Page 59 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

Of course she doesn’t.

As I clean her wounds, the truth digs deeper beneath my ribs. This should not matter.

She is human.

She is temporary.

The curse has not lifted.

Yet, my body burns with a possessiveness that has nothing to do with fate.

She is mine, but not because of some celestial bond.

Because I want her.

The realization is sharp, unwelcome.

My grip tightens around the cloth.

If she were my mate, it would be simple. Expected. A connection ordained by the gods, something written into my very existence.

But this is worse.

This is choosing.

I do not choose.

Not since the day I was cursed, not since I lost control of my own fate. Not since I learned that longing was a weakness.

Yet here she is.

A fragile human, a survivor, a storm wrapped in trembling limbs and bloodied fists.

I cannot let her go.

Her breath shifts, a small, unconscious murmur escaping her lips.

My gaze drops to her hand.

Fingers twitch slightly, curling around nothing. A small motion, but it locks something deep in my chest.

She fights even in her sleep.

She fights even after everything.

A slow breath drags into my lungs.

I cannot let her go.

But I will never say it aloud.

Instead, I press the cloth against the final wound, lingering just long enough that my fingers brush against hers.

She does not wake.

But her body relaxes, just slightly.

I allow myself to believe that she knows she is safe.

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