Page 49 of Naga Warlord's Mate

Priscilla

Thewordshadbarelyleft Priscilla’s lips when Zarlok moved. One moment he stood several feet away, and the next his cold grip locked around her throat. Her heart slammed against her ribs as his blade pressed against her skin, the metal so sharp she felt it break the first layer. The scent of metal and something alien—like rotting flowers—filled her nose.

She hadn’t even seen him move. All her training with Andear, all those hours spent learning to anticipate an opponent’s strikes, meant nothing against Zarlok’s impossible speed. The realization sent ice through her veins. Her muscles tensed, ready to fight, but the pressure of the blade kept her still.

A deafening roar split the air—Andear’s voice, filled with a fury she’d never heard before. The sound vibrated through her chest, making her skin prickle. Through the chaos of battle, she saw him charging forward, cutting through the battlefield like a vengeful storm. His eyes blazed with murderous intent, his scales gleaming with blood and sweat.

Zarlok’s grip tightened, his claws digging into her flesh. The pain was sharp and immediate. His breath ghosted across her ear, carrying the scent of decay. “You would risk her life for this war?” He sneered, his fangs glinting in the harsh light of the explosions around them.

Priscilla kept her breathing steady, even as fear clawed at her throat. She watched Andear, saw the way his muscles coiled with barely contained primal rage. The mate bond between them screamed, carrying his fury and fear straight to her core. Butbeneath it all, she felt something else—his absolute certainty that she was his to protect, his to save.

She remained still in Zarlok’s grip, her mind racing and her heart pounding.

Priscilla suddenly felt something shift inside her as Zarlok’s putrid breath washed over her face. The old fear tried to surface—memories of chains and helplessness—but she pushed it down. Each scar on her body was a reminder of what she’d endured to become who she was now—a warrior of Nirum. Not because anyone had given her the title but because she’d earned it with every drop of sweat and blood she’d spilled on those training grounds and in battle.

The mate bond thrummed with Andear’s rage, but she didn’t wait for his rescue. Her body moved with a fluid grace she’d never known she possessed, her elbow driving hard into Zarlok’s ribs. The satisfying crack of bone beneath her strike sent a surge of fierce satisfaction through her veins.

Zarlok’s grip loosened just enough. She twisted, breaking free, her hand finding the dagger at her hip—the one Andear had given her. The blade felt right in her palm, an extension of her will.

“You dare—” Zarlok’s words cut off as he lunged, his claws slicing through the air where she’d been a heartbeat before.

But Priscilla was ready. All those hours of training, of pushing her body past its limits, crystallized into this moment. She stepped into his attack instead of away, driving her dagger up and deep into his side. Hot blood spilled over her hands as the blade found its mark between his ribs.

Zarlok’s eyes widened in shock—a human, a former slave, had drawn his blood. Before he could react, a dark shadow fell over them both. Andear moved like death itself, his mighty frame blocking out the light as his sword cleaved through Zarlok’s chest in one brutal stroke.

The Xirath leader crumpled, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud. The battlefield around them seemed to fade away as Priscilla stood there, blood dripping from her hands. She felt Andear’s presence behind her, solid and overwhelming, his breath coming in heavy pants.

“You did not wait for me,” he growled, the words rumbling through his chest.

Priscilla turned to face him, lifting her chin. “I didn’t need to.”

The battlefield fell silent, the clash of weapons and cries of battle fading into an eerie hush. Priscilla’s chest heaved as she stood over Zarlok’s body, her muscles trembling from exertion and adrenaline. Blood—both hers and the Xirath leader’s—cooled on her skin, making her shiver despite the heat of battle.

Andear’s presence beside her radiated power and deadly grace. His massive frame cast a shadow over her, his scales gleaming with sweat and gore. The mate bond between them pulsed with shared victory and primal satisfaction. She could feel his pride in her actions and his fierce approval of her kill.

A horn blast cut through the silence—deep and resonant, carrying defeat in its tone. The Xirath forces began to retreat, their weapons lowering in surrender. Without their leader, they had lost more than just direction. They had lost their will to fight.

Priscilla’s fingers tightened around her blade, her body still coiled for action. But there was no need. She had done it. She had proven herself not just to Andear or his warriors, but to herself.

Their bond thrummed stronger, carrying Andear’s raw possessiveness and pride. His tail coiled loosely around her ankle—not restraining but claiming. His massive frame seemed to expand, radiating dominance over the battlefield. His presence declared to all that she was his—not as a possession, but as an equal partner in battle and life.

Warriors began to gather around them, their weapons still drawn but lowered in respect. They looked at her differently now. Not as a human trying to play at being a warrior, but as someone who had proven herself in the heat of real combat.

The twin suns of Nirum cast long shadows across the battlefield as the Xirath forces continued their retreat. Priscilla stood tallbeside her mate, her spirit soaring with newfound strength. For the first time in her life, she felt truly powerful—not because someone had given her power but because she had claimed it for herself.

The metal floor of the command bay swayed beneath Priscilla’s feet as she stumbled inside the Niri ship. Her muscles screamed with every movement, the adrenaline that had carried her through the battle finally deserting her. Blood—both hers and Zarlok’s—had dried on her skin in dark streaks, pulling tightly across her arms as she moved.

The victory felt distant now, like a dream slipping away. Her hands trembled as she tried to steady herself against the wall. The mate bond vibrated with exhaustion and lingering fear, both hers and Andear’s emotions tangled together until she couldn’t tell them apart.

Her knees buckled. Before she could fall, strong arms caught her, pulling her against a broad chest covered in battle-worn armor. Andear’s scent enveloped her—leather, steel, and something uniquely him. His tail wrapped around her, steadying her as he pressed his forehead to hers. The gesture was both possessive and tender, his breath hot against her face.

“You could have died.” His voice came out rough, stripped raw with emotion she’d never heard from him before. The bond between them thrummed with everything he wasn’t saying—the terror he’d felt seeing Zarlok’s blade at her throat and the pride when she’d fought back.

Her whole body ached, but being held by him felt like coming home. “You could’ve died, too,” she whispered back, remembering how he’d charged through the battlefield to reach her.

His grip tightened. “I am a warrior. It is expected.”

“And what am I?” She lifted her chin, meeting his golden gaze. “The human you trained. The mate you claimed. I fought beside you, Andear.”

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