Page 8 of Naga Warrior's Mate

The Naga moved like liquid gold.His tail swept low, knocking the Jorvlen off balance.In the same fluid motion, his upper body twisted, delivering a devastating strike.The fight was brutal, efficient, and beautiful.

Sweat gleamed on the Naga’s skin.His muscles rippled as he grappled with his opponent, using his superior strength and agility to his advantage.Alaysia found herself holding her breath, mesmerized by the raw power on display.

The match ended swiftly.The Jorvlen lay unconscious in the sand while the Naga stood victorious, his chest heaving from exertion.

“The house always wins,” Marcella continued her commentary, but Alaysia barely heard her.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the Naga as he left the ring, his tail leaving another intricate pattern in the sand.The memory of those golden scales and fierce eyes burned into her mind.Something about him seemed different from the other fighters—less savage, more controlled.More dangerous.

Before long, the last match ended with a thunderous cheer from the crowd.Alaysia’s feet ached in the heeled shoes as she followed Marcella down from the viewing box.The emerald silk of her dress whispered against her legs with each careful step on the stairs.

“That Naga warrior,” Alaysia said, keeping her voice low as they navigated through the dispersing crowd.“Who is he?”

“Dernin.”Marcella guided her past a group of rowdy gamblers collecting their winnings.“He showed up here six months ago.Rising star in the ring—undefeated so far.”

Alaysia’s steps faltered.“He’s a slave, too?”

“I’m not sure, but most of them are.”Marcella’s hand settled on her elbow, steadying her.“Some volunteer for the money and glory, but most?”She shook her head.“Captured, sold to pay debts, or tricked into contracts they can’t escape.”

The silk dress suddenly felt too tight, constricting.Alaysia watched a cleaning crew sweep blood-stained sand from the ring when they reached the ground level.She thought of Dernin’s controlled movements, the way he’d fought with precision rather than brutality.Not like the other fighters who seemed to revel in violence.

“He doesn’t belong here,” she murmured.

“None of us do.”Marcella’s voice carried a sharp edge.“But here we are.”

Alaysia’s heels clicked against the stone floor as she made her way through the dimly lit corridor toward the slave quarters.Her dress caught on rough patches of wall, making her curse under her breath.

A guard’s sharp whistle pierced the air.“Marcella!Fyret needs you.”

“The slave quarters are just past the holding cells.You remember the way?”Marcella asked.

“Down the corridor, left at the fork, and then right,” Alaysia replied without hesitation.

“Do you feel comfortable walking that short distance alone?”Marcella asked, her voice tinged with slight concern.

“Yes, I can handle myself,” Alaysia replied confidently.

Marcella nodded, and her footsteps soon faded away.

The musty scent of the underground level filled Alaysia’s nostrils.Water dripped somewhere in the darkness.Her skin prickled as she passed the holding cells, conscious of eyes following her movement.

“Well, what do we have here?”

The slimy voice froze her in place.His massive form blocked the corridor ahead, his filaments writhing in the dim light.

“Just heading back to quarters.”Alaysia kept her voice steady, though her heart started beating faster.

“Dressed like that?”His dark eyes roamed over her body.“Seems a waste to rush off.”

“I need to go.”She tried to step around him.

His hand shot out, pressing against the wall beside her head.His skin glistened with an oily sheen.“Come on, pretty thing.Let’s have some fun.My name’s Bariv, but you can call me anything you want.”

“I’m Fyret’s prize.No one’s allowed to touch me.”The words tasted bitter.

“What Fyret doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”His other hand reached for her hair.

Alaysia ducked away, her back hitting the cold stone wall.“Back off.”

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