Prideful Savage (A Warrior's Redemption #1) - Miranda Bridges Page 0,1
to fuck the queen and be physically drained afterward.
While Incarus males are stronger physically, our females have a tendency to siphon our energy during sexual intercourse. It’s why I tend to fuck non-Incarus females, much to the displeasure of Her Majesty, especially since it kills them in the process.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I say, joining the others.
“About fucking time!” Kalach, the newest member to our group, pushes off the tree and ducks from under the canopy of leaves. He flicks his dark ponytail over his shoulder and brings a bottle to his lips, but Varyx clears his throat, stopping him.
“Shouldn’t we make a toast of some kind?” He slides me a glance and arches a scarred brow. “This is our first, and quite possibly our last, mission together.”
“You really think the shaman’s telling the truth?” Tyrez laughs and takes a long swig of his drink. He tosses the canteen over his shoulder into the lake and swishes the liquid in his mouth before glaring at the shaman. “Still fucking alive. Now for my next trick, I’m going to make my boot disappear up your—”
“You want a toast?” Kalach cuts him off, turning to Varyx. “Here’s to not fucking dying.”
And then he drinks. One by one, we follow suit. This is what we’re here for—to find a cure no matter what it takes. However, I grimace at the strange flavor that is swift to consume my senses. It’s sharp and yet sweet, cold and yet burning my throat as it works its way down. White-hot pain flares through me like an electric current, gathering in the pit of my stomach and then shooting to every nerve ending in my body. I stagger, the air in my lungs seizing.
“What’s…happening…?” Varyx collapses to his knees, his frame blurring.
My vision sways, but I’m able to decipher each of my brothers coughing and writhing on the ground. An unaccustomed panic grips me with razor-sharp claws. Fire crackles through my veins, and my horns burn and tighten as if held in a vise. I lift my head to meet the shaman’s gaze.
“Your destiny is now solidified and cannot be undone.” His lips do not move, but the words resonate clearly in my mind. “There is no…going…back.”
He shakes his head as his voice fades and I, too, succumb to darkness.
To an all-consuming pain that will surely be the death of me.
In the end, it appears Master Irik was right after all.
Death does not claim me—yet. I open my lids to an awning of fur stretching over me. The warmth from a fire displays ominous shadows that flicker around the canopy in strange, gyrating patterns. At first I reach for my holster, relieved to find my gun still attached. I grip the smooth curved handle and side-eye my surroundings. What kind of dwelling is this? The structure appears to be wrapped in layers of fabric and animal skins. Herbal remedies linger thick in the stagnant air. Across the room, a shadow bent over the fire catches my attention. My muscles lock with unease, and I slide my weapon out from the holster, the metal lightly hissing.
“There is no need for that.” The shaman’s voice carries around the small, compact dwelling. He straightens and approaches the bed with a bowl cradled between webbed hands. “Drink. This will help.”
Help what, he does not say. But then, as if on cue, a deafening ringing cuts through my ears. The vibrations and frequency gather until I’m certain my skull will crack and split in half. Fuck!
“Drink,” Master Irik repeats, forcing the bowl to my mouth. For once, his hood is down, and the ridges covering his face are sharp and tighten when I do not immediately accept the offering. “The herbs brewed in this will reduce the pain in your head,” he explains, his voice almost drowned out by the ringing. Narrowing my eyes on the shaman, I swallow the thick residue until he pulls the bowl away. The noise decreases instantaneously until it fades into a dull murmur.
“What affliction was that?”
He breathes a heavy sigh. “I am afraid it is the beginning of your demise.”
“Ever the cheery one, isn’t he just?” Ezarith ducks into the dwelling. “Good to see you made it, brother. You’re one of the last.”
It’s then I catch the other figure in the corner of the room, draped over an animal skin. Judging by the steel-capped boots poking out from the fabric, it is Tyrez. Ezarith stretches out on the floor next to him, his legs