Page 20 of Naga Warlord’s Mate (Nagas of Nirum #3)

Priscilla

A sharp knock jolted Priscilla from her sleep. The warmth of Andear’s body curled around her smaller frame made her want to burrow deeper into his embrace, but his muscles tensed at the sound. The knock came again, more insistent this time.

Andear’s tail unwound from her thigh as he rose, the bed shifting under his weight. The cool air rushed against her skin where his heat had been. She watched through half-lidded eyes as he pulled on loose training garb. His powerful frame moved with lethal grace even in the predawn darkness.

He yanked open the door, revealing one of his warriors. The young Niri’s scales were slick with sweat, as if he’d run here.

“Warlord, the council demands your presence. The Xirath...” The warrior’s voice dropped as he stood outside the door, where he couldn’t quite see Priscilla around Andear’s large frame. “Zarlok has demanded we accept their terms. If we refuse the moon base, they declare war.”

A low growl rumbled from Andear’s throat. His claws extended, scraping against the door. “Those serpents planned this from the start.”

Fear clawed its way up Priscilla’s throat. She slipped from the bed, wrapping one of Andear’s shirts around herself as she padded to his side. The mate bond thrummed with his rage, but underneath it she felt something else—a grim satisfaction. He’d been waiting for this fight.

“You can’t go,” she whispered, touching his arm. His scales burned hot beneath her fingers.

He turned those molten gold eyes on her. “This is what I am, mate—a warrior, a warlord.”

“You’re mine,” she shot back, gripping his arm harder. “I won’t let you—”

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I am your mate, but I am also the warlord of Nirum. And I will not let these monsters threaten what’s mine.”

Priscilla’s chest tightened. She’d just found him, just learned what it meant to be cherished instead of owned. The thought of losing him to war made her want to scream.

“Then I’m coming with you to the council’s chamber.”

“No.” His grip tightened fractionally. “You stay here where it’s safe.”

“If you think I’m going to just sit here, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Priscilla’s fingers curled into fists as she stood beside Andear in the council’s chamber. The massive room echoed with heated debates, the air thick with tension and the scent of Niri scales. Torchlight cast dancing shadows across the carved walls, making the ancient runes seem to writhe with each flicker.

She glanced up at Andear, noting how his jaw clenched tightly enough to crack his teeth. His tail moved in sharp, agitated motions—a warning sign she’d learned to read during their training sessions. The bond between them thrummed with his barely contained rage.

“The Xirath offer us advancement,” Elder Merat argued from his elevated seat, his aged scales dulled to a pale gray. “Their technology could secure Nirum’s future for generations.”

“At what cost?” Andear cut in. “Our independence? Our souls?”

Priscilla’s stomach churned.

Elder Keth, his dark green scales gleaming in the torchlight, fixed his gaze on Andear. His lip curled in a sneer that made Priscilla’s blood boil. “You clearly speak with too much emotion, warlord. Do you fight for Nirum’s honor or for the human woman at your side?”

The chamber fell silent. Priscilla felt Andear’s muscles coil beside her, ready to strike. Through their bond, she sensed his fury spike. Her own anger flared in response. These pompous politicians, safely nestled in their chamber while others suffered. They knew nothing of real honor or sacrifice.

She wanted to scream at them, to make them understand what the Xirath truly were. She’d seen their kind before, back on Jorvla—the way they’d look at humans, the casual cruelty in their eyes. The memory made her throat tight.

The deep rumble of Andear’s growl vibrated through Priscilla’s palm as she placed her hand on his arm. His scales burned hot beneath her touch, his rage radiating through their mate bond. She could feel his murderous intent toward Elder Keth, the desire to tear into the councilor’s throat for the insult.

But this wasn’t about her or Andear’s pride. This was about stopping monsters from gaining a foothold on their planet. Priscilla lifted her chin, meeting Elder Keth’s dismissive gaze with the same steel she’d developed during years of slavery.

“This isn’t about me,” she said, her voice carrying through the chamber despite its softness. The torchlight caught the gold flecks in her green eyes as she surveyed the council. “It’s about what’s right. You know what the Xirath are.”

She felt Andear’s muscles coil beneath her fingers, ready to spring to her defense if needed. But she pressed on, drawing strength from his presence.

“If you let them in, they will take Nirum’s strength and peace and corrupt it.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, memories of Jorvla’s corruption flooding back. Slavers had slowly infiltrated every level of society until resistance became impossible. “They’ll start small—just a base, just a foothold. Then they’ll want more. They always want more.”

The council’s chamber fell silent save for the crackle of torches. Priscilla’s heart thundered, but she kept her spine straight. She might be human, might be considered lesser by many here, but she knew the truth of predators who smiled while they devoured you.

One of the neutral council members, an older female with silvery scales, hesitated before speaking. “What proof do we have that they will not honor their deal?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with implications.

Priscilla felt Andear’s energy shift beside her. Her skin prickled as he stepped forward. The smirk that curved his lips made her breath catch. It wasn’t amusement but predatory anticipation.

“They tried to kill my mate,” Andear’s voice cut through the chamber like a sharp blade. “That is proof enough.”

His tail curled possessively around her ankle as he continued, each word precise and deadly. “The assassins wore Xirath combat gear beneath their cloaks. Their weapons? Xirath plasma daggers.”

Priscilla’s heart raced as she remembered the attack, the flash of silver, the burning sensation where one blade had grazed her arm. Through their bond, she felt Andear’s rage spike at the memory.

“Your precious Zarlok claims these were rogues?” Andear’s laugh was cold enough to freeze the air. “Their combat techniques matched official Xirath military protocols. I’ve fought their kind before. I know their methods.”

Elder Merat shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “These are serious accusations, warlord.”

“They are facts,” Andear growled, his claws extending. “Facts written in my mate’s blood. Or do you need more proof? Perhaps when they’ve established their base and started raiding our towns for human slaves?”

The chamber erupted in murmurs. Priscilla watched the council members exchange glances and saw doubt creep into their expressions.

“We... require time to verify these claims,” Elder Keth announced, his earlier smugness replaced by uncertainty. “The council will delay our decision pending further investigation.”

Priscilla hurried after Andear’s towering form as he stormed through the palace corridors, his tail lashing against the stone floors with enough force to crack the tiles. The mate bond pulsed with his anger, making her skin tingle with secondhand rage. His broad shoulders were rigid, his muscles coiled tightly beneath his red and gold scales.

“Those spineless politicians,” he snarled, rounding a corner so sharply that Priscilla had to jog to keep up. “I’ve bled for Nirum. I’ve killed for Nirum. And still, they hesitate to trust my judgment and words.”

The raw hurt in his voice made her chest ache. She reached for his arm, but he shrugged off her touch. They continued the rest of the way to his den in silence.

Before long, he threw open the heavy door to his den with enough force to rattle the walls.

“They’re just afraid,” Priscilla finally said softly, following him inside. His familiar scent of leather and steel wrapped around her as she watched him storm around the room, his claws extended.

“They should be afraid of what will happen if they don’t act.” He whirled to face her, his gold eyes blazing. “I unified the warrior clans. I ended the blood feuds. I brought peace to Nirum when it was drowning in a civil war. And now they question my motives because I took a human mate?”

Priscilla’s breath stuck in her throat. Through their connection, she felt the storm of emotions beneath his rage—pride, determination, and something deeper, more possessive.

“You’re planning something,” she said, studying the way his tail moved in sharp, decisive patterns. She’d learned to read his body language these past weeks. This wasn’t just anger. This was preparation.

“You’re going to take matters into your own hands,” she continued, both thrilled and terrified by the predatory gleam in his eyes.

He moved toward her, closing the space between them. His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face up to his. “I am the warlord of Nirum. I do not need anyone’s permission to protect what’s mine.”

Priscilla shivered under the intensity of Andear’s gaze, his eyes burning with a fierce protectiveness that made her heart race. His scales radiated heat against her skin where he gripped her jaw.

She understood his need to act. The council’s weakness reminded her too much of Jorvla—how the politicians there had bent to slavers’ demands one small concession at a time until resistance became impossible.

She pressed her palms against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath her fingers. She thought of Mila, finally free and building a life here. Of the other humans who’d found sanctuary on Nirum. Of Andear, who’d given her not just protection, but purpose.

The Xirath would destroy all of it if given the chance. Just like the slavers had destroyed everything good on Jorvla.

She didn’t voice her agreement yet, though. Instead, she traced the battle scar on his arm, considering their options carefully.