their figures cutting sharp against the silver-streaked night.

A ring of hunters.

I am the prey.

The leader steps forward, lips curling as he wipes a splatter of blood from his cheek. “A good chase,” he muses. “You run well for something so breakable.”

My grip on the dagger tightens.

A low chuckle rumbles from another elf. “Did you truly think he would come for you?”

They circle closer, predators scenting finality.

Another scoffs. “A naga lord, risking himself for a human?” He clicks his tongue. “How tragic.”

The words press deep, twisting.

Xirath would come.

Wouldn’t he?

A flash of memory, his eyes locked on mine in the arena, the press of his hand beneath my chin, his presence against my back, the way he refused to let me go.

But would it be enough?

Would he be too late?

The leader sighs, tilting his head. “Let’s end this, shall we?”

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