Page 89 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

I should be relieved. Should welcome the lack of defiance.

Instead, my patience frays.

She meets my eyes once, a flicker of storm-gray beneath damp strands of hair, then looks away like I am nothing.

That is when my tail flicks against the floor. That is when irritation burrows beneath my skin and stays there.

"You look like you’d rather be anywhere else, little mouse," I say, keeping my tone mocking.

A bait. A sharp hook.

She always bites.

Seren barely reacts. No sneer. No sharp retort.

She exhales, dragging the back of her hand over her brow, expression impassive. "Would it make a difference?"

My grip tightens on the hilt of my blade.

Something is wrong.

"You’re asking me?" I step closer, my shadow swallowing hers. "You don’t seem to care about anything today."

The human shrugs, adjusting the dagger in her palm. "Not everything is about you, Lord Xirath."

That title.

Spoken without a trace of heat.

Without challenge.

Something about that cool, measured tone rakes down my spine like claws.

She should be spitting it at me. Should be calling me a bastard.

Instead, she just turns away.

"Something wrong, little mouse?" I press, stepping forward, my voice low, dangerous.

Her grip tightens ever so slightly, but her stance does not change. "Nothing that concerns you, my lord."

Sheathing her blade, she moves past me, the soft rasp of steel settling against her belt.

No taunt. No glare.

She is retreating.

I catch her wrist, halting her steps. The touch is not firm, not meant to hurt, but the reaction is immediate.

She goes rigid.

Not fearful.

Just cold.

The stillness between us stretches, a breath too long, a heartbeat too tense.

She pulls away, smooth, calculated.

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