Page 68 of Naga General's Mate

“Secure the perimeter,” he ordered. “We hold this position until we accomplish what we came for.”

Brivul and Mila slipped into Kurg’s private communications room, Brivul’s tail coiled protectively around her. The terminal hummed against the far wall, its blue glow casting shadows across polished marble floors. His nostrils flared at the lingering scent of Kurg’s cologne—a sickly sweet stench that made his skin crawl.

“Can you find it again?” He kept his voice low, positioning himself between Mila and the door.

“Give me two minutes.” Mila’s fingers flew across the keypad, her jaw set with determination despite her injuries.

Brivul’s muscles tensed at every footfall in the corridor outside, ready to destroy anyone who dared interrupt them.

“There.” Mila’s voice held quiet triumph. “Same transmissions as before, showing the embezzled funds.”

Brivul moved closer, his chest pressed against her back as he peered at the screen. Complex financial data scrolled past, but he trusted Mila’s assessment. His mate was brilliant.

“Sending it now, directly to the council’s emergency channel.” Her fingers trembled slightly as she input the commands. “They can’t ignore this—not when it comes straight from his private terminal.”

“That’s my mate.” He squeezed her shoulder, pride swelling in his chest. She’d outsmarted them all.

The terminal chimed softly—transmission complete. Mila sagged against him in relief, and he gathered her close, careful of her injuries.

“Let’s get you out of here.” He scooped her into his arms, already planning their escape route. The council would come for Kurg soon enough, but Brivul wasn’t about to wait around for the aftermath.

Brivul slithered out of the communications room with Mila held securely against his chest. The corridor stretched before them,now littered with unconscious guards. His old unit formed a protective circle around them, weapons at the ready.

“Exit route?” Lors asked, checking around a corner.

“Service tunnels.” Brivul’s tongue flicked out and tasted the air—fresh blood and gunpowder with more guards ahead. “Two levels down.”

Nia took point while Cantos covered their rear. The familiar formation settled something in Brivul’s chest. This was what he’d trained them for. His tail muscles coiled with anticipation as boots thundered down the adjacent hallway.

“Company,” Fikleo warned.

A burst of weapon fire peppered the wall beside them. Brivul curled around Mila, shielding her with his body as marble chips exploded outward.

“Take them down,” he ordered, his voice hard as steel.

His soldiers moved like a well-oiled machine. Nia dropped and rolled, coming up firing. Kev launched a smoke grenade while Lors charged through the chaos. The sounds of combat filled the corridor—grunts, crashes, and the meaty thud of fists meeting flesh.

“Path’s clear,” Cantos called out.

Brivul surged forward, every protective instinct screaming to get his mate to safety. Mila’s fingers dug into his shoulders as he navigated the turns, following the route she’d described earlier.

More guards appeared at the end of the hall, but Brivul didn’t slow. He couldn’t—not with Mila injured and vulnerable in his arms. His soldiers fanned out behind him as he barreled straight toward the threat.

“Down!” Mila suddenly shouted.

Brivul dropped instantly, trusting her instincts. A blade whistled over where his head had been a moment before. His mate’s quick thinking saved them both.

“That’s my mate,” he growled with pride, continuing their advance while his team engaged the new threats.

The service tunnel entrance waited just ahead, its metal door gleaming dully. Almost there. Just a little further and they’d have a clear shot at escape.

Brivul’s tail muscles bunched, ready for the final sprint. Then the click of multiple weapons being primed froze him in place.

Guards melted from the shadows, their laser rifles trained on Brivul and his team. More emerged from side passages until the corridor bristled with weaponry. At their center stood Kurg, his oily lips twisted in a smirk.

Brivul’s battle instincts screamed as he counted the opposition. Thirty guards at least, all armed to the teeth. His own soldiers formed a tight circle, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. The metallic tang of gun oil and sweat filled his nostrils.

“Get behind me,” he commanded Mila as he set her down and shifted to shield her with his body. Her warmth against his back steadied him, even as rage coursed through his veins. No one would touch his mate again.

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