Page 14 of Naga General’s Mate (Nagas of Nirum #2)
Brivul
Brivul lifted another massive crate of supplies. The musty scent of the hotel’s storage room tickled his nose. His muscles flexed, blue scales shining in the dim light as he arranged the boxes with military precision.
“You’ll strain something showing off like that,” Mila called from the doorway.
The sound of her voice sent a pleasant shiver through him. “A few boxes won’t break me.”
“Right. Because you’re so tough.” She stepped into the room, her green eyes dancing with amusement.
The sight of her made his chest tighten. Three weeks of close quarters with Mila had only intensified his mate-bond response. Every smile, every casual touch, set his blood on fire.
“Someone has to do the heavy lifting around here.”
“And you volunteered out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Exactly.” He shifted another crate, deliberately flexing. The way her gaze lingered on his arms sent satisfaction coursing through him.
Mila rolled her eyes, but her lips curved upward. “Ellri needs help in the kitchen. Think you can tear yourself away from reorganizing the entire storage room?”
“For you? Always,” Brivul replied.
A blush colored her cheeks as she turned away.
He followed her through the narrow hallway, ducking his head under the low ceiling. The hotel’s worn carpets and peeling wallpaper weren’t much, but they’d become home. Here, hidden in plain sight among the outcasts and drifters, he felt more himself than he had in years.
Strange how being a fugitive could feel so right. But then, everything felt right with Mila nearby. Even simple tasks like inventory and maintenance gave him purpose—protecting her, providing for her, watching her grow stronger each day as the fear in her eyes slowly faded.
Later that afternoon, the market buzzed with activity, a kaleidoscope of colors and scents that assaulted Brivul’s senses. He kept close to Mila, his tail creating a protective half-circle around her as they navigated the crowded stalls.
“What’s next on Ellri’s list?” His violet eyes scanned the crowd for threats.
“Spices.” Mila waved the list. “Though I’m not sure why we need so many. The food’s already good.”
A vendor called out prices for fresh produce. Brivul steered Mila away from his overpriced goods toward a better stall he’d spotted earlier.
“This way. Better quality, lower prices.”
“Look who’s becoming an expert shopper.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement.
“I have many hidden talents.”
“Oh, really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
The teasing lilt in her voice made his blood heat. “I could show you sometime.”
A blush crept across her cheeks. She turned to examine some dried herbs, but not before he caught her smile.
The spice merchant’s stall filled the air with exotic aromas. Brivul watched as Mila haggled skillfully, her chin lifted in that defiant way he loved.
“Your mate drives a hard bargain,” the merchant said in Niri.
Before Brivul could correct him, Mila had already secured their purchase at half the asking price. He couldn’t help but admire how she’d transformed from the frightened slave he’d first met into this fierce, capable woman.
“What did he say to you?” Mila asked as they moved away from the stall.
“Nothing important.” He shifted the bags to one arm, using his tail to clear a path through the crowd.
Movement flickered in Brivul’s peripheral vision as they turned down the narrow alley that led back to Ellri’s. Five figures detached from the shadows, blocking their path. His battle instincts surged.
“Well, what do we have here?” A scarred Niri slithered forward.
Brivul shifted the bags to one arm and angled his body between Mila and the thugs. His tail coiled tightly, ready to strike. “Back off.”
“Or what, pretty boy?” The leader’s forked tongue flicked out. “Hand over the girl and your credits.”
The old familiar battle-calm settled over Brivul. These weren’t trained soldiers. Their stances were sloppy, weapons held wrong.
“Last warning.”
A knife glinted as one of the thugs lunged. Brivul’s tail whipped out and caught the attacker’s wrist with a satisfying crack. The knife clattered to the ground.
“Behind you!” Mila’s warning gave him time to dodge as another thug swung a metal pipe.
Brivul spun, using his momentum to slam his elbow into the pipe-wielder’s throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mila grab one of their shopping bags and swing it like a flail, catching a third attacker in the face. Pride surged through him. His mate was no helpless damsel.
The leader charged. Brivul caught his wrist, twisted, and used the thug’s momentum to throw him into his remaining companion. They crashed into a stack of crates with a satisfying crunch.
“You’re going to regret this,” the leader snarled, struggling to his feet.
Brivul bared his fangs in a predatory grin. “I already don’t.”
Two more figures appeared at the alley’s entrance, fresh muscle joining the fight. The leader’s confidence returned as his reinforcements approached.
“Still feeling brave?”
Brivul’s blood sang with battle-joy. He might not be a general anymore, but he was still a warrior. And now he had something worth fighting for.
“Stay close,” he murmured to Mila.
“Not going anywhere.” She pressed her back against his, her makeshift weapon ready.
The new arrivals drew closer, and Brivul tensed for the next round.
The two new thugs charged forward with raised weapons. Brivul’s battle instincts took over as he tracked their movements. Sloppy form, untrained strikes—these were street fighters, not soldiers.
“Left!” Mila shouted.
Brivul’s tail whipped out, catching the first attacker in the chest. The thug crashed into the alley wall with a satisfying crunch. Pride surged through him as Mila ducked under the second attacker’s wild swing and drove her elbow into his gut.
The leader lunged at Brivul from behind. Something stung his side, but adrenaline pushed the sensation away. His focus stayed locked on Mila as she fought beside him.
“Getting tired yet?” The leader sneered.
“Just getting started.” Brivul turned, seized the leader’s arm, and twisted. The knife clattered to the ground.
Mila snatched up a fallen pipe and swung it into the back of the leader’s knees. The thug collapsed with a howl of pain. Brivul delivered a final strike to the leader’s head, sending him sprawling unconscious.
The remaining thugs backed away, their eyes wide with fear as they saw their leader’s broken form.
“Anyone else?” Brivul bared his fangs.
They fled, dragging their wounded with them. The alley fell silent except for Brivul and Mila’s heavy breathing.
The rush of battle soon faded, replaced by a sharp, burning pain in Brivul’s side. His scales felt wet—too wet. The knife must have slipped between them. He pressed his hand against the wound, his fingers coming away crimson.
“Damn lucky shot.” The edges of his vision wavered, the alley’s shadows stretching longer than they should.
“Brivul?” Mila’s voice sounded distant despite her standing right beside him.
His tail scraped against the ground as he tried to maintain his balance. No way in hell would he show weakness, not when Mila needed him strong. But his upper tail wouldn’t cooperate.
“It’s nothing.” The words came out slurred. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
“You’re hurt!” Mila’s hands pressed against his side, her touch sending sparks through his nerve endings even amid the pain. “This is really bad!”
“Just need to catch my breath.” He tried to straighten up, to show her he was still in control. His knees buckled.
Mila caught him before he could fall, her small frame somehow supporting his massive weight. The scent of her—jasmine and determination—anchored him as the world spun.
“Stop being stubborn.” Her voice cracked with worry. “Let me help you.”
The former general in him wanted to refuse, to maintain the image of the invincible protector. But his mate’s concern penetrated even his thick skull.
“Maybe sitting would be good.” He slid down the wall, his tail curling protectively around them both, even as pain lanced through his side.
Blood seeped between his fingers despite the pressure he maintained on the wound. Not good. The knife must have gone deeper than he’d realized during the fight.
Brivul clenched his jaw against a groan. Even dying, he’d be damned if he showed that much weakness. But darkness crept at the edges of his vision, and keeping his head up became harder with each passing second.