Page 86 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

The hallways stretch endlessly before me, the polished stone reflecting the flickering torchlight, cold beneath my bare feet. Every step feels heavier than the last, every breath more ragged.

He left me.

Not just in the arena, not just standing there like a fool with my lips swollen from his kiss.

No, Xirath walked away without so much as a backward glance, trailing after that beautiful, perfect naga female like I was nothing.

Like I never even mattered.

I want to tear something apart.

I want to grab him by his stupid, perfect, gilded throat and make him say it to my face, tell me I am nothing. Tell me I was just entertainment for him.

Tell me I am not real.

But deep down, in the part of me that aches, I already know the truth.

I have feelings for him.

I don’t know when it happened.

Maybe it was in the jungle when he carried me back, bruised and bloodied but not broken.

Maybe it was in the arena when he called me his.

Or maybe it was always there, lurking beneath my fury, my fear, my refusal to be owned.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because I am not his mate.

I will never be anything to him.

The thought is unbearable.

My fingers curl around the ring on my hand, twisting the silver band until my skin burns.

I don’t even realize how far I’ve walked until I am standing outside his war room.

The doors are shut, the guards posted outside barely sparing me a glance.

I should leave.

I should turn back, go to my room, forget about him.

But my feet do not move.

The anger and hurt boil together inside me, forming something more dangerous, something desperate.

I need to hear it from him.

I need him to look me in the eyes and tell me I mean nothing.

I step forward, ready to push past the guards.

"You’re not going to find him in there."

The voice is smooth, effortless. Feminine.

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