Page 16 of Naga Warlord's Mate

Chapter 8

Priscilla

Priscilla’smusclesburnedasshe executed another strike combination against the practice dummy. Dawn hadn’t broken yet, and the training grounds lay silent except for her measured breathing and the soft thud of her wooden staff against the target.

A shadow shifted in her peripheral vision—Andear. He hovered in his usual spot beneath the stone archway, his arms crossed and expression unreadable. Since that day when he’d caught her in his arms, when something electric had passed between them, he’d kept his distance. No more private lessons. No more corrections delivered in that deep, commanding voice that made her shiver.

She pushed harder, channeling her frustration into each strike. The dummy shuddered under her assault.

“Your left side is still weak,” one of the younger warriors called out as he entered the training grounds. “But better than yesterday.”

Priscilla nodded her thanks, careful not to look in Andear’s direction again. Whatever she’d done wrong, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her curiosity or hurt.

More warriors filtered in as the twin suns rose. Priscilla moved to the edge of the grounds, continuing her drills while they began their morning routines. She caught fragments of their conversations—respect in some voices, disdain in others.

“The human’s still here.”

“She’s got spirit. I’ll give her that.”

Andear’s voice cut through the chatter. “Begin combat formations.”

His command carried the weight of steel, and the warriors snapped to attention. Priscilla’s heart skipped as he moved past her, close enough that she caught his scent—leather and something distinctly male. He didn’t spare her a glance, but she felt the heat radiating from him.

She gripped her staff tighter and continued her own practice, even as her mind wandered to the memory of those powerful arms around her, the way his chest had felt against her palms. The way he’d looked at her, just for a moment, like she was something dangerous and desirable all at once.

The dummy took another hit, harder than intended. Priscilla exhaled slowly, centering herself. She had something to prove—to the warriors, to herself, and yes, to him. Whatever was going on with Andear, she wouldn’t let it derail her progress.

Later that afternoon, Priscilla circled Jorek on the training mat, her staff held in the defensive position she’d practiced countless times. Sweat dripped down her temple, but her grip remained steady. The young Niri warrior’s dark scales gleamed under the afternoon suns as he matched her movements, his own weapon at the ready.

“Don’t hold back just because I’m human,” she said, keeping her voice light despite her racing heart.

Jorek’s lips quirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You’ve earned a real fight.”

He struck first—fast and precise. Priscilla spun away, using her smaller size to her advantage. The wooden staffs clacked together as she parried his next attack. In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of Andear’s imposing figure by the stone pillars, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes fixed on their match.

Her momentary distraction cost her. Jorek’s staff whistled past her ear. She dropped and rolled, coming up behind him. The hours of drilling kicked in, muscle memory taking over. She saw the opening before Jorek realized he’d left one.

The impact of her staff against his ribs resonated through the training grounds. Jorek stumbled back, his eyes wide with surprise. The usual sounds of training—grunts, clashing weapons, shouted commands—died away. Every warrior stopped to stare.

Priscilla’s chest heaved as she maintained her stance, her staff still raised. She’d done it. Actually done it. Landed a clean hit on a Niri warrior. The silence stretched, broken only by the hot wind whistling through the stone columns.

She risked another glance at Andear. His expression hadn’t changed, but something dark and intense burned in those golden eyes. Her skin tingled under his gaze.

Jorek straightened, rubbing his side. “Well struck,” he said, inclining his head. “Though I won’t let you get another.”

“We’ll see about that.” Priscilla reset her stance, pushing away thoughts of Andear’s scrutiny. She had more to prove yet.

Priscilla’s bruised ribs ached as she moved through her morning exercises, but the pain felt different today. Warriors who had previously ignored her existence now offered subtle nods of acknowledgment as they passed. Her clean hit on Jorek yesterday had changed something, shifting the dynamic ever so slightly.

The training grounds buzzed with an undercurrent of tension. Priscilla felt it prickling along her skin as she completed her warm-up routine. Andear was at his usual post, his imposing frame casting a long shadow across the cracked stone. His eyes continued to track her movements with intensity making her pulse quicken.

Vren suddenly approached her, his dark scales gleaming with barely contained aggression.

“So, the little pet landed a hit.” His voice dripped with contempt. “Tell me, does Andear pat your head when you perform your tricks?”

Priscilla’s grip tightened on her staff, but she kept her movements controlled. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. The memory of his previous “lesson” still burned—the crack of wood against bone, the taste of blood in her mouth.

“Or perhaps he offers other rewards?” Vren’s words carried across the grounds. Several warriors stopped their drills to watch. “We all see how he favors you. A human has no place here, but our great warlord seems to have forgotten that.”

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