Page 23 of Naga Warlord’s Mate (Nagas of Nirum #3)

Andear

They reached the ravine’s edge, the drop-off steep and treacherous in the darkness. Mila’s startled cry pierced the night as she lost her footing, her body pitching forward over the edge. Priscilla’s grip on her sister slipped.

“No!” Priscilla’s scream tore through him.

Andear’s reflexes took over. He lunged forward, his tail anchoring them as he caught Mila’s arm before she could fall. The motion left them exposed and vulnerable as the whine of charging plasma weapons filled the air.

A bolt of blue energy crackled past them, close enough that Andear felt the heat against his scales. Without hesitation, he yanked both women behind him, his body forming a living shield as he faced their pursuers. His upper lip curled back, exposing his fangs as a deep, primal snarl rumbled from his chest.

“Stay behind me,” he growled, his tail creating a protective barrier around them both. Through the mate bond, he felt Priscilla’s defiance warring with her fear. Her fingers dug into his arm.

The approaching footsteps told him they had seconds before the Xirath soldiers would be upon them. He could smell their alien stench on the wind and hear the low hum of their weapons charging.

His muscles coiled, ready for the fight that was coming. They were trapped between the enemy and the ravine, but he would die before he let them take his mate or her sister.

“If I tell you to run,” he said, his voice tight with controlled fury, “you run. Both of you. Do you understand?”

“I won’t leave you,” Priscilla whispered fiercely.

Andear’s jaw clenched as shadows moved at the edge of his vision. His tail wrapped protectively around both women as he assessed their situation.

Xirath soldiers emerged from the shadows, their metallic armor gleaming under the twin moons. He counted twelve of them, armed with plasma rifles and vibro-blades. The mate bond pulsated with Priscilla’s determination, making his blood sing with the promise of battle.

The Xirath commander stepped forward. “Surrender the humans, Warlord, and we might let you live.”

Andear’s muscles coiled with barely contained rage. These creatures dared to threaten what was his. His fangs extended fully as he smiled, cold and deadly. “You mistake patience for weakness.”

Behind him, Priscilla’s dagger scraped against its sheath as she drew it. The sound sent a surge of pride through him. His mate was no cowering victim, even if he wished she would stay back behind him. Through their bond, he felt her steady resolve, her refusal to be caged again by anyone.

“Well, if you’re going to fight, remember your training,” he murmured, just loudly enough for her to hear. His tail shifted, creating space for her to move while still keeping her protected.

The commander raised his weapon. “Last chance, warlord. The council cannot protect you from what comes next.”

Priscilla pressed against Andear’s back, her voice steel wrapped in silk. “We have to fight our way out.”

A feral grin spread across Andear’s face, his eyes gleaming with savage anticipation. Finally—a real battle, with real stakes. His muscles coiled, ready to strike. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He felt Mila and Priscilla shift into defensive stances behind him, their movements perfectly synchronized. Pride swelled in his chest. His mate had learned well, and her sister was equally determined. They would not go quietly into chains.

The Xirath soldiers tightened their circle, weapons humming. Andear’s tail twitched, measuring distances while calculating angles of attack. He had waited too long for this—for a chance to show these monsters exactly why he was called warlord.

Andear’s claws ripped through the first Xirath soldier’s armor like paper, dark blood spraying across his scales. The familiar thrill of battle sang through his veins as he used his powerful tail to sweep two more enemies off their feet. Their bones cracked satisfyingly against the rocky ground.

Through the mate bond, he felt Priscilla’s fierce determination. She moved with deadly grace, her dagger finding gaps in Xirath armor that even he hadn’t taught her about. Pride swelled in his chest as she ducked under a plasma bolt, rolling to slash at a soldier’s exposed knee joint.

“Behind you!” Mila’s warning cut through the chaos.

Andear spun, his tail coiling around a Xirath soldier’s throat before crushing it. The sister-bond between his mate and Mila proved lethal. They fought as one unit, covering each other’s blind spots with an efficiency that would make his warriors proud.

A plasma bolt grazed his shoulder. The pain only fueled his rage. He launched himself at the shooter, his massive form bearing the soldier down. His claws found purchase in the alien’s throat, ripping it out in one savage motion.

“Priscilla, down!” he roared, seeing a blade arcing toward her head.

She dropped instantly. His training had paid off. His tail whipped over her, catching the attacker in the chest and sending him flying into the ravine.

Through the blood and chaos, he caught glimpses of his mate that made his heart swell. She wasn’t just surviving. She was fighting. Every move calculated, every strike precise. This wasn’t the lost woman who had wandered into his training grounds. This was a warrior.

“Your left, sister!” Priscilla called out, throwing her dagger. It buried itself in a Xirath soldier’s eye just as he was about to strike Mila.

Andear crushed another soldier’s skull between his hands, his eyes tracking every movement of his mate. She had found her purpose—not in art classes or domestic work but here, in battle, protecting those she loved. The realization made him bare his fangs in a fierce grin.

“Getting tired, warlord?” Priscilla called out as she retrieved her blade from the fallen soldier’s skull, her voice carrying a hint of challenge that made his blood burn hotter.

“Never,” he growled back, his tail sending another enemy flying. “But if you’re offering to take the lead...”

Her laugh, wild and free, rang out across the battlefield. It was the sound of chains breaking, of purpose found, of strength claimed. And by the gods, he loved her for it.

Andear saw the flash of metal too late. The Xirath officer lunged past his guard, vibro-blade aimed at Priscilla’s heart. His mate bond screamed in warning as he twisted his massive body, intercepting the strike. White-hot pain blazed across his ribs as the blade carved through his scales.

Blood, hot and dark, pooled around his hand as he pressed it against the wound. The cut was deep, but his warrior’s instincts told him it wasn’t fatal. Still, the sight of his own blood made his fangs extend fully, rage burning in his chest.

Before he could strike back, Priscilla moved with a speed that made his warrior’s heart swell. Her blade found the officer’s throat, ripping through flesh and arteries with savage precision. The Xirath’s dying gurgle was cut short as she yanked the blade free, dark blood spraying across her face.

She spun toward him, her green eyes wide with panic as she took in his wound. “Andear!”

“It’s nothing,” he growled, though the pain pulsed with each breath. His tail coiled protectively around her as she pressed close, her hands joining his over the wound.

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” she hissed, her fingers trembling against his scales.

The mate bond thrummed with her fear, her fierce protectiveness making his blood burn hotter despite the pain. He caught her chin with his free hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’ve had worse in training drills, little warrior.”

In the distance, the sound of approaching reinforcements echoed through the ravine—heavy footsteps, the whine of charging weapons. At least two dozen more soldiers headed their way. Beside them, Mila shifted nervously, her own blade still dripping with enemy blood.

Priscilla’s hands pressed harder against his wound. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

Andear gripped Priscilla’s wrist as she pressed against his wound, her small hand joining his larger one.

“I am not dying today. We need to move,” he rumbled, though his tail remained coiled around her, unwilling to break contact.

The wound burned, but having her this close, covered in enemy blood after defending him so fiercely stirred something primal in his chest. His mate was truly a warrior now, whether the council approved or not.

He released Priscilla’s wrist and coiled around Mila as well. He used his powerful tail to propel them through the dense forest, his muscles working despite the burning pain in his side. The wound throbbed with each movement, but he kept Priscilla and Mila close to his body.

“We need to go to the council,” Priscilla said, her breath coming in short gasps betraying her fear. “Your injury, what we heard, and the evidence I recorded on the communicator—it’s proof enough of their intentions.”

Andear’s jaw clenched. The thought of appearing wounded before the council bristled against his pride, but she was right. His blood on Xirath weapons would speak volumes. “They won’t be able to deny this.”

“The reinforcements are getting closer,” Mila warned, her head turning at the sound of distant pursuit.

Andear’s tail coiled tighter around both women as he reached for his comm device. The movement sent fresh pain lancing through his side, but he ignored it. A warrior did not show weakness, especially not before his mate.

“Jorek,” he growled into the device, “gather the warriors. Emergency council session. Now.”

“At this hour, warlord?” Jorek’s voice crackled through the comm.

“Drag them from their beds, if you must.” His voice dropped lower. “The Xirath have shown their true colors. And they’ve drawn first blood.”

Priscilla’s hand pressed against his wound again, trying to stem the bleeding.

“The council needs to see exactly what their ‘peaceful delegation’ tried to do,” she murmured, her eyes fierce in the darkness.

Andear’s tail flicked in agreement as he guided them deeper into the safety of the forest. His warriors would come. And the council would learn what happened when someone dared to attack a warlord’s mate.