Page 33 of Naga General's Mate

Brivul went completely limp, his massive form pulling her down as his eyes rolled back. They crashed to the floor together in a tangle of limbs and scales.

“Someone help me!” The words tore from her throat. She pressed her hands against his wound, blood welling between her fingers. “Please don’t die. Please.”

For the first time since she’d known him, Brivul looked small. Vulnerable.

“I can’t lose you.” The whispered words surprised her. When did he become so important?

Ellri’s footsteps thundered down the stairs. “What happened?”

“Street thugs.” Mila’s hands trembled against Brivul’s wound. “Help me get him up. He’s losing too much blood.”

Together they lifted him with all their effort, his scales scraping across the floor. His massive tail dragged behind them as they half-carried, half-dragged him up the stairs. Mila’s arms burned with the effort, but she refused to let go.

“Almost there.” Ellri kicked open their room door.

They maneuvered him onto the bed. His blood soaked into the sheets, turning them crimson. Mila ripped open his shirt, exposing the wound. The gash ran deep along his side where scales met flesh.

“Get me hot water and clean cloths.” Mila pressed her hands against the wound. She’d treated countless injuries at Kurg’s—broken bones, knife wounds, whip marks—but nothing this severe.

Ellri rushed back with supplies. Mila cleaned around the wound, her movements precise despite her shaking hands. The blade had gone deep, too deep.

“I need a needle and thread.”

“Will that be enough?” Ellri’s voice quivered.

Mila wiped sweat from her brow, leaving a streak of blood across her forehead. “It has to be.”

Brivul’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. His usual blue scales had taken on a sickly pale hue. This proud warrior who’d risked everything for her now lay helpless.

“Stay with me.” She pressed a clean cloth against the wound. “You’re not allowed to die. You hear me? Not now.”

His only response was the raggedness of his breathing.

Hours blurred together as Mila worked tirelessly to save Brivul’s life. Her fingers cramped from holding needle and thread, stitching the wound closed with careful precision. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils as she cleaned and bandaged, checking his breathing, monitoring his pulse.

Ellri brought fresh water and bandages throughout the night. “You should rest.”

“I can’t.”

As dawn approached, Mila’s bones ached from sitting in the same position for hours. She gripped Brivul’s hand tightly, his scales cool against her palm. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm now, no longer the shallow gasps from before.

The first rays of sunlight spilled through the window, casting golden light across his face. His fingers twitched in her grip. Mila’s heart skipped as his eyes fluttered open, revealing familiar violet irises.

A weak smile curved his lips. “You look terrible.”

Tears spilled down Mila’s cheeks before she could stop them. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until Brivul lifted his hand, brushing them away with gentle fingers.

“Don’t move.” Her voice cracked. “You’ll tear your stitches.”

“Worth it.” His thumb traced her cheekbone. “You stayed.”

“Of course I stayed.” The words came out fiercer than intended. “Someone had to keep you alive.”

His smile widened. “My warrior.”

Heat bloomed in her chest at the possessive tone. She squeezed his hand, unable to form words around the lump in her throat. He was alive. That was all that mattered.

Mila dabbed the cool cloth across Brivul’s scales, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Three days had passed since the attack, yet her hands still trembled each time she changed his bandages. The wound looked better, the angry red fading to pink around the careful stitches she’d placed.

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