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

All Samael knew was the mountain was coming up at him fast, and he couldn’t make his body move.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rocks tumbled down over the lip of the mountain above to scatter like roaches on the floor of the hangar.

When none struck her, Meira slowly lowered her arms to find Maul suddenly standing over her, protecting her from the fall of rock. From underneath his big head, her gaze zeroed in on the black dragon that plummeted through the air, passing through dense patches of cloud before reappearing, a limp heap of wings and tail.

Samael. She knew it. That lightning strike had come down on top of him.

“He’s not stopping himself.” Even dragons couldn’t withstand the effects of impact with the ground from a great height. “Maul!”

Immediately, the hellhound disappeared, and she watched as, in slow motion the mountain rushed up at Sam’s body, still limp as he plummeted.

She couldn’t track Maul’s progress as he made his short teleportation hops closer and closer to Sam. What the hound could do against a dragon’s bulk and momentum, she had no idea. But they had to try.

“Where are you, Maul?” she whispered to herself, trying not to give in to terror for her mate.

In that instant, the form of a dark-gray dragon, wings tucked in close to his body, shot through the clouds above Samael, as though trying to get to him.

The king.

Was he trying to save Samael…or kill him? She couldn’t forget that bloodlust she’d felt from the king before he’d taken off.

“Please,” she whispered, urging Maul to hurry.

Suddenly, too fast for her to see what happened, especially through the thick clouds, Samael’s body disappeared. One second there, the next gone.

The gray dragon pulled up, flapping its wings to hover and craning its neck to search.

With no sound or warning, Maul appeared beside her with Samael. Sides heaving, the black dragon stood on all fours at least, but his head hung between his shoulders, the spikes on his back arching out like a rainbow of death, glittering columns of obsidian glass.

Samael gave his head a shake, then another. Then lifted his head and shot a stream of black flame straight up until it reached the high ceiling, curling back in on itself as it hit rock. Then, just as quickly, he cut the flame off, leaving jarring silence in his wake.

Another shake of his head, and he looked at Meira. “Say something out loud.”

“Were you struck by the lightning?”

He shook his head again. “Fuck. I can’t hear a damn thing.”

Before she could respond, a cry rose up from the dragons all over the mountain. A funnel of blue dragons pierced the clouds, swirling them out of their way as they descended in a whirling vortex of death and fire. White and green dragons scattered in their wake—not fleeing, being pushed back.

Samael spread his wings, obviously deciding he needed to meet his allies, hearing gone or not. Without a damn word to her.

“Samael—”

His muscles bunched, scales rippling, but he paused, though he didn’t turn.

“Gorgon knows.”

That got him to swing his slender, spiked head in her direction, blinking at her. Had he heard the words? She repeated them, making the motion of her mouth succinct. Another blink and he nodded and took off, quickly growing smaller as he flew out from the mountain to meet Ladon and his people.

Numbers evened out, the white and green dragons should be retreating, but she didn’t see that happening. If anything, they were doubling their efforts, turning into a frenzy of desperation.

Why? Their behavior didn’t make any sense—

“No!” Meira shouted as motion caught her attention.

A wave of red rose out of the clouds cresting up and over the blue dragons as they descended to the mountain and a rallying cry rose from White and Green Clans. Only the red dragons suddenly halted midair. A silent, hovering threat.

What were they waiting for?

“Dragon shifters of the Blue, Black, White, and Green Clans, hear me.” A voiced boomed through her mind even though she wasn’t a shifter.

“I am Pytheios Chandali, the one and true High King of all dragon clans. Witness my phoenix mate.”

A massive red dragon dropped slowly through a gap in the clouds, the slow beats of his wings holding him aloft. The Rotting Red King was rotting no longer.

Small holes still pierced the membranes of his wings, allowing pinpoints of light through, and his scales appeared dull, as though coated in dust, but otherwise, this dragon was in excellent health. All reports of ragged, moth-eaten wings, stooped bones, and withered scales that didn’t fully cover his hide were either wrong or he had mated successfully, phoenix or not, and was healing rapidly.

Holy hellfires.

Pytheios crumbling and decrepit was one thing. But fully healed…

Pure fear ran through the ranks of her people so sharply, she couldn’t block it all, and Meira jerked with the physical pain of it.

How many would fall to his side now? How many would think she and her sisters were lying about who they were?

On his back, a woman stood. She actually stood, rather than riding astride. No fear. Her long, white hair whipped in the wind behind her. Her skin glowed with red flame, a dance of light that brought out a design on her skin.

A design Meira knew only too well. Phoenix.

Could it be true?

It had to be. She was witnessing with her very eyes, and Gorgon had shared his own experience with the woman.

“Cease your fighting and bow to your true leader…” Pytheios let the sentence hang. “Or die.”

Hatred and determination overrode the wave of fear like a riptide, dragging at her. Not only her emotions, but those of every dragon shifter opposing the monster who killed her parents.

No.

Even with a phoenix at Pytheios’s side, no way in hell were she or her sisters, nor their mates, submitting to Pytheios. Ever.

“We will never accept you.”

Gods above, that was Sam. He rose in the air to face off against the red king. Defiant. A fighter. A true leader.

“Then you die.”