Chapter Nineteen

It seemed her life was turning into a coiled mess of bad ideas, thanks to a never-ending stream of worse situations.

“Take my arm, my lord,” she said to Gorgon.

She tried not to grunt when the king leaned heavily against her. He was barely keeping his feet already. Meira had to brace her own feet to keep them both from swaying while at the same time trying to appear as though they waited patiently.

They stood inside the massive cavern, not unlike the one at Ben Nevis, that connected to the landing platform outside. A space used not only for training, but apparently for meeting with large numbers of dragon shifters.

Again.

The meeting with the clan previously had been trial enough. She’d had to secretly hold fire in her fist to turn off the emotions screaming at her. Mostly distrust and resentment.

They needed to tell Gorgon. Now. Before Samael had a chance to do something worse than push her away. But now wasn’t the best time. Because now they were meeting with the part of the clan that had abandoned their people.

Rather than wait for night, a storm had allowed the deserters to return during the day. Ominous dark-gray thunderheads built like towering cathedrals over the rolling brown lands around the mountain and swirled up and around Ararat’s peaks, obscuring the dragons from view of any humans nearby. Outside, a swarm of black almost obliterated the cloudy sky as a torrent of swirling dragons in varying shades of black, gray, and silver swirled down from the high altitudes at which they’d been hovering. In groups of roughly ten, they would land, shift to human, and step out of the way for the next group.

She’d directed Maul, who’d refused to leave her and return to Kasia, to stay in Gorgon’s chambers. No need to add to the tension in the room with a hellhound. At the king’s orders, Samael, along with the rest of the viceroys of the Curia Regis and soldiers of the King’s Guard, stood in a line at her back. Behind them, the rest of the clan had gathered to welcome their brethren home.

In theory.

The twisting of her insides told Meira that maybe this wasn’t going to go the way Gorgon hoped. Or it could have something to do with her chosen mate. The man who was abandoning her because he thought it the right thing to do—his emotions a black swirl of pain and determination behind her.

The pain was the only thing keeping her remotely calm. He didn’t want to leave her. As if she’d let him. As if she didn’t have a voice in what happened to them.

Except every second they stayed, without revealing what they’d done, only dragged them further into an abyss of deceit. Samael was beta now and back to leading the guard…and she, in the eyes of the clan, was queen. She’d have to claw her way out of the grave she’d dug with her silence eventually. Now was not that time.

Finally, the dragons flying home assembled outside on the landing pad and walked toward where she and the king waited inside the massive training chamber.

One man walked ahead of the others.

Their elected speaker, most likely. The one who’d contacted Amun to tell the clan that many of those who’d left when they’d thought Gorgon dead wanted to return to the fold. That they wished to beg mercy from the king himself.

Gorgon remained where he was, and Meira continued to prop him up, her muscles starting to shake.

As the leader of the group neared, she studied him. But he was just a man. As tall as the other black dragon shifters with the same midnight-colored hair and eyes the color of mercury.

At an unseen signal, he stopped at least fifty feet from where she and the king stood, and those behind him shuffled to a halt as well. The way his gaze darted over her left shoulder, she guessed Samael must’ve made some sign that they’d come close enough. Meira’s gaze skated over the hands she could see. Each blank, missing the king’s brand.

According to dragon law, that marked these people as traitors and rogues, to be shunned or even executed on sight.

The pulse of sensations swirling around those wishing to return would have taken her to her knees if she hadn’t muted the effect, once again holding a flame in one fist. Still, the emotions reached for her with grasping fingers. The pressure of anxiety. Dizziness that she associated with respect but also a fear of losing control. Either could apply. The itching of blame or jealousy. A heaviness of fear. And a hollowed-out sensation she couldn’t put her finger on overlaid everything. Closed mindedness would be a bad sign. Negativity was better, but not by much.

“My name is Haikaf Nar. I own a small produce stand in the city.”

Gorgon nodded.

The man named Haikaf continued. “We came to ask our king, face-to-face, to readmit us to the clan.”

With a deep breath that likely only she caught because the action pushed against her, Gorgon straightened, taking all his weight. “Why did you leave?” The words were a growl, the king’s opinion of his deserters made clear in his tone.

To give him credit, Haikaf paled, and that dizziness of fear of losing control spiked around her. Meira blinked through it. Haikaf stood his ground in the face of his king’s disapproval. “We were afraid, my king.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“You were gone, dead, we heard. Your beta dead. Your queen, who many rumored had killed you, disappeared. Even more confusing, the Captain of the Guard gone with her. Then we hear from the same woman that you are not dead. That another man has died in your place. A doppelgänger who posed as you with no one close to you noticing.”

“And you didn’t believe her? The woman I’d made vows to?” Gorgon’s lips pulled back, baring his teeth.

“No.” Haikaf shook his head. “We did believe her. Because Samael Veles stood at her side, we believed her.”

Meira tried not to show how that one sentence caught her attention, but she allowed her gaze to skate over the men gathered behind Haikaf. These weren’t like the people whom the king had introduced her to earlier.

Those men and women had dressed in fine clothes, business suits, some more casual than others, but still in quality with hair perfectly coiffed. Which meant that Gorgon had met primarily with the elite today, the power brokers of the mountain, the politicos who could make or break the support he received from the clan.

But could they?

The people in front of her reminded her more of the humans her family had lived around in Kansas when they’d worked at the diner. Hardworking, hard living. Less educated primarily, and poorer, which often went hand in hand, at least in the human world. Also, at least to Meira’s way of thinking, kinder and more grounded. Willing to give their last dime if it helped out someone they felt needed that dime more.

Sam’s people.

Gorgon apparently came to the same conclusion. “You’ve come back because Samael Veles has returned.”

Not a question, a statement.

Haikaf shifted on his feet and said nothing, and that hollowness of insecurity thickened in the room.

Samael’s walls were mostly up, but a small feathering of surprise slipped through.

Meira had to keep from glancing at Samael, pride in the man she’d chosen for her mate threatening to burst from her, drowning out the emotions coming at her from the gathering. She’d bet if she allowed herself to look it would be to find Sam completely shut down, as stone-faced as Carrick and the other gargoyles. The upper class of the Black Clan may not entirely trust him—yet—but the commoners sure as hell did. Realization whispered in her ear—based on the numbers in front of and behind her, they outnumbered the upper class, at least two to one if not three to one.

Not to mention the services they provided ran the mountain, true in every society she’d experienced. And yet the upper class never clued in to the fact that if the lower-middle and working classes stopped supporting the system, it would crumble beneath their privileged feet.

Samael, look at your people, she silently willed him. Power was found in numbers, power in giving the voiceless a platform, a common element to unite them.

How could he think to walk away from them? From her?

“I will allow your return on one condition,” Gorgon said.

Haikaf glanced at the men standing closest to him, as though not quite believing it could be that easy. “What condition, my king?”

“A vow, here and now, that no matter what happens in the days to come, you will not abandon your king, whoever he may be, and clan again.”

Haikaf stared at Gorgon for a long beat, then turned his back, a dangerous move a warrior would never have made, to confer with those around him.

Meira watched Gorgon’s face, as the king no doubt could hear much of the discussion. She also watched for when he might need to lean on her again. From this angle, she could see how he swayed slightly, like a skyscraper in harsh winds.

“We will,” Haikaf snapped at the other men on a burst of prickles over her skin.

She shifted her gaze to the prodigal shifters across the way. The debate across the room had clearly heated, with Haikaf shaking his head vigorously.

“I will,” he finally snarled at a man taller than himself by a head, large for a black dragon, more a gold dragon’s size with muscles layered over muscles. “Do what you fucking want.”

Haikaf stepped back, still facing his people. “If you are unable to make this vow, leave now.”

“We will be killed if we try,” someone from the back shouted.

“Samael.” Gorgon waved his beta forward. Meira couldn’t help but turn her gaze to the man who’d stolen her heart—back stiff, head held high, jaw tight, black eyes blazing with fire that set shadows dancing over the planes of his face. Except for an errant lock of hair that refused to stay put, he was about the most intimidating thing she’d ever seen. Sexy as hell.

“I guarantee your safety to get away from the mountain, but not after that,” Samael said. “Make your choice.”

Damned. I’m damned for loving him even more for that. Everything inside her hurt. Ached in a way that she knew came from holding the truth inside. From Gorgon, but from Sam, too. Her love for him needed to be in the open for all to see and know.

Love. The first time she’d seen him in that mirror, she’d given up her heart to this man, only she hadn’t been able to admit it to herself. Promising herself to Gorgon had been the biggest mistake of her life. Why Kasia had seen nothing in her visions, Meira would have to ask her sister later.

She pulled her own shoulders back.

No matter what had brought them here to this moment, she’d be damned if Sam was going to kill them both by sacrificing himself.

Almost as though he’d taken that as a signal, Haikaf turned and went to one knee, his right hand in a fist over his heart. “I vow to never abandon king or clan again.”

One by one, each man and woman behind him did the same, their vows becoming a jumble of sound in the room.

Not a single dragon shifter left the mountain.

…

Samael cast his gaze out over the people on their knees, his soul shredding with each repeated vow. These were his people, those he’d known as both boy and man. Many faces were familiar to him. Haikaf had once worked with his father, though he’d been a younger man at the time.

Vows they made because of him.

What would they do when he died, when he no longer remained to hold their trust to keep them safe, to do the right thing by them?

They’ll have the king. And Meira.

Meira had not been raised in royalty as she might have been had Pytheios not killed her father and sent her mother into hiding. She’d been raised among everyday humans. A simple life.

He’d leave the clan in her capable hands. With Gorgon, who had the faith of the upper classes, at her side, she’d be unstoppable.

A shout rose up from those behind him who had remained. “Traitors!”

Then another. And another.

One by one those before him rose to their feet, shifting uneasily, every gaze not on the king, but on Samael.

He didn’t need Meira’s abilities to see the desperation, the fear, and a slowly rising tide of answering anger that visibly rippled through them, evidenced in the tense jaws, slowly clenching fists, and glittering eyes. The people before him and behind him reminded Samael of a haboob sandstorm whipped to a frenzy by powerful winds. Evil winds. Until the skies turned blood orange, leaving behind a frosted coating of sand on everything in its wake. Only, if the violence about to blast through the Black Clan was allowed to happen, blood would be the coating left behind.

The pitch of the shouts gathered and rose, like a tidal wave of sound and fury behind him. The way those before him leaned forward, as though preparing to stand against the blast, the place had turned to a powder keg.

One kiss of fire, and the whole place would burn.

Three things occurred to him all at once. One, he had two jobs—protect his mate and protect the king. Two, Meira stood at Gorgon’s side, vulnerable in a way no one else in the room would be. Three, the commoners were his people. He would never stand against them.

“Stop,” he thundered, his dragon adding to the shout of his voice.

The cacophony of sound ebbed, only to surge back with renewed strength. Pure instinct driving his actions, Samael stepped into the gulf between the factions of his clan and shifted. His dragon’s only focus was their mate, and his transformation to creature rode that edge of pain, threatening to tip him over into the abyss where he became only beast, no more humanity within him.

But Samael held the edge.

In a shimmering burst and with a roar that shook the rock mountain, he whipped around to face those behind. Face down the dissenters.

He opened the channel in his mind to communicate to the horde gathered behind and before. “Abide by your king’s decision or leave now, cast out as rogues.”

The shouts, already dimmed by his sudden transformation, cut off, and silence slipped into the void.

Samael stood before them, the only motion the slashing of his tail behind him as he stared down the riot still trembling at a precipice.

“Of course he would back the traitors. He’s one of them.” A shout rose up from the back.

“Are you really that blind?” Samael didn’t bother to tone down his snide voice. “Other than the guard, most selected and trained from childhood, few of you are fighters. Meanwhile, the shifters behind me exist in a harder reality. My own fighting skills were cut among them. Do you seriously want to risk your lives against them?”

While some continued to glare at him, trembling with impotent rage, the smarter ones stilled, glancing around, a question clear in their eyes.

“Your lives are possible because of these people. I’ve listened to your pathetic grumblings. No one to clear your trash or clean your shit, make your plumbing work, cook your food. Even if you survived a fight, could you function without them?”

Even more paused to consider, though the sneers curling their lips said some wanted to argue, prove him wrong. But Samael had lived on both sides now.

“They need us as much as we need them.” A new voice rose.

An answering rumble at his back had those in front of him tensing.

“You’re not wrong.” Samael silenced both sides with the words, though he could feel the heat of anger behind him now redirected to a target on his back.

“They need your leadership, the peace you can create with the other clans, and yes, your money and need for their services to support their livelihoods. No society can exist with only one status. Nor can it function with any one group ostracized, oppressed, or shoved aside. Humans have proven that. Let us learn from their mistakes, and ours. Let us do better.”

“Captain.” A sharp voice came over the loudspeaker system.

Samael jerked his head to the side, eyeballing the two men manning the security booth. “What?”

“Dragons have been sighted to the northwest.”

“Ours?”

Bero shook his head. “Green and white. They appeared out of nowhere, sir.”

“The traitors were a distraction,” several voices called out. Immediately, those behind him started protesting their innocence loudly.

“Silence,” Samael boomed.

And the clan obeyed.

He turned his head to his king, who had stood quietly by. “Your orders?”

“Take our forces and prepare the mountain for a fight. The rest of us will batten down inside Ararat.”

Samael didn’t miss the “us,” and neither did the others around them. “Us, my lord?” Amun questioned.

Gorgon shrugged, speculative gaze remaining on Samael. “I am too weak to battle and will only be in the way.”

For the king to admit his weakness so publicly was tantamount to giving up the throne. Ambitious dragons who thought they were stronger would rise to challenge the king as soon as this fight was over.

At least I won’t be here as witness.

“Samael is my beta. You will follow him without question.” The king issued the order.

Samael acted.

“Call the men to assemble,” he commanded. “On me.”