Page 22 of Naga Warlord’s Mate (Nagas of Nirum #3)
Priscilla
The twin moons cast an ethereal glow over the Xirath encampment, their silver light reflecting off the sleek hull of the massive ship. Priscilla adjusted the hooded cloak that concealed her features. Mila crouched beside her, both of them wearing the traditional robes of Jorvlen traders.
Andear melted into the shadows behind them, his red scales making him nearly invisible in the darkness. His tail wrapped around Priscilla’s waist as they paused behind a stack of supply crates, the touch both possessive and protective.
“Six guards stand at the main entrance,” Mila whispered, her voice barely audible above the hum of the ship’s engines.
Priscilla studied the patrol patterns, remembering similar formations from her time in Jorvla. “They rotate every fifteen minutes. The gap is small, but—”
“No.” Andear’s grip tightened. “The risk is too high.”
“We need that proof,” Priscilla hissed back, turning to face him. “Unless you’d rather wait for the council to debate while the Xirath build their base or declare war against Nirum?”
His gold eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, a group of workers emerged from the ship. Andear pulled both women deeper into the shadows, his body coiled with tension.
“Look.” Mila pointed to several large containers being unloaded. “Those markings—they’re not supply codes.”
Priscilla’s fists clenched at her sides. The symbols matched those she’d seen on slave transport ships in Jorvla. “They’re already bringing them in. We can’t wait any longer.”
“Then we move now.” Andear’s voice was a low growl. His tail unwound from her waist, but his hand found her shoulder. “Stay close. If anything happens—”
“I know. Run.” Priscilla touched his hand briefly.
They crept forward through the shadows, using the cargo as cover. The metal hull of the ship loomed closer, its presence growing more oppressive with each step. Priscilla’s heart thundered against her ribs, but her movements remained steady. She’d spent years learning to move unseen—now those skills might save them all.
Priscilla pressed herself against the cold metal of a cargo container, her heart racing as voices drifted from around the corner. The metallic tang of ship fuel mixed with the acrid scent of Xirath armor polish—a smell that brought back memories of chains and darkness.
Two Xirath officers stood near the ship’s entrance, their scaled armor gleaming under the moonlight. The taller one gestured toward the mountains where Nirum’s capital lay.
“The council’s hesitation works in our favor,” the officer said, his reptilian features twisting into a smirk. “They debate while we prepare.”
“And once the moon base is established, we will begin phase two—subjugation.” The second officer’s laugh sent shivers down Priscilla’s spine.
Andear tensed behind her, his tail coiling tightly around her waist. She felt the vibration of his suppressed growl through her back. His hand found the hilt of his blade, his knuckles white with restraint.
Mila touched Priscilla’s arm, her fingers trembling. “Cilla—”
“Quiet,” Andear commanded, his voice barely a whisper against Priscilla’s ear. His breath was hot on her neck as he pulled her closer, shielding her with his body.
The officers continued their conversation, unaware of their audience. “The humans will be first, of course. That little display in the council’s chamber proved they’re getting too bold. Starting with that blonde one—”
Priscilla felt Andear’s muscles bunch, ready to spring. She pressed back against him, placing her hand over his on the blade’s hilt. His chest rumbled against her spine, but he remained still.
“Your mate bond is showing, warlord,” she whispered.
“They threaten what’s mine.” His words were more growl than speech.
The officers moved away, their boots crunching on the graveled ground. Only then did Andear’s grip on his weapon relax—slightly.
“We have our proof,” Mila breathed.
“No.” Andear’s tail tightened possessively. “We need more than overheard words. The council will demand evidence they cannot deny.”
Priscilla knew he was right, but the confirmation of their fears made her stomach churn. The Xirath weren’t here for partnership. They were here for conquest.
Priscilla caught Mila’s eye and tilted her head toward the ship’s entrance. Her sister nodded, understanding the silent signal. The stolen communicator from Brivul’s desk felt heavy in Priscilla’s pocket as they crept forward, their borrowed Jorvlen robes swishing against the ground. Her heart pounded, but she forced her movements to remain fluid and purposeful.
The metal hull of the ship loomed before them, its surface reflecting the moonlight in strange patterns. The acrid smell of engine fuel burned her nostrils, bringing back unwanted memories of transport ships and slave markets.
Just a few more steps. They’d rehearsed their cover story thoroughly—two informants from Jorvla with valuable intelligence about Nirum’s defenses. The kind of betrayal the Xirath would eagerly welcome.
Behind them, Andear’s presence radiated tension. She could almost feel his disapproval burning into her back, but he had agreed to let them try. The mate bond between them thrummed with his barely contained protective instincts.
“Who goes there?”
The sharp voice cut through the night. Priscilla’s muscles locked, her breath catching in her throat. A Xirath guard emerged from the shadows, his weapon trained on them with deadly precision. The crystalline core of his rifle pulsed with an ominous blue light.
Mila’s fingers dug into Priscilla’s arm. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. They needed to approach on their terms, not be caught like thieves in the night.
The guard’s scaled face twisted into a suspicious snarl. “Identify yourselves. Now.”
Priscilla’s mind raced. Their carefully planned introduction was useless now, but perhaps—
“I said identify yourselves!” The guard’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Priscilla barely had time to blink before Andear surged forward, his massive body a blur of red scales and lethal grace. The guard’s threat died in his throat as Andear’s hand closed around his neck, slamming him against the ship’s hull with enough force to dent the metal. The crack of bones echoed in the night air.
“No one threatens my mate,” Andear snarled, his gold eyes blazing with primal fury.
The guard’s weapon clattered to the ground, but the noise had already done its damage. Shouts erupted from inside the ship, and the heavy thud of boots on metal announced the arrival of more soldiers.
Priscilla spun as she caught movement in her peripheral vision. A Xirath soldier lunged at her, his blade whistling through the air. She dropped and rolled, just as Andear had taught her during their training sessions. The dagger in her hand felt alive as she slashed upward, catching the soldier across his exposed throat.
“Cilla, behind you!” Mila’s warning cut through the chaos.
Priscilla ducked, feeling the rush of air as another blade passed over her head. Her muscles burned with the movement, but weeks of training with Andear had honed her reflexes. She pivoted, driving her elbow into her attacker’s solar plexus.
More Xirath poured from the ship’s entrance, their weapons glowing with deadly energy. The air crackled with the hum of charging rifles.
“There are too many,” Mila gasped, pressing her back against Priscilla’s.
Andear’s tail whipped through the air, sending two soldiers flying. His movements were fluid, deadly, but even he couldn’t hold back the tide forever. “Form up,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the din. “Triangle defense.”
Priscilla fell into position, her body remembering the countless drills. Her back pressed against Andear’s scales, feeling the vibration of his growl through her spine. The mate bond thrummed, electric with shared adrenaline.
“You were right,” she admitted, ducking another strike. “This was reckless.”
The ship’s alarm pierced the night, its wailing screech making Priscilla’s ears ring. Her heart hammered as Andear’s massive hand closed around her wrist.
“Run!” His command brooked no argument. Priscilla grabbed Mila’s wrist, forming a chain as they sprinted into the darkness.
Energy blasts sizzled past them, turning patches of ground into smoking craters. The acrid smell of burned earth filled Priscilla’s lungs as she pushed herself faster, her muscles burning from the effort. Andear’s tail whipped behind them, deflecting debris and providing cover.
“Left!” Mila gasped as another blast narrowly missed her shoulder.
They ducked behind a row of cargo containers, the metal still warm from the day’s heat. Priscilla’s chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. The sound of pursuing footsteps grew closer, accompanied by sharp orders in the Xirath’s guttural language.
“We can’t outrun them forever,” Priscilla whispered, her fingers tightening around the stolen communicator in her pocket. Not enough evidence. Not enough time.
Andear’s gold eyes blazed in the darkness. “Then we make them regret following.” His massive frame coiled with deadly intent, but Priscilla grabbed his arm.
“No. Too many. We need—”
A blast hit the container above them, showering them with sparks. Mila yelped as one caught her sleeve.
“Move!” Andear’s tail wrapped around Priscilla’s waist, practically lifting her as they sprinted toward the tree line. The pursuing soldiers were closing in, their weapons charging with that distinctive crystalline whine that made Priscilla’s skin crawl.
They reached the edge of the encampment, where the maintained grounds gave way to wild undergrowth. Priscilla’s boots slipped on loose rocks as they scrambled down an embankment. Behind them, the soldiers’ shouts grew closer.
“There!” Mila pointed to a narrow ravine ahead, barely visible in the moonlight.
A blast struck the ground between them, sending Priscilla stumbling. Andear’s grip on her wrist tightened painfully as he kept her upright. She could feel his growl of frustration through the mate bond and knew he wanted to turn and fight.
They reached the ravine’s edge just as another volley of shots lit up the night. Priscilla’s heart stopped as Mila’s hand slipped from her grasp.
“No!”