Chapter Eighteen

Samael walked ahead of the woman he’d mated not that long ago…and the king she was supposed to belong to.

Every step drove a dagger of ice deeper into his soul.

He hadn’t dared go back to his own rooms since they’d found the king alive and returned to the clan. He didn’t dare, because Meira might try her mirror trick to corner him there.

And what he planned to do…to set her free so she and her sisters could help set his people free…

He’d seen her face when she’d heard Gorgon was alive. Shock. Guilt. Panic.

Because of him. Because he’d confused her, telling her they were mates, and went along with her when she’d offered herself to him. Because all he’d seen was his need to claim the woman he believed to be his. Selfish. Stupid. He’d put her in this untenable position.

For claiming her, now he would burn.

To fix it. For her. For his clan. He couldn’t do that if she touched him again. If she 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. Gorgon was introducing her as his queen when she wasn’t. Not to mention the raw emotions no doubt beating at her from every person in the room, even if she was shielding herself from them.

With each step he took toward her, Meira didn’t look away.

Don’t focus on me, he willed her. Others would notice.

At the same time, however, he couldn’t force himself to stop moving or look away himself. Mere feet away, her jasmine scent hit him with the force of a wrecking ball. Sam lifted a hand to reach for her…to do what, he wasn’t sure. Tuck her into his side? Place a hand at her back in a show of support? Lean down and kiss her until she relaxed into him and lost that tension?

Except he didn’t get a chance, because Gorgon stepped directly into his path.

“Ah, Samael,” his king boomed, overjovial. “I was just telling the clan of the service you provided in protecting our queen when I was taken.”

Forced to halt his headlong rush to Meira’s side, Samael blinked, absorbing Gorgon’s words. “I only did what I promised you, my lord. You said to keep her safe if something ever happened to you.”

He could have sworn Meira gasped. Except, visible over Gorgon’s shoulder, she didn’t make a move or a sound. At the same instant, pain cracked through his heart because the words were only a tiny part of the truth. The real truth was he would give his life for Meira Amon. Hell, he’d sell his soul for her.

“Yes, I did give you that order,” Gorgon confirmed, his voice filling the room to the domed rafters. “Because this phoenix and her sisters will be the saviors of our people.”

A murmur passed through the massive hall.

Gorgon continued as though no sound had been uttered. “I made you the Viceroy of Defense for similar reasons, my most loyal of guards and advisers.”

Another soft murmur. Samael’s face, meanwhile, was doing a damn good impression of a stone gargoyle as he tried not to let the guilt visibly show.

Gorgon turned, raising his voice even louder to address the entire room. “Those qualities, the same reason why I now name Samael Veles my beta.”

The king might as well have beaten him over the head with the spiked end of a dragon’s tail. Shock was an electric current rooting his feet to the floor, buzzing in his ears.

Gorgon did not just do that. How was he supposed to do what he intended to do with the title of beta hanging over him?

The murmur turned into more of a low rumble. One of protest. Damn if he’d allow that to pass, though Gorgon made no move to put a stop to it. Pure instinct drove the growl that spilled from Samael, and silence scattered through the room.

They might not approve of him, but he would not allow them to question their king. Stepping forward, shoulders drawn back, he raised his voice. “You may not like a commoner for your beta, but you will respect the king who put me in it.”

Another beat of silence that turned into more of a stretch. And no wonder. Samael rarely spoke when on duty and was rarely seen outside his rooms when off duty. In his opinion, his role was to stand behind the king and protect. The clan didn’t need to hear from him. Perhaps a mistake on his part.

“Spoken like a true alpha, Veles.” Jorsha Sachmis, Gorgon’s Viceroy of the Reserve, in charge of the wealth of the clan and the biggest kiss-ass on the Curia Regis, clapped Samael on the back. No doubt, Samael would receive an invitation to dine with the man. Networking—a facet of the position of beta he could do without. Good thing he wouldn’t be around long to deal with it.

He didn’t dare look at Meira, who stood silently beside Gorgon, her arm linked with his. He didn’t need to. Her worries were his own.

I can’t keep this up for much longer.

Lying to the king, avoiding his mate so that he could let her go, pretending he could still lead these men. Samael sent up prayers that the gods would strike him down here and now.

Gorgon moved to the next group of black dragon shifters standing loosely together. Pulled along by the king, Meira glanced back at Samael, who followed with reluctance dragging at each step.

What are you doing?

Though her lips didn’t move, her voice floated through his head in the softest of whispers and Samael almost tripped over his own feet, lungs cinching tight. He could hardly discern that the thought was hers rather than his own, but his dragon rumbled in his head, enjoying the sound of her voice.

Shit. Being able to hear each other’s thoughts was one of the signs that their bond was solidifying. How was that possible given the ocean that separated them, that he’d put between them himself? Unfortunately, her hair was down, so he couldn’t check her neck to see if his brand had appeared. Because if it had, he couldn’t go forward with the plans he’d formulated.

They moved onto the next group. This time, Meira didn’t look back. In fact, now she seemed to be avoiding glancing his direction at all. Samael tried to convince himself that was what he wanted.

Sam…why won’t you talk to me?

The next flitter of a thought in her voice about took him to his knees, but Meira didn’t pause, and the path he’d set for himself wasn’t going to change.

A step at a time, he forced himself to keep going.

For the next two hours, Gorgon continued on, introducing not only Meira to each group, but also mentioning Samael’s role in her safety and his new role as beta for the clan. Each time they did, the same questions were asked. Where had they been? What had the plan been? The sign that they should move on came when a person in the group they talked to brought up a petty complaint—their trash hadn’t been collected in days, or the pipes broke in their bathroom and no one had come to fix them.

By the time they finished, Samael’s hand ached from shaking, and every muscle in his neck and shoulders screamed with tension. At least the silence had disappeared in favor of a neutral buzz of voices. By this point, he was numb from forcing his true emotions to a dark corner of his mind, and he wasn’t sure if the buzz was positive or negative or if the guarded smiles directed his way were sincere.

How much worse for Meira as an empath.

Gorgon turned to Samael. “I’m ready to return to my rooms.”

“My king,” Samael acknowledged.

Shifting the smallest part of him, he sent thoughts ahead to his team to clear the path. The king had yet to try to shift since his return to the clan, which meant sticking to the human-size walkways. Leading the small band, Samael escorted Gorgon and Meira through the halls and back spaces of the mountain. The deeper they moved, the more instinct told him something was wrong. Not dangerous. Not a threat. Just wrong.

He almost turned to Meira to ask if she had any insights, could feel emotions ahead of her maybe, even had his mouth open, but realized in time that their relationship wasn’t casual like that anymore and snapped it shut with a clack of teeth.

About halfway there, Meira’s gasp had Samael jerking around, already assuming a defensive position, only to find Gorgon slumped against the wall, Meira trying to hold him up.

“What happened?” he demanded as he rushed to his king, looping Gorgon’s arm over his shoulders and hefting him to standing.

“A little dizzy,” the king slurred.

Dammit. They shouldn’t have held the clan meeting today. Gorgon hadn’t been ready.

“We need to get him back to the room quickly,” Meira said. “Is there a mirror anywhere close by?”

Samael considered where they’d stopped. The buzzing sound of the massive generators that powered the entire mountain surrounded him. He’d taken them the back way near the inner mechanisms of the mountain—an area he knew from childhood, when his father had worked down here keeping the plumbing functioning, such as it was in that era. “This way.”

Hauling Gorgon, who could hardly lift his feet, Samael made his way to a room that didn’t have a mirror but did have a full wall of glass that was a one-way mirror. His dad’s bosses had sat behind it, watching every single move the men down here made. Judging. Meting out punishment. Adjusting shifts based on production and favoritism.

Sam remembered that part well despite his young age and the centuries since.

Meira glanced his way once she spotted it, questions in her eyes, but said nothing. She lit her fire with ease and, hand on his shoulder burning through his clothes to his skin, though he was certain she didn’t let the flames touch him, walked all three of them through the mirror into Gorgon’s room. Samael laid the king down on the bed, and she sat at the foot to remove his shoes.

Samael stepped back and, in a moment of pure weakness, watched her. The graceful moves of her hands, slender fingers working to untie the knots on Gorgon’s fancy leather shoes. The way she tucked her hair behind one ear to get it out of her face. The glow of her skin, even in the pale light coming from the daylight mimicking strips along the ceiling. It must be cloudy outside today, because the strips only cast a dim light in the room.

Gods above, I need her.

“I’ll inform the men.” Samael stalked from the room before he could do something stupid like confess his plans or beg her to choose him despite the way such an act would rend her loyalty, pulling her in too many directions.

He couldn’t do that to her, force her to make that terrible choice between him and her sisters.

“Samael,” Meira called.

He ignored her and kept walking.

“Samael, stop.” She was closer now, the patter of her feet in the hallway.

Not pausing, he shook his head. “I need to make sure—”

“Sam, stop. Dammit.” Her voice broke on the last word, and he couldn’t keep going. He stopped and closed his eyes, head bowed.

“Don’t do this,” she begged, closer still.

Which meant she had a pretty accurate idea of what he was planning. Confirming it would only mean arguing about it.

“Sam.” A touch, soft as a kiss, landed on his shoulder, then traveled down his arm until she threaded their fingers together.

Gods help him, he let her.

“Don’t do this,” she said again. Still quiet.

“Do what? I’m organizing my men. You should be helping the king.”

She tugged on that hand in a move that communicated her feelings sharply. “I’m far from stupid.”

“Don’t I know it,” he muttered.

Then he disconnected their fingers and turned to face her, arms crossed so he didn’t reach out for her. Deliberately, he assumed the same hard-ass expression he used with new recruits he was training and tried to stuff his emotions as deep as he could. Deep enough that they wouldn’t touch her. “I have a job to do. So do you.”

Meira’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “That’s how it’s going to be, huh?”

“How it has to be, and you know it.”

Rather than disagree, Meira tipped her head, irises the closest to white he’d seen before. Why did he get the gut-sinking feeling she was about to try to rescue him from himself?

“Fine.”

Fine? That was it?

Without another word, she turned away, heading back to the king.

Unbidden, possessiveness rose up inside him and short-circuited any intelligent decision making. “Fine?” He stalked after her. “None of this is fine.”

He reached for her, but Meira spun to face him, plowed into him, driving him back. “At least you got that part right.”

Then she kissed him, soft and sweet. Fuck, he was so screwed.

Surrounded by the taste of her, the scent of her, the softness of her body against his, Samael went wild. With a grunt of pain-edged pleasure, not taking his mouth from hers, he swung them around to pin her body against the smooth rock wall of the hallway, devouring her with kisses that swallowed each moan, each gasp she gifted him with.

Desperation and heartbreak fueled every needy, beautiful, possessive kiss that drugged his mind and sent his dragon soaring, even as his heart plummeted.

He should end this. Gods, he had to end this.

Smoothing his hands up her thighs, he tucked his fingers into the creases of her ass and lifted. In one smooth movement, she responded by wrapping her long legs around his waist, and he pressed his rock-hard cock against the heated core of her.

He broke the kiss to groan against her neck.

Meira shuddered against him. “Please, Sam.”

The whispered words were hoarse and as desperate as the sensations buffeting him. His dragon whined in his head, a sound his creature side had never made before. Those two words also dropped him into reality with all the subtlety of a nose-breaking punch to the face.

He was hers. Always. Her Sam. And the most important thing he would ever do with his life was protect this woman.

Even from himself.

Slowly, he pulled his head back, resisting her even as her hands grasped at him, trying to keep him against her. Carefully, he lowered her feet to the ground, then stepped away. Only she stepped with him, arms still around his neck.

“Sam?” The question wobbled, and he thought he might throw up.

Gently, he grasped her wrists and forced her hands down, then stepped back, cutting all physical contact. “I can’t do this.”

“Captain?” The question preceded Amun into the hallway by only half a second.

Holy hell.

A half second longer touching Meira, kissing her, marking her as his when he couldn’t, and they would’ve had witnesses. He hadn’t even heard the door to the chamber open, let alone the approach of his men either down the hall or on the perch from the atrium.

Sucking in a silent breath, Samael hid every terrible emotion behind a blank expression, shutting himself down and ignoring the woman beside him. The only way he’d get through this. “The king is in his room, resting.”

Amun nodded, which should’ve been it. Instead, he stepped closer, gaze serious. “We have a…situation.”