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

of Everest, after being kidnapped, reporting that she had killed Pytheios’s witch, Rhiamon, in the process of escaping with Maul and another prisoner.

For her part, Skylar, up on her feet the second a threat appeared, ignored the looks, concentrating entirely on the orb, Ladon at her back, equally focused.

“Rumors have abounded of an old magic returned to us,” Pytheios continued.

Meira swallowed and looked to her new mate. “Is that what Pytheios sounds like?” she asked softly. She’d only ever heard the roar of the dragon the night her mother died, never having seen him in human form.

Lips a grim slash, Gorgon held himself as stiff as a steel rod. “That’s him.”

“Rumors that a phoenix has been discovered by some miracle after these many centuries are true.”

Every eye in the room turned away from the mirrors to assess the three women standing at the head of the room.

“Behold,” that odious voice thundered. “Tisiphone Hanyu.”

Hanyu? Their mother’s maiden name?

The flames grew in size, and an image formed at the center of each. The image of an old man, body stooped and withered with age, skin hanging from his features in a grotesque mockery of what should be a human face. Pytheios. Beside the man who’d claimed to be High King when he had no phoenix stood a gloriously lovely woman with white hair and ice-blue eyes so familiar Meira had to swallow back a guttural sound of reaction. Because this woman could easily be mistaken for one of her sisters. Especially Angelika.

As she watched in horror, Pytheios lifted the heavy fall of the woman’s hair from the back of her neck and blew a stream of red-tipped fire across her nape. Immediately, a fire-branded design glowed from her skin in bright-red swirls—delicate feathers forming over her arms. Then the flame ignited around her, forming sparkling wings behind her.

The sign of a phoenix.

Shock sliced through Meira, holding every part of her immobile as though an electric current had passed through, holding her bones in rigid formation.

That sign was supposed to be indisputable. How was this possible?

…

Samael started across the room toward Meira and Gorgon before Pytheios even got to the worst part, the need to protect driving his steps.

Instinct told him that no way would the red king pull a stunt like this unless the revelation would go nuclear, implode the new kings sitting on the gold and blue thrones along with the old king sitting on the black throne. Pytheios would see Gorgon’s actions, allying with Brand and Ladon, as those of a traitor. No better way to destroy the power of a leader than by attacking the hearts of those who gave them that power by following.

Pytheios was making every dragon shifter question the validity of the women they believed to be phoenixes, women mated to their kings.

Half an ear tuned to what the eerie orb was saying, Samael made it to Meira’s side in time to see her face drain of color, leaving her as pale as a vampire on a diet. Her hands shook visibly, clenching and unclenching at her sides in an unconscious gesture.

Deliberately, he addressed Gorgon, otherwise he’d give in to his dragon’s insistence and take the woman who was his new queen in his arms, fold her into his wings and let nothing and no one near her. “My king, we need to get both of you to your chamber. Now.”

Maul, standing practically at Meira’s back, pulled his lips back in a silent snarl that had Samael eyeing the hellhound closely. He hadn’t much experience with the beasts, but all rumors said to steer clear. But damned if that mutt was getting in the way of what Samael had to do.

“I’ve got this,” he said.

To Maul’s credit, the dog stopped snarling, cocking his head to study Samael, muscles rippling under his fur.

“What?” Meira visibly forced herself to drag her gaze from the mirrors to him, as though his words to Gorgon had taken a minute to seep into her head. “Shouldn’t we discuss this with my sisters and the other kings? Address our people?”

Did she not hear the growing buzz of doubt and even anger in the voices filling the room? As though a swarm of wasps had been disturbed by a swift kick to their nest.

Samael shot her an impatient look, though careful still to keep his features neutral. “You need to solidify this mating.”

She was shaking, reaction setting in. “But…I need to figure out if I have another sister. We have to get her away from him. We can’t just let her—”

“With what clans behind you?”

He wanted to shake some sense into her. That tender heart would only lead to trouble if she followed it so blindly.

Meira slow blinked at him, then slid her gaze around the room, landing finally on the man she had pledged her life to not minutes before. As she did, those ice-blue eyes of hers darkened to a color almost navy. Every emotion showed in those mercurial eyes, the color changing like seasons in the mountains with each thought.

Fisting his hands at his sides to keep from reaching out to…what? Comfort her? Convince her? Not his job. Samael forced his gaze to his king.

Gorgon already held one of her hands. With a small tug, he pulled her attention to him. “Samael is right. My clan trusts me. They’ll trust you more if you are my queen in every way.”

Maul let loose a low rumble of warning.

Rather than answer, Meira laid a tentative hand on the hound’s bristly, furred shoulder. She didn’t say anything, but the giant dog settled, his glowing eyes appearing to dim. Then she glanced over Gorgon’s shoulder to where Kasia and Skylar stood talking with their own mates. Almost as though they felt her gaze, both women turned their heads. Skylar even started forward a step but stopped when Meira shook her head.

“My place is with you,” she said to Gorgon, though the words came out unsteady.

“Stay with the queen,” Gorgon instructed Samael.

Jerking his chin at