Page 6 of Naga Warrior's Mate

“Shut it,” the scarred guard barked, and the whispers died.

Alaysia’s mind raced, mapping their route.Three right turns, one left, down two flights of stairs.The complex was a maze, but every maze had an exit.She just had to find it.

“Lucky you,” the shorter guard sneered, his breath hot against her ear.“Getting to be some champion’s prize.Better than ending up in the rings yourself.”

Alaysia’s lip curled.“I’d rather fight.”

The guards laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls.“Careful what you wish for, pretty thing.”

The guards soon pushed Alaysia through a doorway with a heavy metal door.It appeared to be the slaves’ living quarters.The space opened into a common area filled with worn furniture.The musty air carried traces of cheap soap and desperation.

A woman with graying temples and sharp eyes approached, her movements slow but purposeful.“I’m Marcella.You must be our...prize.”She dismissed the guards with a wave.“I’ll take it from here.”

Alaysia’s shoulders remained tense until the door clanged shut behind the guards.Her fingernails dug half-moons into her palms.

“Come.”Marcella guided her to a secluded corner where a threadbare couch sagged against the wall.“You’re safe here, at least from unwanted advances.”

“Safe?”Alaysia’s laugh came out hollow.

“Fyret’s word is iron, dear.No one will touch you before the tournament ends.”Marcella’s gray eyes softened.“He may be a monster, but he’s a businessman first.Damaged goods don’t fetch top coin for him.”

The couch creaked as Alaysia sank into it.Her mother’s lessons on survival echoed in her head—adapt, endure, wait for opportunity.“And after the tournament ends?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”Marcella settled beside her.“For now, you’ve got me watching your back.The other girls, too.We take care of our own here.”

“Why?”Alaysia studied the older woman’s face.“You don’t know me.”

Marcella’s hand found Alaysia’s shoulder, squeezing gently.“Sometimes, having someone in your corner makes all the difference between breaking and surviving.”

The knot in Alaysia’s stomach loosened slightly.She wasn’t alone.It wasn’t much, but it was something to hold on to in this underground hell.

“Thank you,” she whispered, meaning it despite her lingering anger and worry.

“Rest now.”Marcella stood and walked away.

Alaysia got up from the couch and walked over to the sleeping area.Several bunk beds were lined up in rows.She climbed onto the top bunk of one, the thin mattress creaking under her weight.The scratchy blanket rubbed against her skin as she lay down.Water stains created abstract patterns above her, and she traced them with her eyes, her mind spinning with possibilities.

Three right turns, one left, down two flights.The route played on repeat in her head.She’d need to know every detail to find her way back out.The guards’ patrol patterns, the timing of shift changes—all crucial pieces of the puzzle.

The ventilation system hummed overhead.Alaysia mapped its path with her eyes, noting the size of the ducts.Too small for escape, but maybe useful for hiding something.Her fingers absently traced the metal frame of her bunk.Sharp edges could become tools with enough patience.

Marcella meant well, but survival wasn’t enough.Not anymore.Alaysia refused to be passed around like a trophy, refused to accept the fate others had chosen for her.The tournament wouldn’t happen for a while—plenty of time to learn the rhythms of this place, to find its weaknesses.

She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep while her mind cataloged everything she’d seen.Any little detail could be the difference between freedom and the unknown.

Let them think she’d accepted her role.Let them believe she was just another pretty prize waiting to be claimed.They’d learn too late that she was something else entirely—a survivor, yes, but more importantly, a fighter.

Chapter 4

Alaysia

AsharpjoltyankedAlaysia from sleep the following morning.Marcella’s face hovered inches from hers, lined with urgency.

“Up.Now.”

Alaysia’s muscles protested as she climbed down from the top bunk.The cold floor shocked her bare feet.“What’s happening?”

“Bath time.Fyret wants you presentable,” Marcella replied firmly.

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