The Warrior King (Inferno Rising) Owen, Abigail (books to read for 13 year olds TXT) 📖

begged him with her lips, with her eyes, and that voice. If her jasmine scent got too heavily into his lungs.

He wasn’t as strong as he’d once thought.

His weakness had led them to this place, but he could fix it. His brand had yet to appear on her neck. If he could keep apart from her long enough, it would never show. Because he’d be gone. He would erase himself from the equation in order for the sides to balance. His death wouldn’t drag her into the grave, not without the bonding mark. She’d be free to do what she’d vowed before the gods and all their people to do and mate the king.

At least I won’t have to watch.

No doubt a fight was headed his way—the war raging around them guaranteed that. He’d go quietly, but damned if he wouldn’t go down fighting.

They passed by one of his guards stationed along various vulnerable spots in the hallways, and the man shot him a frown. One Samael ignored even as he flayed himself mentally.

Do your job, Veles.

As they approached the banquet room, Samael slowed. Something wasn’t right here. The two guards he’d sent ahead weren’t there, and the massive, intricately decorated metal doors remained shut.

He stopped walking, and everyone behind him came to a halt.

“Samael?” Gorgon asked. He never had called him Captain, even when he’d been new to the post.

Samael held up a hand, shifting the skin of his hands to scales and sending out a thought to his guards. “Report.”

Within minutes each of his squad leaders checked in.

Samael relaxed. The guards had been posted inside the room rather than outside. He didn’t bother to explain to the others. “All clear.”

He walked them to the doors and opened them himself into one of the largest internal rooms in the mountain, meant to accommodate every dragon in the clan—in human size, at least—for important occasions. Like every other part of the mountain, the room had been carved from the stone, but his ancestors had designed a spectacle of grandeur for the entire clan to share. Carved sections with intricate details bracketed the room, like ribs, every fifty feet or so, reminding him of flying buttresses on human Gothic architecture.

Come to think of it, the design reminded him of the communal hall in the gargoyles’ castle. Except for the backlit dome the cavern rose to at the center, which was all Ottoman in design. The cavern itself was long, extending back into the heart of the mountain with a wall at the end that could be slid away, leading to the throne room itself. When he was a child, this room had intimidated him. Right now, filled with what remained of their clan, he couldn’t shake a similar sensation.

Stepping to the side, he lowered his gaze.

“Where are we going?” Meira asked Gorgon as she approached the doorway. The king hadn’t told her?

Gorgon patted her hand. “To introduce you to your clan.”

Meira balked, pulling up short, and Samael lifted his gaze long enough to catch the look of panic she flashed his way, questions and worries swirling blue into her pale eyes, her pupils enlarging to consume much of the iris. “What? No—”

“Is there a problem?” Gorgon asked.

Samael turned his head and refused to look at her, pretending to focus outward, scanning the room. Most of those gathered were the upper class. She needed their support, which meant she needed to do this. Meira could do this. She had more strength than she realized.

“Are you sure they are ready for me?” she asked. Samael could almost hear the gears clanking over in her mind, searching for a way to stop the inevitable. “Perhaps you should meet with them by yourself first. Let them see you.”

“We don’t have time to wait. They need to see you and accept you as their queen now.”

“But—”

Gorgon took her arm and whisked her away, and Samael had to hold himself still. He may as well have been petrified. Either that or snatch her from the king and fly away.

“I’ll take this position.” Amun clapped him on the shoulder.

Immediately, Samael snarled, and Amun yanked his hand back with an answering snarl of his own. Before he took his own man’s throat out, Samael spun on his heel, leaving the room. “I’ll monitor from the war room.”

Better if Meira faced the clan without his presence there to muddy things—for her or those who still watched him with suspicion. Dragons didn’t let go of their grievances easily. Regardless of obvious proof. Exacerbating their doubts was the connection they no doubt sensed, at least subconsciously, between himself and Meira.

He made it to the next level before a runner caught up with him. “Captain, your presence has been requested by the king.”

Dammit.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, Samael turned back to cover the steps he’d just traversed. The closer he got to the now-open doors, the lower his brows dropped over his eyes. Silence. Heavy, pregnant silence.

He walked into the room with a nod at Amun, who didn’t bother to nod back. As he moved toward where he could see Meira’s bright curls surrounded by others, the king at her side, he realized Gorgon must’ve already introduced his queen to the general assemblage. Now he and Meira walked from group to group as the king personally introduced her to each person. The soft murmur of her voice and occasional rumble of the king’s were the only sounds in the room as the clan looked on in judgmental quiet.

Meira glanced up, directly at him, though he knew for damn sure he hadn’t made a sound or movement to attract her attention. Eyes dark-blue pools of apprehension implored him from across the room in a way no mate could have ignored. Samael sped his steps toward her, unable to stop himself. Because, while her forced smile probably appeared pleasant to those watching, her rigid body telegraphed her alarm to him.

Because of what he’d done, because he’d claimed her, she had to be hating this deception.