Page 50 of Black Mamba

I wave him inside. “I can’t hear you! Come closer.”

He hesitates and it makes me do the same. But I lose my chance to balk, shut the door, and flee when he presses forward through the waterfall that has formed at the opening. Slipping his upper half inside, he eyes me sharply as he runs his hands over his head. Water trickles off him, catching around his sleek, black and gray scales.

“You can bring the rest of you inside too,” I tell him, taking a half-step back despite there being distance between us. He coils his tail into the ship as his hands slide over his muscled shoulders. “Oh, here! Wait!” I duck into the bathroom, barely waiting for the mirror to move out of my way. I grab a towel and walk back out into the hallway, tossing it toward him.

He catches it easily as lightning flashes behind him. “Thankssss.” He swipes his face with it, then abruptly freezes, inhaling deeply. My cheeks warm and I look away.

“What were you saying before?” I ask, licking my lips, looking back.

He lowers the towel and his freshly scrubbed face appears. “Are you okay?”

Is that it?

“Am I…” I glimpse the rain behind him. “I think so. I just woke up. Did you leave your cave to go out in… that”—I shiver—“to ask me that?”

The weather is wild, potentially dangerous. And very wet.

“I have been outside watching your ship. Your nest seems to be holding up well against the rain so far.”

“You’ve been outside watching my ship? In that?” I frown, shuddering when I hear more booms. “For how long?”

“Since the rain started.”

That could have been hours ago for all I know. I gawk at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You seemed… worried about the clouds yesterday. If something were to happen to you or your ship because of the water, I intended to be nearby.”

“So you were just going to remain outside my ship the whole storm?”

His curious expression twitches like he’s beginning to realize that his behavior might be… odd. “If you are okay, I will leave.”

I cross my arms warily. “I can’t tell if you’re a stalker or just very… protective.”

He hands the towel to his tailtip, which begins running it over his arms and chest. As he wipes the rain from his pecs and abs, I swallow thickly. “That is eassssy. I am both.”

My eyes snap to his face. “So you are a stalker?”

“Yessss. I must be to hunt my prey. They would not come near me if they knew I was there.”

My mouth opens and closes. “You stalk your prey?”

“Or I wait to ambush them. Yessss, I often stalk my prey.”

“Well, I’m okay. You can go—” I shake my head. “Wait. So you go out in the woods to hunt and stalk your prey, but I’ve never seen you carry any weapons. Do you punch them to death?”

He makes a fist. “No.” He then loosens his fingers and shows me his claws. “I use these, and these.” He points to his fangs. “The strength of my arms and tail can subdue a buck, but it takes more finesse to kill something bigger than that. I sometimes use weapons, spears.”

“More finesse?”

“My venom is exceptionally deadly. If I can help it, I choose to kill my prey that way. It is safer and I am less likely to ruin the animal’s coat in the process. I am unlike other nagas in this way.”

“You are?”

“Most other nagas will kill their food on the spot but I am patient enough to wait.”

“But you’re stalking me…” I whisper.

His tailtip pauses drying his hip with the towel. “I am also very protective,” he reminds me.