Warrior's CurseImnada Brotherhood #3
The third novel in the dark and sexy Imnada Brotherhood series about shape shifters in Regency-era England.
Despite being cast out of his clan, Gray de Coursy has been summoned to his estranged grandfather’s deathbed. A perfect opportunity to steal Jai Idrish, the Imnada’s most sacred relic and his last hope for breaking the fiendish spell imprisoning him.
Chosen as the Imnada clans’ next high shaman, Alys Swynford’s very soul has become inextricably bound to Jai Idrish—a crystal sphere that dates to the very origins of the Imnada. So when she catches Gray stealing it, he is left with only one choice—keep shaman and sphere together as the pair travel to The Gateway, the door between this world and the one the Imnada left behind aeons ago. For only there can the curse be lifted and Gray freed.
But conspirators among the Imnada have already opened the door to the shape-shifters’ ancient and deadly enemy. Now it will take the strength of the warrior and the power of the shaman to stop this otherworldly executioner—before it’s too late.
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Alexa Egan lives in Maryland with a husband who’s waiting impatiently for her fame and fortune to support them in a new and lavish lifestyle, three children for whom she serves as chauffeur, cook, nurse, social secretary, banker, and maid (not necessarily in that order), one cat, one dog… and twenty-seven fish.
Find Alexa and her books
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Excerpt:
Meeryn Munro was the last person Gray had expected to visit him—in his
bedchamber—in the middle of the night . . . alone. Yet here she was, shed of her
mouse’s skin and seated on the edge of his bed in nothing but his borrowed robe.
At this point, he would have preferred her covered in fur. It was far less
revealing. Far less apt to make his thoughts wander away from what her
unexpected arrival meant.
“You’ve changed—grown up.” A trite and pointless comment. Of course she’d
changed since he’d seen her last.
“Age happens to the best of us, I’m told,” she answered with a wry smile.
“Yes, but . . .” He waved a hand in her general direction. “The curls are
gone”—replaced by soft waves of honey colored hair—“and your figure has
matured”—the gawky, flat-chested girl of his memories was now a woman of
luscious feminine curves and long elegant limbs—“and you used to have . . . I
mean there were the . . . the . . .”
She wrinkled her nose. “Spots. I know, they were positively horrid, but
thankfully long gone. Lemon juice and oil of talc every evening before bed. But
surely, I haven’t changed that much.”
“No, not exactly.” His gaze traveled over her from head to foot and back. The
ghost of the old Meeryn lingered in the narrow elfin face, pert chin, and full
coral lips, but there was a shrewdness in her eyes and a severity to her jaw
that had never been present in the laughing playmate of his youth. “And then
again—yes.”
“Well, you haven’t. You look just as you always did.”
His smile came laced with bitterness. “That’s the first lie I’ve caught you
in tonight.”
“It’s true. You do look the same. A bit longer in the tooth and leaner in the
face, of course, but that’s to be expected after . . . well . . . after all
you’ve been through.”
She couldn’t say the words. He didn’t blame her. It had taken months before
he could speak of his banishment without vomiting his guts until his throat and
stomach were raw and even then he’d not been able to say the word. A sensibility
he’d overcome as he had so many others. There was no room in his life for
sentiment. He rubbed his scarred palm without even thinking. Dropped his hand to
his side when he caught her watching him.
“I heard rumors that you’d lifted the curse,” she said.
“Contained . . . not lifted.”
“But it’s night”—her gaze cut to the window—“the sun is down and you’re still
. . . they said when the sun left the sky, you were forced to become your animal
aspect. Forced from man to beast against your will. That’s what I was told.”
“There are ways to hold the spell at bay and keep to the form I choose, but
it comes at a price.” He cleared away the various manuscripts he’d been
studying, arranging his pencils in a row, pocketing the four ancient metal
disks, being careful to return the Krylesos Pryth, the silver disk of the
Gylferion, to its leather drawstring bag. The draught made him sick
enough. He needn’t add silver’s poison to his list of illnesses.
“How long has it been—ten years? It’s hard to believe,” she commented.
Ten years—the blink of an eye. An eternity. They’d grown up together; duke’s
grandson and duke’s ward. Close as siblings—closer even. His brother had been
eight years his senior and barely noticed Gray except as a nuisance to be shed
at the first possible opportunity. Meeryn had filled that slot, becoming his
boon companion in all things, from illicit raids on the Deepings kitchens and
nasty pranks on the string of tutors and governesses when they were young, to
illicit raids on the Deepings wine cellar and midnight forays beyond the
protections of Deepings’ walls as they grew older.
As a child, he’d foolishly imagined their friendship would last forever.
First school, then university, and finally the army ended that dream. Yet, she’d
remained a bright memory among so much he’d tried to put behind him when he’d
been condemned to exile. Was that remembrance, like so many other things in his
life, about to be irrevocably shattered?
“Why are you here, Meeryn? And why sneak in?”
She offered him a flippant roll of her eyes. “Would you have welcomed me if
I’d knocked and presented my calling card?”
“Not while Pryor and his enforcers scour London, hunting those they believe
to be in league with me.” He poured himself a brandy.
“But, you see,” she said, “it was Pryor who sent me.”
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