Page 8 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

"You tell me, little mouse," he murmurs.

Something inside me snaps.

I close the distance between us before I realize I am doing it, tilting my face up to meet his, defiance crackling beneath my skin.

"Seren," I bite out. "Say it."

His golden eyes burn, but he doesn't step back.

Instead, he lifts a single clawed finger, hooks it beneath the chain between my wrists, and tugs. Not hard, not violent, enough to remind me who is holding the leash.

I refuse to react.

But my pulse betrays me.

His forked tongue flicks out, so fast I almost miss it. His pupils narrow. He smells it.

Fury flashes through me, hot and consuming, but I will not let him see that he unsettles me.

"Seren," he says at last, low and almost thoughtful, as if tasting it.

My name has never felt so much like a challenge.

He releases the chain, stepping back, the moment broken. "Rest. We will speak in the morning."

He turns, gliding toward the corridor leading deeper into his estate.

Something inside me rages at the dismissal.

"You paid for me," I say, louder than I mean to. His steps don't falter.

I push forward. "You took me from that pit. Brought me here. Yet you don't treat like a slave. You let me walk beside you, untouched, unbroken. Why?"

He reaches the archway, places one hand against the carved stone. "Because I am still deciding what to do with you."

A shiver races through me, not fear. Something else.

I don't let it settle. "Then I will make the decision for you," I say, lifting my bound hands.

His shoulders stiffen.

"You are not my master, Xirath. I am not your little mouse."

I toss the chain at his feet and step into my chamber without another word.

The door shuts behind me.

I swear I can still feel his gaze on me, even through the walls.

5

XIRATH

The chain she threw at my feet glints in the dim starlight.

I should pick it up. I don't.

Instead, I stand in the doorway of my chamber, staring at the closed door that separates her from me, my claws curling against my palms. The pulse of my thoughts doesn't quiet, circling in the dark, coiling like a beast caught between hunger and restraint.

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