The Dragon Rebellion (M-Preg) - ON HOLD

Chapter Twenty-Two: A Desperate Plea

"That's your fifth glass. Shouldn't you slow down? You still have shit to do."

Kincaid glared at Merda, maintaining eye contact as he poured himself another glass of rouj.

His lieutenant rolled her eyes in exasperation before flopping down in the chair opposite him.

Kincaid slumped into the worn-out chair, the weight of the world crushing his shoulders. The dim glow of the solitary candle on the table flickered, casting shadows that danced eerily on the walls of his chamber.

The chair Kincaid sat on was practically imprinted with his ass. He hadn't moved from that spot for several hours now, choosing to wallow in his shameless self-pity and misery. Drinking himself into a stupor seemed like the most inappropriately appropriate way of dealing with the utter fool of himself he made last night with his pair.

Why did he even care?

He didn't know. All he knew was that he did...a lot. And it pissed him the fuck off.

His behavior was shameful to say the least, rolling around like that in front of a human. Begging for comfort like a stray, it was unlike him.

All of this was unlike him. The mannerisms, the habits, the emotions. Kincaid couldn't remember the last time he had ever cared about anything enough to feel shame. If he ever had to begin with. Wallowing and pitying himself? That wasn't him at all.

It was as if the human's habits were bleeding into him. He was becoming a mockery of what he once was and there was no way to stop it.

No one warned him it would be like this. All his teachings alluded to the bond being fairly one sided. Aside from the typical territorial displays when another threatened a Naerian's property, they weren't supposed to care. It was the humans...the redrya who were supposed to care. They were the ones who were bound by the chains of fate.

If this was how they were evolving after prolonged exposure to this new planet, it would prove to be a huge issue in the future. Control of one's emotions and conduct was paramount for a Naerian. If they did not leash themselves, their baser instincts would take over, and gone would be the civilized society, replaced by displays of dominance and slaughter.

He sighed, tossing back his glass, letting the spice of the rouj burn down his throat, temporarily dulling the effects of his stupidity. But not by much.

As much as he hated to admit it, it felt nice being with the human. Feeling the soothing aura he exuded, even though it quickly soured with repulsion. But for a moment, just a moment, he could forget what happened before.

He could forget his total failure as a General as he lost yet another group of warriors. Of his people. There were so few of them left, he couldn't keep sending them off on these suicide missions. Their deaths were meaningless at this point.

His fingers trembled slightly as they closed around the neck of the near empty bottle, forgoing his glass altogether. The clear liquid within sloshed with his movements. He hesitated for a moment, the battle of the evening playing before his eyes. The blood, the screams, the young faces contorted in pain, all sent to die for a cause that felt more and more like one male's whim.

They weren't any closer to figuring out what was spreading the galactic toxins, nor slowing it down. Soon it would reach even this planet and they'd all be doomed. All of this would have been for nothing.

It was only a matter of time before Bodric would start pushing for the hatchlings...for Nayavu to start heading these expeditions.

Kincaid couldn't let that happen. He was still just a fledgling, and they had no idea if he could even shift forms. They had too much to learn from him. Risking him would be risking the future of the Naerians.