Page 8 of Naga Warlord's Mate

“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.

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