Page 14 of Naga Warlord’s Mate (Nagas of Nirum #3)
Priscilla
Priscilla paced across the training center’s stone floor. The torchlight cast flickering shadows that danced along the walls. Her muscles ached pleasantly, reminding her of what had transpired between her and Andear.
She touched her lips, still feeling the ghost of his fierce kiss. “What am I doing?” she whispered to the empty room.
The training weapons lined the walls in perfect order, exactly as Andear insisted they remain. Everything about him was disciplined and controlled—until it wasn’t. The way he had looked at her, like she was something wild and dangerous that he couldn’t resist, made her breath catch, even now.
She stopped at the wall where they had... where everything had changed. The rough stone pressed against her palm as she leaned against it. His scent still lingered in the air—leather, steel, and something uniquely him.
“Stay,” he had commanded before leaving. The word echoed in her mind, stirring something deep inside her. No one had ever spoken to her that way—not as a possession or a servant, but as something precious and desired.
Priscilla wrapped her arms around herself, trying to sort through the storm of emotions. “This changes everything,” she murmured. The training center suddenly felt too large, too empty without his overwhelming presence.
She moved to the center of the room, falling into the defensive stance he had taught her. The familiar position helped center her thoughts, but each movement reminded her of his hands guiding her form, his body pressed against hers as he corrected her stance.
“I should leave,” she told herself firmly. But she remained, caught between what she should do and what she wanted. The council meeting must be about the Xirath. Her outburst had ensured that. Yet here she was, thinking only of the way Andear’s eyes had blazed when he looked at her.
Her fingers traced the slight marks his claws had left on her arms—not wounds, but reminders of his careful restraint even in passion. He was dangerous, powerful, and everything she should fear. Instead, she craved him more.
A metallic scrape against stone pulled Priscilla from her thoughts. Her heart jumped as she caught movement through the windows—a dark shape shifting against the night sky. The torchlight caught something reflective—the unmistakable glint of a blade.
Her muscles tensed, instinct from years of slavery screaming at her to run. But Andear’s training kicked in. She forced herself to stay still, analyzing her surroundings like he’d taught her. The training weapons were too far. The door was across the room. The windows were—
Another shadow joined the first. They moved with practiced precision, not the casual movements of guards on patrol. The hair on her neck rose.
“Think,” she whispered to herself, backing away from the window. “What would Andear do?”
But Andear wasn’t here. He was at the council meeting, probably arguing about the Xirath. The Xirath. Her stomach dropped as realization hit. Her outburst at the meeting. The way she’d challenged them publicly.
A soft thud above made her freeze. More shadows gathered at the windows.
Her hands shook as she reached for the nearest object—a wooden practice staff. It felt pathetically inadequate against real blades, but it was better than nothing. The weight of it steadied her slightly, grounding her in Andear’s lessons.
Metal scraped against glass. She had seconds at most.
“Stay,” Andear had commanded. But staying meant death. The training center’s shadows suddenly felt like a trap rather than shelter. Her breath came faster as she realized they had waited until she was alone. Until Andear was gone.
Glass exploded inward as a dark figure crashed through the window. Priscilla’s body moved before her mind could catch up, muscle memory from countless training sessions taking over. She dropped and rolled, the wooden staff clutched tightly against her chest.
The assassin’s blade whistled through the air where she stood moments before. Her heart hammered, but this time the fear didn’t paralyze her. Instead, it sharpened her focus, just as Andear had taught her.
“Not so brave without your warlord.” The assassin sneered. The voice was distinctly Xirath, confirming her worst fears.
Two more figures slipped through the shattered window. Their scaled armor gleamed in the torchlight, marking them as elite Xirath warriors. The kind that surely specialized in making problems disappear.
Priscilla adjusted her grip on the staff, falling into the defensive stance Andear had drilled into her countless times. “Brave enough to face you,” she shot back, proud that her voice didn’t shake.
The first assassin lunged. Priscilla pivoted, bringing the staff up to block the blade. The impact jarred her arms, but she held firm. Andear’s voice echoed in her head: Use their momentum against them.
She let the staff slide along the blade, stepping inside the assassin’s guard. Her elbow connected with their throat, sending them stumbling back. For a heartbeat, triumph surged through her.
Then the other two attacked simultaneously. Priscilla ducked under one blade and blocked another with her staff, but the third strike caught her arm. Pain blazed across her skin.
“The little human learns tricks,” one of them taunted. “But tricks won’t save you.”
Priscilla backed away, blood trickling down her arm. Her gaze darted between them, calculating angles, looking for openings. She wasn’t just a slave anymore, helpless and afraid. She was a warrior in training—Andear’s student.
The thought of him gave her strength. She wouldn’t die here, not when she’d finally found something worth fighting for.
“Then come teach me a lesson,” she challenged, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet. The staff felt alive in her hands, an extension of her will.
The training center doors suddenly exploded inward with such force that dust rained from the ceiling. Priscilla’s heart leaped at the familiar silhouette filling the doorway—Andear, his large frame radiating lethal intent. His eyes blazed with fury as he took in the scene, focusing first on the blood trickling down her arm and then on the Xirath assassins.
The growl that tore from his throat wasn’t anything close to civilized. It was pure predator. The sound sent shivers down Priscilla’s spine, but not from fear—from the primal recognition that he had come for her.
“You dare?” Andear’s voice was barely recognizable, thick with rage. He moved like liquid death, crossing the room faster than Priscilla’s eyes could track. His claws extended, black and deadly, slicing through the first assassin’s throat before they could even raise their blade. Blood sprayed across the stone floor.
His tail whipped around with devastating force, catching another assassin mid-lunge and sending them crashing into the wall with a sickening crack. The impact left a spider web of fractures in the stone.
“The warlord protects his pet.” The third assassin sneered, but Priscilla heard the tremor in their voice. They knew they were outmatched.
Andear’s answering snarl made the torches flicker. “She is not my pet.” His scales rippled with barely contained violence as he lunged forward. “She is mine.”
The possessive declaration sent heat flooding through Priscilla’s body, even as she registered movement behind her. The second assassin was getting up, blade raised. Without thinking, she spun and swung her staff, catching them across the face. The satisfying crunch of breaking bone rewarded her effort.
“Good,” Andear growled, his approval making her pulse race. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the third assassin, who was now backing toward the window. “Now move aside, little warrior. I will show these vermin what happens when they touch what belongs to me.”
Priscilla’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Andear move. Gone was the controlled warrior who had trained her with such precision. In his place was something ancient and deadly, his movements fluid yet savage. His claws ripped through the second assassin’s armor like it was paper, his black scales rippling with fury.
The third assassin tried to retreat, but Andear’s tail whipped out, catching them by the ankle. The crack of breaking bone echoed through the training center. Priscilla pressed herself against the wall, her heart thundering. She had never seen such raw power, such primal rage.
“Mercy,” the assassin gasped, dropping their blade.
Andear’s laugh was dark and dangerous. “You would have shown her none.” His claws found the assassin’s throat, and blood sprayed across the stone wall.
Then he turned to her, his massive chest heaving with each breath. His golden eyes blazed like the twin suns, his pupils narrowed to predatory slits. Blood dripped from his claws, but his movements were gentle as he approached her. Something inside her recognized him not as a threat, but as safety. As home.
His gaze locked on to the cut on her arm, and a growl rumbled through his chest. He reached for her, and she didn’t flinch as his blood-stained hands cupped her face. His touch was reverent, a stark contrast to the violence she had just witnessed.
“You are mine to protect,” he declared, his voice like thunder rolling through her bones. “And I will burn the stars before I let them take you from me.”
His possessiveness should have frightened her. Instead, it sent heat coursing through her veins. This wasn’t the restraint of their earlier encounter. This was raw, unfiltered truth.
“I fought them,” she whispered, needing him to know she wasn’t helpless. “Like you taught me.”
His thumb traced her lower lip, leaving a smear of blood. “You did. My fierce little warrior.” Pride and something darker colored his words. “But they dared to touch what is mine. They will never touch you again.”
Priscilla’s heart skipped at the word “mine.” She should argue, should remind him that she belonged to no one. But this connection she felt between them made her body sing with a familiar recognition. She was his, just as surely as he was hers.