Chapter Fifteen

Pytheios stood with Tisiphone’s hand on his arm facing the door to his bedchamber. At their back, the bed had been prepared especially for this occasion, sheer crimson panels draped over the massive, ornately carved canopy. This bed had once belonged to a human monarch of some renown. Flower petals, also red, had been strewn across red silk sheets, filling the air with a sickly-sweet scent he could have done without, but they might help his mate stomach the stench of his rotting flesh.

“What are we waiting for?” the woman at his side asked, impatience—or perhaps nerves—rife in her voice.

Though he’d yet to see Tisiphone nervous. The female-born dragon shifter was cunning, a quiet watcher. While his methods of getting what he wanted were more overt, hers were sly. A whispered word of poison in an ear. Effective. Together they would be unstoppable.

“Witnesses,” he said.

Though she didn’t make a sound or move, the flutter of her pulse sped up, tapping through the thin skin of her wrist against his arm. “For the ceremony?”

“For everything.”

He waited for her to protest, but none came. A glance revealed a coolly assured expression in her white-blue eyes. If anything, a tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth.

“This pleases you?” he demanded. “To have others watch me fuck you?”

She lifted a negligent shoulder. “To have them watch me become the mate of the High King? Indisputable proof. I don’t mind an audience for that.”

Satisfaction thrummed through him. Had this been Rhiamon, he doubted the response would have been the same. His brother’s plan to create a phoenix from a female-born dragon shifter had been beyond brilliant. Not even Nathair, however, had thought to have Pytheios mate the Trojan horse they’d created.

Pytheios had reasoned through that one on his own. He’d declared her his phoenix—of course he would mate her. All dragon shifters would expect that. The question was, how would it work? A dragon shifter didn’t have to be turned, already a creature of fire, but Tisiphone was something else now, something different thanks to Rhiamon. Still fire, but new.

Surprisingly, it had not taken long to find the right candidate. A female-born dragon, sterile and unable to provide children, didn’t have much of a future to look forward to. To be offered a position as mate to the High King had been an incentive none would pass up. Still, he’d been lucky to find one who fit in so beautifully with his plans.

I have chosen well.

The chamber door opened to admit Jakkobah, his black-and-red suit appropriate for the occasion but somehow only making him appear sickly. Behind him, Pytheios’s younger brother, Nathair, entered, his jet-black hair a mess and clothing rumpled. He’d traded in the Rubik’s Cube he used to keep with him at all times, a tool to keep his mind and hands busy, for a similar toy, one more complicated, shaped like a star.

Pytheios scowled. “Where—”

Jakkobah held up a hand. “Rhiamon, and I quote, declines to watch you bind yourself falsely to this whore who has not earned your love or respect.”

Fire stirred in his belly, and Pytheios let it burn. He would need it for the mating.

Tisiphone patted his hand carefully, as though she couldn’t stand to touch his rotting skin. Not rotting for much longer. “Probably better she not be here anyway,” she said.

She was right, of course. He should probably be glad Rhiamon hadn’t burned Everest to the ground when she’d learned of his plan to mate another.

He glanced to Jakkobah. “And our other witness?”

Jakkobah gave a birdlike bob of his head. “Shall be here shortly, my king.”

As though on cue, a knock sounded at the door. “Enter,” Pytheios called.

First to enter was a large man who, despite being a gold dragon, could almost pass for a black dragon with his darker hair and eyes. “I almost had her,” he snarled as he prowled into the room. “Why was I called back?”

“To witness my mating.”

Brock pulled up sharply at that, his gaze cutting to Tisiphone. “I’m…honored to be included.”

“And after that, your own position might be addressed…” He let the sentence dangle, enticing.

Satisfaction lit Brock’s eyes a molten iron ore, and he dipped his head in an uncharacteristic approximation of a bow. “Then I am doubly honored.”

Four armed guards appeared behind him, two hauling their almost incoherent charge, who appeared unable to keep his feet beneath him or his head, which hung limp from his shoulders, raised. One guard grabbed him by the hair and forced his head up.

“Who am I?” Pytheios demanded.

A dark-gray fire, like billowing smoke, lit the eyes of his prisoner. “A murdering, thieving bastard,” the prisoner slurred.

Excellent. He needed this witness above all the others. “You are here to observe my mating with the one true phoenix, solidifying my claim as High King. When this is done, we will return you to your clan so that you can report to all what has transpired here before your eyes. Understand?”

The man before him forced his feet beneath him, grunting with the pain and effort of it, and slowly shook off the men supporting him. He swayed, but he faced down Pytheios on his own. “Get on with it, then,” Gorgon spat. “I haven’t got all fucking day.”

…

Firelight made Samael’s mate glow, or was it her soul shining outward through her happiness?

They sat on a thick alpaca rug on the floor in front of the fireplace, his back propped against the couch and Meira between his legs, leaning against his chest.

Meira was happy—relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen from her before. He’d gifted her that much, at least. He intended to give her so much more.

These two days, as his mate recuperated and renewed the fire within her, despite being on constant alert, had been like a moment stolen from time. Their own private world where only the two of them existed. No politics. No High King. No people to lead to a better life. No place where convincing the Black Clan to follow them still hovered on this side of impossible. Two days of laughing together, talking, exploring, discovering her past and sharing his own. No planning for the future beyond returning to Ararat to claim the throne, and, please the gods, unite his people.

Samael allowed his gaze to linger on the nape of Meira’s neck. She’d piled her curls on top of her head, giving him a direct view of unmarked, unmarred skin there.

While she was his mate, the clan might not believe them until the brand appeared. However, they couldn’t wait for that to happen. Not when it could take up to a year. Not with reports that more and more black dragons had disappeared, abandoning their home and their people.

Without consciously deciding to do so, he feathered a kiss across that bare patch of skin.

Against him, Meira shivered, then turned her head to eye him, concern pinching her lips. “Whatever you’re feeling, don’t hide it from me. Are you disappointed?”

Samael shook his head. “Not disappointed. Worried.”

She frowned and scooted around in the circle of his arms to face him more fully. “Proof, right?”

Samael smiled and wrapped a lock of her vibrant hair around one finger, the tresses silky against his skin, and soothing in a strange way. “Reading my emotions again?”

She shook her head. “No. You and I are often on the same page, I think.”

“That’s nice.”

She nodded slowly, tracing a pattern over the back of his hand with her finger. “I’m not used to it. Not even my sisters think the same way I do.”

He tugged on her curl to draw her closer and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “A good thing for mates, don’t you think?”

Sky-blue eyes sparkled at him. “I’d never thought of it like that.”

Damn adorable. His cock stirred, but he forced it to settle, though it left him heavy and aching. “To answer your question…yes, proof.”

“Hmm…” She flipped his free hand over and traced the lines. “But we can’t wait.”

“My thinking as well.”

“Did you know humans believe they can see a person’s future in the lines on his hand?”

He managed to keep up with her change in subject, starting to wonder if she did that when she needed time to process something. “Oh?” he asked mildly.

She nodded primly, obviously enjoying herself. “We lived with a band of Roma at one point. One of the women taught me the way.”

“And what do the lines on my hand say?”

“Let’s see…” She tipped her head to the side. “You have a long palm but shorter fingers.”

“My fingers are not short.” He tried to tug out of her hold, but she held on.

“It means you are of the fire element.”

“I could’ve told you that.”

She ignored him. “Fire means you are passionate and confident but can lack empathy.”

“So now I have short fingers and am an asshole. I’m not sure I like this hand-reading thing.”

“Palmistry, they call it.” She brought his hand closer to her face, studying it. “Your mount of Mercury, here”—she pointed to the base of his pinkie finger—“is raised. You’re strategic and resourceful.”

“That’s more like it.”

“Your fate line”—she traced a finger over his palm, and Samael was damn tempted to end this session with something else guaranteed to engage her mind as well as her body—“is deep and straight. However, your sun line gets closer to it until they intersect. An external event will affect your fate in a way you can’t change.”

Samael shifted, suddenly no longer comfortable with this game.

“But your lifeline is strong, indicating a richness and passion in everything you do.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Why do you think the clan won’t believe in you?” She switched topics all over again. “Gorgon clearly did.”

Samael knew Meira wouldn’t care one way or another, but he didn’t talk about his background. Not to anyone. Not even when he’d first joined the King’s Guard and Rune had questioned his loyalty, his bravery, his abilities. Pretty much everything.

“I grew up lowborn…common,” he said.

A small frown pleated her brows. “So?”

“Thanks to dragon shifters’ long lives, specific bloodlines have been around for ages. My bloodline is relatively new. Not a drop of royal blood in me. Only royals sit on the throne. Getting to where I am already was about luck more than anything. That and a king’s guilt.”

“Guilt?”

He nodded slowly. “My father was part of a minor revolution against Pytheios. My father had yet to find his mate at the time. He was aging and desperate. He claimed Pytheios was doing something wrong with all the mates. Fewer and fewer common folk were finding theirs or being given the chance to attend a mating ceremony.”

Meira pulled a face. “After what Rune had to say, I’m not sure he was wrong.”

Samael had already wondered at that. Had his father been right, seen the early warning signs, all those ages ago? “That might be worse.”

Meira tipped her head and waited for clarification, and, for once, Samael didn’t mind talking about his past.

Maybe the lack of judgment in her eyes settled him, or knowing she was his mate now and forever. “Shortly after organizing a handful of peaceful protests, my father found my mother. Not through the process we have now. He found her in a human village at the base of Ararat. One whiff, and he knew.”

Meira’s eyes widened. “Wow. He scented her and knew? How?”

Samael lifted the curl still wrapped around his finger and inhaled. “He said her scent reminded him of everything that was lovely in the world. A very specific scent.”

“What scent?”

“Guess.” Samael grinned, then chuckled when her eyes narrowed playfully.

“Hmm…” She scrunched her face up something adorable, gaze moving around the room but not seeing as she thought it through. Then she gasped, and he knew she’d hit on the right answer.

“No,” she breathed.

“Jasmine.”

Meira’s lips formed into an “O” of surprise, and Samael, laughing, kissed her until she was dreamy-eyed and warm against him.

“See?” he said against her lips. “You were always meant to be mine.”

Tempting to do more, strip her bare before the fire and sink into her body. Except they weren’t long from the meeting with Skylar and Ladon.

She gave her head a tiny shake, blinking away the haze and searching his eyes. “There’s more to the story, though. Where does the guilt come in?”

Samael grimaced. “Gorgon regretted the way they died because he didn’t listen to the protests my father had originally led.”

“Oh?”

“My sister and I were conceived quickly, especially for dragons, but the men my father had led to protest, most of them didn’t find mates in that time. Resentment grew. They despised him for finding his happiness and leaving the cause to flounder.”

“Oh no.” She put a hand to her mouth. “They killed him?”

Samael nodded. “They tried for all of us, only I wasn’t there that night. I often snuck out to watch the King’s Guard train. If I’d been there—”

Leather creaked, and Meira covered fists he hadn’t even realized he’d made with her own hands. “You could’ve died, too.”

“They shot my dad, I’ve been told. And my mother died with him. Then set fire to our home. My sister was still alive—” He broke off and swallowed.

Meira glanced at his scarred hands and knew without his saying that his sister had been whom he’d tried and failed to save. She took his face in her hands. “You don’t have to.”

“She was still young, too young for her first shift, unable to protect herself. She died in the flames. I tried to get to her, but it was too late. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see her charred body…” Samael trailed off and closed his eyes, trying to squeeze the memories out of his mind.

For once in his life, Samael put everything out there. Laid it before his new mate because he knew, with everything inside him, that all he would get back was acceptance and comfort. Not just because he was her mate, but because of her heart.

A heart that he’d considered a liability at first, but now realized was the most beautiful part of her. Their people would bow down before her because of her softness and her need to save everyone, not the opposite. They needed her combination of innocence and self-sacrifice.

The fates knew what they were doing, because he’d do everything he could to protect her from herself.

As her mate, he would make sure to put her needs first. Always.

Sweet lips pressed against his, cool and calming. A balm for his pain. Just as he’d known he could trust from her. “I couldn’t watch my mother die. I closed my eyes, and she sent me away. I will regret that cowardice forever.”

“You’re not a coward,” Samael scowled.

She smiled and smoothed away the frown with her fingertips. “I told you. I’m always afraid.”

He shook his head, hating that she viewed herself that way. “Fear doesn’t make you a coward, love. It makes you smart. Only a fool doesn’t experience fear.”

A twinkle brightened her eyes, chasing out the blue, and she gave him a cockeyed stare. “Are you calling Skylar a fool?”

Samael barked a laugh. “Let’s just say I’m glad you’re my mate. I don’t think I could handle the rash sister.”

“See?” She straightened and grinned. “A political answer. Proof you are ready to be king.”

“Huh.” He set her back slightly and got to his feet, then offered her a hand. “We shall see soon enough.”

She tipped her head, smiling at him. “I know you’ll make an amazing king, you know how?”

“How?”

“Because you love your clan, you’re loyal, and you’re a fighter, but you’re also fair. Even if I didn’t know you, I would follow a leader like that.”

Samael grunted. The thing was, dragons followed leaders based on bloodlines. “I hope you’re right. I want to be a king like that.”

“You will be,” she said with total confidence, grinning at him, that hidden dimple winking at him.

“What kind of queen do you want to be?” he asked, tracing her face with his finger, her skin soft against his.

“A kind one,” she said.

He chuckled. “I should have guessed.”

Meira shrugged. “I want to live in a world where people don’t suffer, don’t starve, don’t have to fight. Numbers may tell us to give up hope of that—we are what we are, that kind of thinking.”

“If I didn’t know anything about you other than your tech side, I would have guessed that would be you.”

She nodded. “I think my mother is who taught me that I can be both. I can use numbers and analytics to help me make decisions or figure out a best path. But when it comes to the world around us, I believe we only find peace with kindness.”

Even in the change he’d seen her go through these last days, finding her footing and her confidence, she still hadn’t lost that innocent kind of faith that things could be better if she tried hard enough. He’d do his damnedest to make sure she never lost that.

“I will be so proud to have you as my queen,” he said, then kissed her. “And our children, when they come, couldn’t ask for a more wonderful mother.”

“Children,” she whispered, eyes sparkling. “That sounds…lovely.”

“Yes, it does.” He pressed another kiss to her lips, loving how she lingered and clung. She hummed low in her throat, a sound of pure contentment.

If only they could stay here forever. Happy. Safe.

Samael reached into the pocket of his pants. “Before we go, there’s something I’d like to do…” Would she take this the way he intended? Nervous wasn’t a feeling he was used to. But some small corner of his heart still wondered if she’d chosen him because she really believed they were meant to be mates, or because she had to.

“What?” Meira watched him with curious anticipation.

Samael held out the ring he’d found on the floor of her room, the orange of the amber stone catching the firelight. Meira’s lips opened in a silent gasp.

“I found this.”

She lifted her gaze to his. “It was my mother’s. We pooled our money and bought it for her as a gift when we had to leave where we’d been staying. A place Mama had liked more than most. A memento for her.”

“Will you wear it now? As a symbol of our mating?”

Meira didn’t smile but held out a hand that trembled slightly. Once the ring slid home, she lifted her hand to stare at it. “I’ll never take it off.”

…

“You’d better be joking,” Skylar snapped, her expression about as shocked as Meira had ever seen from her unshakable sister.

Ladon’s reaction wasn’t much better. His crossed arms dropped to dangle at his sides, a thunderous glower descending.

“We are mated,” Meira repeated.

With a shake of her head, Skylar set to pacing.

A small growl escaped Samael, but Meira put out a hand as he stepped forward, stopping him. “Please don’t ruin this,” she pleaded softly. “Just wish us happiness and luck and many blessings upon our union.”

Skylar stopped in front of the mirror, seeming to take in Meira’s expression and her need, then grimaced. “You are right, of course. I just…” She shook her head as though trying to access thoughts that weren’t coming. “You caught me by surprise.”

Ladon seemed to reset at his mate’s words, recrossing his arms. “Congratulations,” he said. “Was this for political advantage, or—”

“I believe we’re fated,” Samael said.

Meira honestly still wasn’t sure that was a thing, not for phoenixes, but it didn’t matter either way. She’d wanted him, had been an unraveling mess over the idea of losing him. He was hers now, and she was his. “Samael is next in line for the black throne, and now with a phoenix as a mate, we are hoping to reunite the clan. We will go to Ararat today.”

She waited for another round of shock, but neither blinked at the news. Which meant Sam’s rightful place had become common enough knowledge. That might help.

“No.” Skylar slashed a hand through the air.

“This is our decision,” Meira pressed, and Skylar startled.

Her sisters had a tendency to take her acquiescence for granted, because she’d always gone along with their plans. Not this time.

“Not a lot of information is coming out of Ararat.” Ladon stepped in. “It’s gone quiet and not in a good way. Separately, we are getting reports of riots and other violence within the mountain. Dragons leaving in greater numbers daily. Disappearing. It’s not safe.”

Meira looked to Samael. She didn’t even need to search his expression. Clearly there in the darkness of his eyes lay a hard resolution. They were of one accord when it came to this next step.

Samael took her hand. “The Black Clan needs a leader, or the situation will only continue to degrade. We’re going.”

Skylar and Ladon exchanged their own glance and silent communication. Then her sister sighed and faced them. “When?”

“Now,” Meira said.

Skylar closed her eyes, resignation flitting across her features. But she nodded.

Meira steeled herself for the next part. “If something happens, tell Kasia and Angelika I love them. You too.”

Skylar’s eyes flashed open. “I wish you were here,” she said softly.

Skylar, who was never soft. She was steel. Suddenly Meira was glad she’d left the glass between them solid rather than open a full portal, because if she could feel her sister’s emotions in this moment, she might chicken out. “Me too,” she whispered.

“Be careful,” Skylar urged. “I love you.”

“I will.” Meira took a deep breath and stepped back. “Good-bye.”

With a flick of her will, she changed the view.

Instead of the cavern suite of the King of the Blue Clan, a new caverned room reflected in the mirror before her. The skinniness of the view didn’t give her much to go on. All she could see from this vantage point was a basic bathroom. No gilded anything. No marble countertops. A stand-up shower only, blocked by a rock wall that would probably come up to her chin.

She glanced at Samael, who nodded. “That’s it.”

“Right. Let’s go.” She held out a hand, but when she went to step into the mirror, he tugged her to a stop.

Flipping her hand over, he placed a kiss in the center of the palm, then closed her fingers over it. “Just in case.”

And he meant that. Even through his walls, his fear, mostly for her, was palpable. Hers was, too. Gods help them if this didn’t work.

How could she lose him now? Not only because they’d mated, but because they were starting to become a part of each other. Sharing their lives, their worst moments, their fears. Not holding back. To glimpse a life with him as her other half only to have it ripped away would destroy her.

But they had to do this.

Forced single file by the skinny mirror in Kasia’s armoire in the cabin, they stepped through. After helping her down from the roughly hewn stone counter, more a part of the cavern wall than anything added after the fact, Samael led her into the suite itself.

He paused in his bedroom and took her face in his hands, kissing her long and soft, lingering over the touch before pulling back to smile down at her. “Welcome home, mate. You look good here. Right.”

A sudden lightness coming from Samael, a wellspring of satisfaction, dispelled the weight of worry. Only for a moment, but he was right. Whatever happened next, she had Sam. She would always have him.

“Let me call my men and bring them here. Best if they convene Gorgon’s Curia Regis and escort us there. The council are who we must win over first.”

Releasing her hand, he disappeared through the large, open doorway that led to the rest of the apartment.

Curious, Meira looked around her at her new mate’s home.

The basic bathroom led into a basic bedroom. Single king-size bed. One armoire for clothing and one bedside table also carved from the rock wall, protruding like a hovering ledge. No personal items. No pictures or books or even a small token or memento. As though his life hadn’t been worth remembering. A thought that pressed on her heart. Together they’d make memories worthy of keepsakes that they’d both get to enjoy.

The bed was made simply with black sheets and a gray comforter. She smiled at the sight. The colors of his clan, of course.

My clan.

A shout in the hall beyond the suite snapped her out of her wandering, and she swung around to find Samael already crossing a small entryway to a door of solid dragon steel.

“What was that?” she asked.

He held out a hand, telling her to stay there, and she waited quietly as he cracked the door open. She couldn’t see, her view blocked by the wall of the bedroom, but she could hear fine. Feet pounded by through the hallway.

Samael closed the door and locked it before moving to the other side of the suite. Meira moved forward, hovering in the doorway that opened into a living/dining/kitchen combo. Like in Ben Nevis, a massive glass door looked out over a stone outcropping. Not a balcony, exactly—more a slab of solid rock, big enough for a dragon to perch, that protruded out over a massive cavern.

Even from her vantage point, she could see dragons flying past, their shadows flashing through the sheer black curtains, though she didn’t hear a sound. Silent black dragons. So different from Ben Nevis. The blue dragons created a whirlwind when they flew inside the mountain in any kind of numbers.

Samael turned away from the window, reminding her of a raccoon that used to ransack their trash in Kansas, with black scales surrounding his eyes like a mask. And a look that speared through her heart, pinning it to her spine. “What’s happening?” she asked.

“The king!” A shout sounded from the hallway, muffled by the door.

King?

No one had seen them yet. No one knew they were here or that Samael had come to take his throne with his mate at his side. What king were they shouting about?

Realization dawned, and her stomach pitched and rolled as though the solid rock beneath her feet had turned into a sinking ship on roiling ocean waves.

“Sam?”

No emotions filtered to her. Nothing. That invisible wall had slammed up so high around him, she wondered if she’d ever get through again. The nothing from him only fed the fear slithering through her, joining the sensations tossing her around on that violet sea. “Sam. Please. Talk to me.”

He slowly raised his gaze, and his eyes… She imagined his eyes might look that way when he died.

“Sam?” she prompted.

“Gorgon isn’t dead…” He shook his head, gaze blazing to life even as he took a step away from her. “He is alive, and he has returned.”