Page 4 of Naga Warlord’s Mate (Nagas of Nirum #3)

Andear

Andear’s tail twitched as he waited in the shadowed entrance of the indoor training center. The first rays of dawn barely penetrated the high windows, casting shadows across the combat arena. His scales rippled with irritation—at himself, at this situation, at the way his body tensed with anticipation.

Light footsteps soon approached. The human female appeared, her golden hair pulled back tightly, wearing a fitted training tunic and pants that highlighted her lean frame. That pull slammed into him again, making his scales bristle.

“Priscilla Hess,” she said, lifting her chin. “I didn’t properly introduce myself yesterday.”

The sound of her name sparked something in him. He tamped it down with a growl. “Follow me.”

She matched his pace as he led her inside, her presence entirely too distracting. The training clothes revealed the graceful line of her neck, the subtle strength in her arms. He shouldn’t notice these things. He was a warlord, not some fresh recruit unable to control his base instincts.

“These drills were designed to break seasoned warriors,” he said, gesturing to the obstacle course ahead. “You’ll start with fifty push-ups, followed by wall climbs, rope swings, and combat rolls. No breaks.”

“That’s all?” Her green eyes sparkled with challenge.

His tail lashed. The audacity of this tiny human, acting as if his training was nothing. “When you fail—”

“If,” she corrected.

Heat surged through his blood. “Begin.”

She dropped into push-ups, her movements precise despite her lack of training. Andear crossed his arms, forcing himself to focus on her form rather than the way her body moved. This was training, nothing more. Yet with each rep, that pull grew stronger.

“Your form is sloppy,” he snapped, though it wasn’t. “Again.”

She shot him a knowing look but complied, sweat already beginning to shine on her skin. The scent of her filled his nostrils, making his fingers flex involuntarily.

What had possessed him to allow this?

Warriors began filtering into the training center as the morning progressed. Andear kept his focus on Priscilla’s form as she executed a series of defensive stances, but his awareness stretched to every whispered comment.

“A human playing at being a warrior?” Fik, one of his younger soldiers, sneered. “What next, teaching fish to fly?”

Priscilla’s jaw tightened. She maintained her stance, her breathing controlled despite the strain.

“Higher,” Andear commanded. “Your guard leaves your throat exposed.”

She adjusted without complaint, even as more warriors gathered to watch.

“This is what our warlord does now?” another voice carried across the arena. “Entertaining pets?”

Something dark and possessive roared through Andear’s blood. His scales bristled, but before he could speak, Priscilla launched into the next sequence of moves with perfect precision, her eyes blazing.

“Again,” he ordered, fighting the urge to bare his teeth at his own men. “Faster this time.”

She complied, her movements growing more fluid with each repetition. The pull toward her intensified, making his muscles coil with tension. Every time she proved herself, every moment she refused to break, that sensation deep in his chest grew stronger.

“Bet she’d be better suited for other activities,” one warrior muttered, drawing crude laughs.

Andear’s tail lashed against the floor. “Twenty laps,” he snarled at the offender. “Now.”

The warrior’s scales paled, but he obeyed. The others fell silent.

Priscilla continued as if she hadn’t heard any of it, but Andear caught the slight tremor in her hands. The need to shield her, to destroy anyone who dared demean her, clashed violently with his position as warlord.

He couldn’t afford these feelings. He couldn’t let this small human compromise centuries of tradition and discipline.

“That’s enough for today,” he said abruptly, his voice rough.

She stopped mid-stance, her chest heaving. “I can keep going.”

Of course she could. That’s what made her so dangerous to his control.

“I said enough.” He turned away before the sight of her determination could weaken his resolve further. “Return tomorrow at dawn.”

He left the training center, his blood burning with things he refused to name. Distance. He needed distance before this pull consumed him entirely.

Andear’s scales rippled as he watched Priscilla spar with Fik. Her movements had grown more precise over the past week, each dodge calculated now. The pull in his chest intensified whenever she executed a move he’d taught her perfectly.

“You’re slow, human,” Fik taunted, his tail whipping through the air.

Priscilla didn’t respond. Instead, she shifted her weight, exactly as Andear had shown her. His breath caught slightly. She was reading Fik’s tells—the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his weight shifted forward.

Fik lunged, expecting to knock her down easily, but Priscilla pivoted, ducking under his strike with fluid grace. The warrior stumbled, thrown off balance by her unexpected maneuver.

“Sloppy,” Andear called out to Fik, unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice. “You telegraphed that move before you started.”

A murmur rippled through the watching warriors. Priscilla’s lips curved into a slight smile, and something hot and possessive coiled in Andear’s gut.

“Again,” he ordered, crossing his arms to hide how his fingers itched to touch her. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow that contact. The pull between them was already too strong.

“She’s not bad,” Marik, his second in command, said quietly beside him. “For a human.”

Andear’s tail lashed out. “She’s not bad for anyone.”

The words slipped out, but they were true. Her progress was remarkable. Where others saw weakness, she found advantage. Her small size became an asset, her quick mind turning defensive moves into opportunities.

Fik attacked again, faster this time. Priscilla spun away, using his momentum against him. Her golden hair caught the morning light, and Andear’s scales tightened.

“You’re holding back,” she called to Fik, her green eyes bright with challenge. “I thought Niri warriors were supposed to be fierce.”

Pride and something darker surged through Andear’s blood. She was magnificent—and completely forbidden. He’d created this situation himself, allowing her to train, and now he was paying the price with every graceful movement, every flash of determination in those eyes.

The gathered warriors shifted uncomfortably at her taunt. None of them had expected this level of skill from a human. None of them had expected her to last this long.

But Andear had known. From that first day, when she’d refused to give up, he’d seen the warrior’s spirit burning inside her.

Andear shifted on his sleeping platform later that night, his tail restless against the smooth fabric. The night air carried the scent of training leather and weapon oil through his window, familiar comforts that usually lulled him to sleep. Tonight, they offered no peace.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Priscilla executing a perfect defensive stance, her eyes blazing with fierce determination. Priscilla refusing to back down when his warriors mocked her. Priscilla pushing through exhaustion with that stubborn set to her jaw.

“Enough,” he growled to himself, his scales rippling with agitation.

He had more pressing concerns. The Xirath delegation would arrive soon. Their presence threatened everything Nirum had built, everything he’d fought to protect. He needed to focus on strategy and on keeping his warriors sharp.

Yet, as he tried to sleep, his mind kept drifting to the way sunlight caught her golden hair, how her small frame moved with increasing grace. The pull in his chest squeezed uncontrollably.

“She’s human,” he reminded himself, his voice rough in the quiet room. “She has no place among Niri warriors.”

But she’d earned her place. Every day, she proved herself worthy of training, surpassing his expectations. The memory of her smile after mastering a difficult move sent heat coursing through his blood.

Andear sat up, running his hand over his face. This attraction was dangerous. Impossible. He was a warlord, bound by tradition and duty. She was...

“Everything I never knew I wanted,” he admitted to the empty room and then immediately cursed himself for the weakness.

He stood, slithering along the length of his quarters. His tail lashed against the floor as he fought the urge to seek her out.

Andear soon settled back onto his sleeping platform, the smooth fabric cool against his scales. His quarters felt too confined, the air too thick with thoughts of her. The moonlight streaming through his window cast shadows that danced like her movements during training.

“This is madness,” he muttered, pressing his palm against his chest where that persistent pull refused to fade.

A soft night breeze carried the distant sound of the palace guards changing shifts. Andear closed his eyes, but instead of battlefield strategies or training formations, he saw green eyes filled with challenge. Delicate hands moved with increasing precision through combat forms. Golden hair caught the sunlight like liquid gold.

“She is human,” he growled into the darkness, as if saying it aloud again would make the truth easier to bear. “She’s a former slave who knows nothing of our Niri ways.”

But she was learning. Every day she absorbed his teachings. She adapted, evolved, and refused to break under the weight of tradition and prejudice. Just like he’d done, rising through the ranks to become warlord.

The pull in his body tightened again, and this time he didn’t fight it as he closed his eyes. In the darkness of his den, he could admit what he denied in the light of day. Priscilla was carving out a place in his world. Each day, she was chipping away at the walls he’d built around himself, walls made of duty and tradition.

His fingers instinctively traced the scar on his left arm, remembering how her eyes had lingered on it during training. Not with pity or revulsion but with understanding. She bore her own scars, worn like badges of survival.

Sleep began to cloud his thoughts, but even as consciousness faded, that pull remained. Constant. Undeniable. Like the gravity of Nirum’s twin moons, drawing him into her orbit whether he willed it or not.