Page 30 of Naga General’s Mate (Nagas of Nirum #2)

Brivul

Brivul cradled Mila against his chest, his jaw clenching at the sight of her bruises. The narrow underground corridor stretched before them, lit by torchlight that cast eerie shadows on the stone walls.

“Nia, get the others in position,” Brivul commanded. “Three floors up, outside Kurg’s communications room.”

Nia nodded, pulling a small dagger from her belt. “Take this,” she said, pressing it into Mila’s hand. “Just in case.”

As Brivul headed down the narrow corridor, the sound of explosions echoed from around the corner—Lors and Kev’s distraction. Brivul slithered silently through the corridor, keeping Mila secure against him. Her breath hitched with each movement.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured in her ear.

“I know.” Mila’s fingers curled into his shirt. “The service passage is through here.”

They reached the junction. An ancient tapestry hung at the end of the left corridor, its threads dulled with age and dust. Brivul quickly reached the tapestry and shifted Mila’s weight to one arm. Using his free hand, he swept the fabric aside, revealing a narrow door.

“Security panel,” Mila said, reaching for the keypad. Her fingers trembled as she input the code that had never been changed for this entrance.

The door slid open with a soft hiss. Brivul’s tongue flicked out, tasting the air for threats. The passage beyond was clear, but the metallic tang of blood—Mila’s blood—made his protective instincts surge.

“Hold tight,” he said, navigating the space. His tail propelled them forward smoothly, avoiding the scattered debris that could give away their position.

Another explosion rocked the building. Dust rained down from the ceiling.

“Lors always did love making things go boom,” Brivul muttered, drawing a weak laugh from Mila.

They reached a maintenance shaft. Brivul coiled his tail, preparing to ascend. “Up we go. Three floors to Kurg’s private comm room.”

“And then we end this,” Mila said, her voice gaining strength despite her injuries. “For good.”

Once they reached Kurg’s private communications room, a flash of movement at the end of the hall caught Brivul’s attention. Guards. At least six of them, their weapons already drawn. His muscles tensed as he gently set Mila down behind a decorative column.

“Stay here.” He pressed a quick kiss to her temple. “I won’t let them near you.”

The thunder of boots echoed through the corridor as the guards charged forward. A familiar war cry rang out behind them—Cantos’s signature battle roar. His old crew had the guards flanked.

Brivul’s blood sang with the thrill of combat. This was what he was made for. He launched forward, his tail propelling him with deadly grace. The first guard didn’t even have time to raise his weapon before Brivul’s fist connected with his jaw.

“Just like old times, eh, General?” Lors called out, driving his knee into a guard’s stomach.

“Less talking, more fighting.” But Brivul couldn’t help the fierce grin that spread across his face as he moved in perfect sync with his former soldiers.

A guard’s blade whistled past his ear. Brivul caught the man’s wrist, twisted, and used the guard’s momentum to throw him into two of his companions. They went down in a tangle of limbs.

“Behind you!” Nia’s warning had him ducking just as she vaulted over his shoulders, her boots catching another guard in the chest.

The corridor filled with the sounds of combat—grunts of pain, the clash of weapons, bodies hitting walls. Brivul moved through it all with deadly precision, each strike calculated and brutal. These men had helped hurt his mate. His vision tinged red at the edges.

“Clear!” Fikleo called out as the last guard slumped unconscious.

Brivul straightened, surveying the scattered bodies with satisfaction. None dead, but they wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. He turned back to where he’d left Mila, his heart rate settling only when he saw her safe and unharmed.

“Secure the perimeter,” he ordered. “We hold this position until we accomplish what we came for.”

Brivul and Mila slipped into Kurg’s private communications room, Brivul’s tail coiled protectively around her. The terminal hummed against the far wall, its blue glow casting shadows across polished marble floors. His nostrils flared at the lingering scent of Kurg’s cologne—a sickly sweet stench that made his skin crawl.

“Can you find it again?” He kept his voice low, positioning himself between Mila and the door.

“Give me two minutes.” Mila’s fingers flew across the keypad, her jaw set with determination despite her injuries.

Brivul’s muscles tensed at every footfall in the corridor outside, ready to destroy anyone who dared interrupt them.

“There.” Mila’s voice held quiet triumph. “Same transmissions as before, showing the embezzled funds.”

Brivul moved closer, his chest pressed against her back as he peered at the screen. Complex financial data scrolled past, but he trusted Mila’s assessment. His mate was brilliant.

“Sending it now, directly to the council’s emergency channel.” Her fingers trembled slightly as she input the commands. “They can’t ignore this—not when it comes straight from his private terminal.”

“That’s my mate.” He squeezed her shoulder, pride swelling in his chest. She’d outsmarted them all.

The terminal chimed softly—transmission complete. Mila sagged against him in relief, and he gathered her close, careful of her injuries.

“Let’s get you out of here.” He scooped her into his arms, already planning their escape route. The council would come for Kurg soon enough, but Brivul wasn’t about to wait around for the aftermath.

Brivul slithered out of the communications room with Mila held securely against his chest. The corridor stretched before them, now littered with unconscious guards. His old unit formed a protective circle around them, weapons at the ready.

“Exit route?” Lors asked, checking around a corner.

“Service tunnels.” Brivul’s tongue flicked out and tasted the air—fresh blood and gunpowder with more guards ahead. “Two levels down.”

Nia took point while Cantos covered their rear. The familiar formation settled something in Brivul’s chest. This was what he’d trained them for. His tail muscles coiled with anticipation as boots thundered down the adjacent hallway.

“Company,” Fikleo warned.

A burst of weapon fire peppered the wall beside them. Brivul curled around Mila, shielding her with his body as marble chips exploded outward.

“Take them down,” he ordered, his voice hard as steel.

His soldiers moved like a well-oiled machine. Nia dropped and rolled, coming up firing. Kev launched a smoke grenade while Lors charged through the chaos. The sounds of combat filled the corridor—grunts, crashes, and the meaty thud of fists meeting flesh.

“Path’s clear,” Cantos called out.

Brivul surged forward, every protective instinct screaming to get his mate to safety. Mila’s fingers dug into his shoulders as he navigated the turns, following the route she’d described earlier.

More guards appeared at the end of the hall, but Brivul didn’t slow. He couldn’t—not with Mila injured and vulnerable in his arms. His soldiers fanned out behind him as he barreled straight toward the threat.

“Down!” Mila suddenly shouted.

Brivul dropped instantly, trusting her instincts. A blade whistled over where his head had been a moment before. His mate’s quick thinking saved them both.

“That’s my mate,” he growled with pride, continuing their advance while his team engaged the new threats.

The service tunnel entrance waited just ahead, its metal door gleaming dully. Almost there. Just a little further and they’d have a clear shot at escape.

Brivul’s tail muscles bunched, ready for the final sprint. Then the click of multiple weapons being primed froze him in place.

Guards melted from the shadows, their laser rifles trained on Brivul and his team. More emerged from side passages until the corridor bristled with weaponry. At their center stood Kurg, his oily lips twisted in a smirk.

Brivul’s battle instincts screamed as he counted the opposition. Thirty guards at least, all armed to the teeth. His own soldiers formed a tight circle, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. The metallic tang of gun oil and sweat filled his nostrils.

“Get behind me,” he commanded Mila as he set her down and shifted to shield her with his body. Her warmth against his back steadied him, even as rage coursed through his veins. No one would touch his mate again.

“We’re surrounded, General,” Lors muttered, his weapon trained on the nearest cluster of guards.

“I see that.” Brivul’s mind raced through combat scenarios, discarding each as too risky with Mila injured. His tail coiled protectively around her legs.

Nia’s fingers tightened on her rifle. “Orders?”

The guards pressed closer, their weapons humming with charged energy. One wrong move would turn this corridor into a killing field.