Chapter Six

Meira lay on her side, knees pulled up close, tucked awkwardly so that she could study her tablet. She’d set up a program that was scanning and analyzing a host of ancient texts she’d downloaded while at Ben Nevis, searching for answers to so many questions. Just one way she was trying to help. If she could find proof of who she and her sisters were, or more information about her kind, proof that there could be more than one, or even proof of the legends surrounding mating them, maybe it would convince more dragons to follow them.

She’d been going over the results any time she could get away from the ceremony plans and her sisters. With no electricity here, she’d have to ration her time until she could get somewhere to charge the device, so she couldn’t read long.

A shiver chased itself up the curve of her spine and spiraled out from there. Thanks to the location and the open window—and despite the fireplace and her own inner heat—she was rarely warm in this place—her only complaint when it came to living with gargoyles. Actually, that wasn’t true. She’d desperately missed her sisters.

Samael, meanwhile, stood at the window, broad back facing her. A watchful sentinel in the black of the moonless night. Her protector.

Not because he wants to be, she reminded herself. Because the only emotion filtering through to her from the man was that of reluctance.

“You should sleep,” Meira said quietly, the words floating in the air between them.

Other than turning his head slightly in her direction, he gave no other indication that he heard.

Typical macho shifter. “This is the best shot you’re going to have at getting decent rest,” she pointed out. “Carrick and all the others are out there. Nothing is getting in this place tonight.”

Samael did turn to face her at that, only to lean his hips back against the windowsill, arms crossed, stretching Ladon’s T-shirt and distracting her. A solid wall of man doubt. If anything, that holding back in his emotions strengthened as he gazed at her.

Irritation itched at her like chigger bites. After avoiding him all this time because of those emotions that he held in check, she shouldn’t be annoyed that he held them back so hard. If anything, she should be grateful. So why wasn’t she?

“We got in here,” he pointed out.

Meira turned off her tablet and propped her head up on one hand to address him more upright. “Only because I have permission. Gargoyles hold a special magic that makes the place they guard impenetrable. When Carrick agreed to watch over me should the time come, he and my mother made a blood oath on my name. Otherwise, I would never have found this place again once I left.”

Face in shadow, she could see enough by starlight to watch Samael’s jaw work as he chewed over that information. “That’s handy,” he said. “How does one get a gargoyle to swear a blood oath like that?”

Good question.

Meira shrugged, the silk of her duvet rustling with the movement. Her turn to strap down strong feelings. A necessity when she thought of her mother. “We didn’t even know Mama knew any gargoyles, and Carrick gives me a different answer every time I ask.”

Samael ran a hand around the back of his neck. The first outward indication of stress she’d ever seen from the man. “I suppose it’s not an option that gargoyles would want to be widely known?”

“I came to the same conclusion. Like the mob.”

A pulse of amusement coming from Samael lit her up. Only not at her expense…more like he thought her cute. “I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said. “But the mob?”

“You know. Secretive. It’s all about who you know. But don’t break that trust. I mean, where is Jimmy Hoffa, anyway?” Meira shifted in the bed and tried not to blink at how easy it was to talk to him. While she’d never call herself shy, she wasn’t exactly a talker, either. Except, maybe, with her sisters.

Samael lowered his head. Was he smiling? Hard to tell in the darkness. “Makes sense.”

A small part of her tension eased. Not everyone found her factoids interesting.

“Do I need to order you to come?” she asked. Then winced. That had way too many connotations that she hadn’t meant.

“To bed,” she tacked on. No. That was worse. Heat flared in her cheeks. “To sleep. Order you to come sleep.”

His head snapped up. “You are not my queen yet. I only respond to orders from my king.”

She frowned. Not, for once, because she’d apparently angered him, but because of his words. “You’ve called me your queen before,” she pointed out. “And if I’m not, then why are you here?”

He said nothing, a wall of nothing.

“If I’m not your queen, and you are protecting me, in the eyes of your clan, that makes you a—”

“Traitor. Yes, I am well aware.”

Oh gods. She’d done that to him. Any fool could see how important his role in his clan was to Samael. He lived to be the warrior he was. Now she’d stolen that from him. Guilt heaped on the piles she’d already collected today. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t.” He levered off the windowsill and stalked around the bed in that strangely silent way all black dragon shifters had.

Surprise skittered through her as he lay down on top of the duvet rather than getting between the sheets. Still, at least he’d decided to finally rest. Exhaustion dragged at her like grasping fingers pulling her into a grave. He had to be the same.

Samael folded his hands behind his head and stared at the canopy overhead, eyes glittering in the firelight. Gods, the man smelled incredible. Like smoke and sand—reminding her of heat.

Quit noticing.

Her body should definitely not be on high alert. His warmth, his size weighing down the mattress and rolling her slightly toward him. Rejection slapped at her, coming from both of them.

Sharing a bed had not been her idea.

Carrick was the one who had insisted they remain in the same room, though his reasoning had been to keep the two people they now guarded together for his own people’s sake. However, Samael had agreed. Okay, not so much agreed as growled that he wasn’t letting Meira out of his sight. Meira had tried to dismiss the warmth those words sent blooming through her as embarrassment.

Pushing aside the echo of that memory, she tried to remain focused on the practical, which was sharing a bed if they both wanted to get sleep this night.

Meira wiggled onto her side to face him more fully, wrestling with the sheets and covers to get comfortable and recapture a modicum of her warmth. “Is there anyone we should contact among your people?”

“No.” He didn’t turn his head.

No one? She found that difficult to believe. Perhaps he’d misheard the question. “I mean family, or friends maybe, who might be worried about you?”

“My family is dead.” No emotion.

Given what he’d just said, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was holding back everything associated with that history. The continued wall of nothing but reluctance was like an invisible barrier between them.

Knowing exactly how badly losing family hurt, Meira couldn’t help reaching across the space between them to put a hand on his arm above the leather gauntlets that never came off. “How old were you?”

He tensed beneath her touch. She hadn’t missed that he always did, at least the few times she’d dared to make physical contact. But he didn’t shake her off. “I had just reached my hundred and fiftieth year.”

She did quick mental math. Given the rate at which dragon shifters aged, that would’ve put him around nineteen in human years, both physically and developmentally.

“They died in dragon fire.”

She sucked in a gasp at the words. How could that be?

She wanted to ask a hundred questions but got the impression Samael would only share what he wanted. The fact that he offered up any information without her prompting she took as a positive sign. If they were going to figure all this out, find Gorgon and fix the rift, they needed to be able to work together.

When he didn’t offer more, she cleared her throat. “I never knew my father, but I know what it’s like to lose both parents.” Meira had to stop and swallow down a grief still fresh. She forced images of her mother to leave her mind, focusing, instead, on Samael’s pain. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

He turned his head and searched her face. Still no emotions. Nothing to help her. Meira got the distinct impression that he was debating with himself. Perhaps the stiff way he held his mouth.

Her breath caught in her throat when he covered her hand with his own and squeezed. “It will get easier for you,” he said. “The memories. For a long time, you won’t want to think of your mother at all. Then one day when you do, it won’t hurt so much. Eventually, you’ll be able to think of her and smile.”

This from a man who never smiled. At least not that he let her see. The unexpected offer of comfort unfurled inside her, wrapped around her. Gods above, she wanted to kiss him. Lean forward and steal that unexpected understanding from his lips. Lips Meira could only describe as sensual, saving his face from harshness.

And more. All different sorts of kisses. A soft brush of her lips as a thank-you. A kiss that lingered, taking its time to weave a spell around them. Something hot and openmouthed that let her taste him and generated enough heat to scorch every part of her. She was already on fire.

Except she shouldn’t be wanting this. Any of it.

More guilt. She’d suffocate under the heaps if she wasn’t careful.

Meira slid her hand out from beneath his, the cold air of the room rushing against her palm making her shiver after the heat of his touch and her thoughts. “So…back to what I was asking. What about someone who could help us? Is there anyone like that we could get in touch with?”

Though his expression didn’t change, she got the distinct impression he was scowling on the inside before he turned his head to stare up at the canopy again. “I need to let my beta know what’s happening. He’s in charge now. He’ll decide what to do. Otherwise, I don’t want to bring anyone else into this mess.”

The man had a protective streak a fathom wide, it appeared. Which made her less special in his eyes, his watching over her coming from who he was, not who she was to him.

And I’m not disappointed that I’m not special. Even she didn’t believe herself, the twinge plucking at her heart evidence enough.

“So, do you have any friends?” Curiosity prompted her to ask. Gods, why couldn’t she shut up around him? This conversation was already a thousand words more than she usually shared with people.

Samael heaved a sigh with an edge to it and turned his head to face her again. “Do you always have this many questions?”

She offered him a prim look, lips pursed. “My lawyers say I don’t have to answer that.”

Samael gazed at her blankly, then turned his face back up. “Was that you trying to be funny?”

“Did it work?” She bit her lip, waiting for his answer. Most people didn’t get her sense of humor.

“That depends.”

“On what?” she prompted when he didn’t continue.

“Your intent. Were you genuinely trying to make me laugh? Or were you trying to change the subject?”

What if she was trying to flirt? Clearly failing miserably at it. Pathetic. Not to mention she was promised to another man who may or may not be dead. A fact that kept slipping her mind despite finding the king being the only reason she and Samael were together at this point.

“I guess I’m nervous.” Now why had she gone and admitted that?

Rather than turn his head again, Samael shifted to his side to face her, his smoke and sand scent swirling around her, soothing her when she should’ve been bracing for whatever he was about to ask. His hand lay on the mattress beside hers. Not touching. What would he do if she hooked her little finger around his, as though he was her anchor?

Maybe he’d been right to want to avoid sharing the bed. This was too close, too intimate. Too damn confusing.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

She should lie and say yes. Any person with an ounce of common sense would be wary of him. His danger evident in the simple way he moved—a prowling, rolling gait—screamed perilous predator.

Meira slowly shook her head. “No.”

Nervous of giving her unfortunate thoughts away? Yes. Of the lash of his volatile emotions? The answer would have been yes before they’d come here. Now…

“You should be,” he said, voice going rougher, harsher.

She gazed into a face devoid of emotion and yet sensed his urgency just the same. “Why would you say that?”

“You don’t know me. Not truly. I’m as dangerous as they come.”

Meira shook her head. “If you wanted to harm me, you would already have done it.”

“I could be a spy. Getting you on your own, or getting you to reveal where you’ve been hiding, may have been my agenda all along. What if I have signaled others to come attack and now am waiting for them to arrive?”

Was that why he’d been watching out the window? She thought through his words and actions this entire day. No.

“You wouldn’t.” In truth, she’d been watching him closely for months. Watching everyone around her closely, as she always had done, even in childhood. Samael in particular, though. A morbid sort of fascination for a man whose emotions, if let loose, could flay her to the bone.

The leather of his gauntlets creaked, which told her he was making fists. A tell she had noticed a while ago. He didn’t like having her trust? Why?

“What if I killed Gorgon?” he threw at her next.

Given their interactions, the loyalty Samael showed his king, Meira couldn’t help the tiny laugh that punched from her at that. “You would never.”

“No?”

He wanted her to doubt him for some unknown reason. “Why would you?”

“Why—” The word cut off as he gave a small growl that had her body coming fully online, only with awareness rather than fear, blood rushing to fill her veins with a fizzing sort of heat. What a sound…

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he snapped.

Before she could answer, he moved on top of her, faster than a lightning strike. He had her by the wrists, pinning her with his weight, mouth hovering over hers.

In the semidark, the flames in his eyes ignited, silver-tipped black, casting a strangely gray sort of light over them. Frozen above her, Samael seemed to drink her in, gaze moving to her lips, then down farther to her breasts, which pressed against him with each sharp intake of breath. That gaze feathered over her like a physical caress, skating across her skin, pressing, lingering…

“Why would I kill my king?” he demanded in a voice full of fire and smoky need. “Maybe I want to press my luck and see if the fates might have finally been kind and granted me a mate. A phoenix, no less.”

A metaphorical devil—the ghosts of Skylars past, perhaps—prompted Meira to a bravery that usually escaped her, an act of sheer stupidity. “Why don’t you try to claim me?”

Samael stopped breathing above her, and time hung trapped in the stars outside her window for a heartbeat. “Dammit, Meira.”

In an instant, emotions reached for her, wrapped around her—anger and passion all mixed up and confusing. And compelling.

He lowered his head, and, with a burst of anticipation, she waited, breathless, for his kiss. Everything she’d imagined when she hadn’t been able to stop herself, his lips demanding and hot and perfect as he plundered her own. Curiosity gave way to temporary insanity as her body took over from her mind. Meira was a jumble of impressions—heat infusing her skin, blood pulsing through her body, and intensity, heady and strong. The hard demand of his lips and yet how soft they were against hers, the flavor of him, subtle and dark against her tongue, and how with each press, each sweep of his mouth against hers, she craved…more.

“Ambrosia,” he pulled back to whisper against her lips. “You taste like ambrosia.”

Then he was kissing her again, laying claim to everything she was with the mere touch of his lips—frantic, desperate, and demanding. Emotions, vivid and unrecognizable, rose up inside her—from her, from him—and Meira whimpered with the force of them.

At the sound, Samael jerked back to gaze down at her, harsh breathing mingling with her own.

They stared at each other in the light cast by the fire consuming his eyes and that coming from the fireplace. Then he flung himself off her to drop beside her on the bed. Once more, his anger and desire pelted her, except now a small, stupid part of her wanted it.

“See? I could have claimed you if I wanted, and you wouldn’t have stopped me,” he pointed out in that low growl of a voice, his dragon so near to the surface she expected Samael to shimmer with the transition any second.

A small part of her flinched inside. Was that how he saw her? Someone who didn’t fight back? Who just endured whatever hardships life hurled at her and waited to be rescued?

That image stuck inside her, like a rock in her shoe. She didn’t like it.

“Or died in my fire,” Meira pointed out, stung by his words, his sudden rejection that left her colder than the stone gargoyles outside.

Samael shut his eyes, hiding the flames still dancing there and casting them both into more shadow. “One more dark mark against you as far as my clan is concerned.”

Meira reached for her power, needing to shut down her emotions this time. Not his, because he’d already walled them back up. Cold. Remote.

Vincent chose that moment to leap in through her window, his hooves clacking on the stone flooring. With a happy sound, he jumped up between her and Samael and lay down, like a puppy. Gargoyles spent the long, cold nights in their stone form on the parapets of the castle, and Vincent preferred sleeping somewhere warmer. No doubt he’d missed her the last few months.

“Are you kidding me?” Samael muttered, only to get a cold nose in the armpit for the effort.

Meira, meanwhile, absently patted the goat’s long, wiry fur. She had no idea what had just happened before Vincent showed up, but she did know Samael did nothing without a reason. “Why are you trying to scare me?”

He eyed her over the goat’s head. “Because your trust is too easily given. You aren’t scared enough.”

Another laugh punched from her, this one, though, edged in disbelief.

Despite a kiss that had reached into her soul and touched the essence of who she was, this man didn’t know her at all.

She rolled away from him, her back up against Vincent’s warm, fuzzy body, and closed her eyes. “You’re wrong,” she said quietly. “I’m always afraid.”