Chapter Twenty-One

Rocks tumbled down over the lip of the mountain above to scatter like roaches on the floor of the hangar.

When none struck her, Meira slowly lowered her arms to find Maul suddenly standing over her, protecting her from the fall of rock. From underneath his big head, her gaze zeroed in on the black dragon that plummeted through the air, passing through dense patches of cloud before reappearing, a limp heap of wings and tail.

Samael. She knew it. That lightning strike had come down on top of him.

“He’s not stopping himself.” Even dragons couldn’t withstand the effects of impact with the ground from a great height. “Maul!”

Immediately, the hellhound disappeared, and she watched as, in slow motion the mountain rushed up at Sam’s body, still limp as he plummeted.

She couldn’t track Maul’s progress as he made his short teleportation hops closer and closer to Sam. What the hound could do against a dragon’s bulk and momentum, she had no idea. But they had to try.

“Where are you, Maul?” she whispered to herself, trying not to give in to terror for her mate.

In that instant, the form of a dark-gray dragon, wings tucked in close to his body, shot through the clouds above Samael, as though trying to get to him.

The king.

Was he trying to save Samael…or kill him? She couldn’t forget that bloodlust she’d felt from the king before he’d taken off.

“Please,” she whispered, urging Maul to hurry.

Suddenly, too fast for her to see what happened, especially through the thick clouds, Samael’s body disappeared. One second there, the next gone.

The gray dragon pulled up, flapping its wings to hover and craning its neck to search.

With no sound or warning, Maul appeared beside her with Samael. Sides heaving, the black dragon stood on all fours at least, but his head hung between his shoulders, the spikes on his back arching out like a rainbow of death, glittering columns of obsidian glass.

Samael gave his head a shake, then another. Then lifted his head and shot a stream of black flame straight up until it reached the high ceiling, curling back in on itself as it hit rock. Then, just as quickly, he cut the flame off, leaving jarring silence in his wake.

Another shake of his head, and he looked at Meira. “Say something out loud.”

“Were you struck by the lightning?”

He shook his head again. “Fuck. I can’t hear a damn thing.”

Before she could respond, a cry rose up from the dragons all over the mountain. A funnel of blue dragons pierced the clouds, swirling them out of their way as they descended in a whirling vortex of death and fire. White and green dragons scattered in their wake—not fleeing, being pushed back.

Samael spread his wings, obviously deciding he needed to meet his allies, hearing gone or not. Without a damn word to her.

“Samael—”

His muscles bunched, scales rippling, but he paused, though he didn’t turn.

“Gorgon knows.”

That got him to swing his slender, spiked head in her direction, blinking at her. Had he heard the words? She repeated them, making the motion of her mouth succinct. Another blink and he nodded and took off, quickly growing smaller as he flew out from the mountain to meet Ladon and his people.

Numbers evened out, the white and green dragons should be retreating, but she didn’t see that happening. If anything, they were doubling their efforts, turning into a frenzy of desperation.

Why? Their behavior didn’t make any sense—

“No!” Meira shouted as motion caught her attention.

A wave of red rose out of the clouds cresting up and over the blue dragons as they descended to the mountain and a rallying cry rose from White and Green Clans. Only the red dragons suddenly halted midair. A silent, hovering threat.

What were they waiting for?

“Dragon shifters of the Blue, Black, White, and Green Clans, hear me.” A voiced boomed through her mind even though she wasn’t a shifter.

“I am Pytheios Chandali, the one and true High King of all dragon clans. Witness my phoenix mate.”

A massive red dragon dropped slowly through a gap in the clouds, the slow beats of his wings holding him aloft. The Rotting Red King was rotting no longer.

Small holes still pierced the membranes of his wings, allowing pinpoints of light through, and his scales appeared dull, as though coated in dust, but otherwise, this dragon was in excellent health. All reports of ragged, moth-eaten wings, stooped bones, and withered scales that didn’t fully cover his hide were either wrong or he had mated successfully, phoenix or not, and was healing rapidly.

Holy hellfires.

Pytheios crumbling and decrepit was one thing. But fully healed…

Pure fear ran through the ranks of her people so sharply, she couldn’t block it all, and Meira jerked with the physical pain of it.

How many would fall to his side now? How many would think she and her sisters were lying about who they were?

On his back, a woman stood. She actually stood, rather than riding astride. No fear. Her long, white hair whipped in the wind behind her. Her skin glowed with red flame, a dance of light that brought out a design on her skin.

A design Meira knew only too well. Phoenix.

Could it be true?

It had to be. She was witnessing with her very eyes, and Gorgon had shared his own experience with the woman.

“Cease your fighting and bow to your true leader…” Pytheios let the sentence hang. “Or die.”

Hatred and determination overrode the wave of fear like a riptide, dragging at her. Not only her emotions, but those of every dragon shifter opposing the monster who killed her parents.

No.

Even with a phoenix at Pytheios’s side, no way in hell were she or her sisters, nor their mates, submitting to Pytheios. Ever.

“We will never accept you.”

Gods above, that was Sam. He rose in the air to face off against the red king. Defiant. A fighter. A true leader.

“Then you die.” Pytheios looked to his right, and a massive copper-colored dragon dropped into place beside him.

Brock Hagan.

“Go get her,” Pytheios ordered.

Dread cascaded through her in a fall of ice along her nerve endings. Meira had no doubt whom the red king had sent Brock for.

He’s coming for me.

With a blast of golden fire, Brock blinked out of sight. He couldn’t teleport, so how the hell was he doing that, and where was he?

In the same horrible instant, every red dragon sent up a roar of challenge, plunging into the fray. In one gigantic, enveloping move, dragons from the Red Clan overwhelmed Ladon’s forces and Sam with them, vanishing from her sight.

“There you are.” An almost cheerful voice slid through her mind.

Meira gasped as a massive gold dragon materialized out of nowhere, the ozone stink of magic all over him as he hovered inside the hangar, then landed with surprising lightness of foot not a hundred feet from her.

Brock.

“Just as Pytheios predicted,” he said. Had he been in human form, he’d probably be examining his nails, suiting action to the boredom in his tone, only his emotions were a riot inside him. All that hatred stored up now aimed at her was like poison in the air. “Your sisters won’t stay away long. They’ll find some way to try to save you. Then I’ll take all four of you to him.”

Meira glanced around, but she was nowhere near a reflection and she was backed against the stone of the mountain. No place to run and hide. Only the edge and the ravine below. Certain death.

As the gold dragon slithered toward her, Meira reached for her fire anyway, but none came. As though her soul had gone coldly empty. Like a switch had been turned off.

Samael—

Her mate’s name screamed through her mind a heartbeat before the gold dragon lunged for her and she threw herself from the precipice. Only instead of plummeting off the side, an arm emerged from the mountain itself, wrapped around her waist, and dragged her into the rock.

…

Samael had always known the secret to his ability to fight—a lack of fear.

Even as a boy, he’d been able to shut off emotion and focus only on what had to be done. It meant he took risks. Pushed his body and his abilities to the limit and didn’t give a damn if the result was his death.

With no family to mourn him, he had little to live for. So he’d lived for his king, his people. What death could be more honorable than sacrifice?

He’d been all set to end his life for Meira. For his mate. Until he’d seen Brock appear out of thin air behind her in the hangar. No doubt sent by Pytheios, who seemed to have disappeared the second his forces engaged.

Smart. Instill doubts and then let the cards fall while he remained in safety, no doubt watching.

But the red king didn’t matter. All that mattered was Meira. Facing down Brock, who’d somehow gotten to her. Samael couldn’t get to her fast enough. He tasted terror for the first time, acrid and sharp against his tongue, pumping adrenaline through his veins hard. His gut flipped over with the impact.

What was I thinking?

He’d been as bad as Meira when they’d first met, following others almost blindly, letting loyalty and duty drive his actions and his choices, even when he knew those choices were wrong.

The truth slammed through him with more force than that damn lightning bolt. His mate, the woman the fates had set on a collision course with him before their birth, the woman they’d gifted him with, was in danger.

He’d thought he could leave her. Gods in hell, he’d never been so wrong.

Samael pelted through the sky, willing his body faster. Wishing for once he was a blue dragon, with their incredible speeds. Another dragon joined him, off to this right, on the same trajectory.

Gorgon.

Brock lunged for his mate.

“Meira—” He’d shouted as she turned, her intention to jump to her death obvious in her pale, determined face. A heartbeat before two arms emerged from the rock wall and the mountain swallowed her whole.

What the fuck?

Samael paused, for a half second unsure. Terror had him wanting to go after her. Though how, he had no idea.

A singeing pain suddenly lanced through his neck, and for a terrible second, he thought an enemy had gotten to him and this was the end.

Except no blackness followed, and the pain disappeared as fast as it had come.

Seven hells…the mating bond. Instead of shock, rightness settled through him, followed by a surge of protective terror the likes he’d never known before. Only his mate was gone.

His dragon, however, jerked his focus back to the biggest immediate threat. Brock.

He’d been coming for them since day one. Now they knew, sent by Pytheios himself.

Samael tried to slam into the bastard from the side, but that beat of hesitation combined with the way the previous gold prince moved—there one minute, then gone the next, popping up into the air like a damned kangaroo—and Samael flew by like an asshole.

Gorgon, however, hit Brock dead-on. So close to the ground, the two dragons dropped back to the surface with such force the chamber seemed to shake around him. Meanwhile, Samael executed a pinhead turn and launched himself at the two dragons grappling on the floor.

He tried to come in from Brock’s blind side as the gold dragon had Gorgon by the front leg. Except Brock dropped Gorgon and spun to face Samael, who had to jerk out of the way of snapping jaws. He didn’t see the spiked tail coming as it struck true in his back hindquarter, puncturing deep, pain ripping up his leg and spine.

With a snarl, Samael did the only thing he could and twisted to land his front claws on Brock’s twitching tail. With a twist of his leg, he snapped the spike still embedded in his flesh off, and Brock grunted, the only sign he’d felt that break.

The giant gold dragon spun away, throwing Samael off balance. As he slashed his tail, blood sprayed the stone floor in streaks. Seeming to settle into himself, Brock faced down king and captain together.

Working in tandem, Samael and Gorgon moved in only to hop back, each trying to distract the monster they were up against. Waiting for the opportunity. The right moment.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Maul appeared on Brock’s head. Crazed snarls ripped from his throat as he sank his teeth down into the gold dragon’s face. With a howl of anguish, Brock flailed, and, before he could be thrown off, the hellhound disappeared as suddenly as he’d appeared.

Taking advantage of Brock’s distraction, in an instant, they were on him, both going for his back, using their weight to pin his bucking form to the floor. Gold dragons were strong, and Brock, with all he’d lost, was motivated by bloodlust. Maul appeared again, taking a hunk out of his leg before popping away.

In a bucking move, before the hound could rematerialize, Brock tossed Samael from his back. With his hearing out of whack, Samael didn’t know he needed to twist away from the stalactite hanging from the ceiling near the closed passage to the rest of the mountain. He rammed into it, full force, headfirst, and dropped to the ground, stunned.

“Get up.” A voice sounded in his head. Only he wasn’t sure if he was hearing Gorgon, or Meira, or his own voice.

“Samael!”

Meira. That was his mate’s sweet voice laced with terror. For him.

Where was she?

Only he couldn’t think of that now. Instinct spun him to find Brock bearing down on him, mouth wide, ready to snap his neck or rip out his jugular.

Samael, back to the wall, didn’t have time to do more than duck, offering his spiked back as a less palatable option. Teeth and claws sank into the side of the spikes, rending scales and flesh from bone. In a small recess of his mind, the sound of Maul’s crazed snarls told him the hellhound was helping him, but the gold dragon was relentless, and Samael was pinned.

Every second, every lance of pain, and all he could think was that if he died, he’d kill Meira, too. The need to protect his mate surged, firing his muscles and his own rage. Samael thrashed and squirmed until he finally managed to slam the gold dragon against the wall.

The maneuver only stunned the other dragon. Long enough for Samael to get out from under him, but not far enough away. Brock whipped around, his barbed tail a weapon coming straight for Samael’s head with a momentum that made it a deadly weapon.

“No!” Gorgon’s yell resonated inside his head, penetrated everything else happening around him.

The dark-gray form of his king lunged in front of Samael, taking the blow to the head.

In slow motion, scrambling to stop Gorgon, Samael watched as one long spike penetrated, slipping in and out of the king’s skull like an assassin’s insidious blade, with amazing precision, striking one of the few weak points, the small hole that made a dragon’s ear. Gorgon fell to the ground, his face turned to Samael already slack, eyes going blank in an instant. Dead likely before he knew what hit him.

…

Everything had gone black and soundless, pressure and stillness consuming her flesh, encasing her in the very rock of the mountain.

“Let me go. Please let me go.” Meira’s mouth moved, but no sound had escaped. How her mouth had formed words inside this rock, as she was part of the rock, captured by it, she had no idea.

But she’d known exactly who held her there. The gargoyles.

What little oxygen had been in her lungs was gone, and though sightless, she could feel herself losing consciousness, like falling. She wanted to struggle, to thrash through the rock holding her, only she couldn’t move.

Then suddenly, the impenetrable hardness holding her opened around her, the sound of stone grinding on stone painful in her ears, until she emerged in her room in the gargoyle mountain, feet encased in rock. Carrick stood in full gargoyle form, grotesque face and body carved from solid stone, wings flared wide as though he might wrap them around her any second.

In the same instant, a lancing burn at the back of her neck had her clawing at the skin there for a second before realization struck.

Our mating bond.

Sam. Oh gods. Had he seen her be swallowed by stone? Did he feel her dread for his life? Whatever had changed for him, it had sealed their connection. Forever. Only death would part them.

Meira lit her fire, relief pouring through her that she could reach it again, that off switch no longer a problem. Only she couldn’t reach her mirror.

“Send me back,” she begged and demanded at the same time.

With that same grinding noise, Carrick pulled his lips back, baring his teeth. “No.”

The old Meira would’ve stepped back, but her mate was out there, fighting for his life and the lives of every single one of their people.

Meira reached for calm, reached for that place that Samael had shown her, then laid a hand on Carrick’s arm. “You have to, my friend. This is my fight.”

“I swore an oath to protect Serefina’s daughter.” His carved stone eyes had shifted to her sisters.

Meira swallowed, wishing for once that she could feel the gargoyle’s emotions. “My mate is out there.”

Carrick nodded, the motion setting off that grinding sound again, sending a shudder down her spine. “I know. I see him.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. Then looked to the mirror. She might not be able to get to it to go through, but she could see. In an instant, the mirror changed reflections, showing her the inside of Ararat’s hangar and beyond.

Horror stole every gasp, every whimper of fear as she watched the fight between Gorgon, Samael, and Brock.

“No!” Meira screamed as Gorgon went down. At all the images before her. Sam, injured and weak facing off against Brock over his king’s body, and their people dying outside as the combined forces of the Red, Green, and White Clans picked them off. Outnumbering them almost two to one.

No longer part of herself, her entire soul with her mate on the other side of the reflection, Meira clawed at the rock that encased her feet, as if she could dig herself out of it. “Let me go. I have to go to him.”

“Stop,” Carrick ordered in his gravelly voice.

“Let me out!” She pounded a fist against it, the pain jarring up her arm. Then again, ignoring that pain, and again, only vaguely aware of the gargoyle’s stone hands trying to pull her back, digging into her skin.

“Carrick, please.” Her voice shattered on the shoals of the words. She sucked in a breath as a compromise struck. “I’ll go to Kasia and bring more dragons. Please let me do that, at least.”

He searched her eyes, stone face unforgiving, and despair threatened to drag her into a pit of darkness. Then a grinding sounded, and the rock around her feet peeled back, parting like a curtain drawn back. As soon as the hole grew big enough, Meira sprinted to the mirror, turning the reflection to a room in Ben Nevis where she knew Skylar waited.

She needed both her sisters for this.

“Fuck me.” Skylar spun from her pacing in the war room. On the multiple monitors, one of which Meira had just jumped through, faces reflected back. A dragon from the Black Clan, based on his dark eyes, no doubt in communication about what was happening at Ararat. On the other screen, Kasia and Brand stood in silence, dead serious, worry pinching her sister’s lips.

“I need you to—”

“We know,” Skylar cut her off. “Kasia saw it in a vision.”

“My forces are ready to go,” Brand, an image on the screens, said. “We’ll meet you in our training room.”

No waiting or explaining. Thank the gods for Kasia’s visions.

“Let’s go.” Grabbing Skylar by the hand, she had them both through to the same chamber used for training and to launch dragons out of the hangar in the Gold Clan’s mountain. Only here, the skies were clear, pale blue. And quiet. They stepped through the same glassed-in control room to face a legion of gold dragon shifters, still in their human forms, at attention in orderly lines.

Meira studied Skylar. “You already sent Ladon’s forces. Can you—”

Skylar strode away, face as white as Meira had ever seen. “My mate is being overwhelmed as we speak, and my people are dying. I’ll do what has to be done.”

They met Brand in the center of the room, Kasia’s hand in his. He didn’t bother with small talk. “Do them in batches, Skylar. You’ve used a lot of your energy already. We can’t have my people trapped in that fucking sightless, soundless in-between place.”

The blackness Skylar and Kasia both dealt with when they teleported. Meira knew it existed for her, too, but the portal she opened held it at bay. At least, she assumed that was how it worked. No one else did what she did, so who the hell knew?

“Where do you want me to put them?” Skylar asked.

“The hangar in Ararat,” Brand said. He leaned down and planted a hard kiss on Kasia’s lips, then put his forehead against hers in a silent exchange almost painful to witness.

“I know,” Kasia choked and smiled.

Jaw hard, Brand released her to step into line with his men.

Skylar nodded a half second before blue flames licked over her body, her black hair floating away from her body in the fire. Each group of fighters was instructed to hold hands. None balked. Most had seen or at least heard of what the Amon sisters were capable of by now. With a hard shove, the first group of twenty disappeared.

Then another.

And another.

If anything, rather than flagging, Skylar sped up, and Meira lost track of how many had been sent.

Sweat beaded Skylar’s brow, and her hands visibly trembled, but she pushed through, continuing on. Until she pitched forward, hands on her knees, chest heaving as she sucked oxygen into lungs as though she’d sprinted a marathon.

“Are you okay?” Meira asked.

Skylar shook her head. “I need to send more. Ladon needs…more.”

Meira put a hand on the back of her sister’s head. “You’ve done enough. Let me finish.”

Before anyone could ask more, she fired her own flames and set the reflection in the glass to that of the Ararat room. Through the portal, they could see Brand’s forces. As Samael’s had earlier, they shifted in waves, launching into the air with a roar of challenge.

“Go!” she yelled at the remaining fighters. “Fast. I don’t know how long I can hold this for so many.”

Taking her at her word, the shifters sprinted through. Until, finally, the chamber was empty except for her and her sisters. Kasia supported Skylar with an arm around her waist. Meira, hand still on the mirror, held her other one to her sisters, and together they stepped through into chaos.

Blue, gold, white, green, black, and red dragons—all six clans pitted against each other for the first time in millennia—swarmed the mountain in a mass of color and fire. The scents of sulfur and blood permeated the air. There was no making sense of it.

…

A cry rose up from outside, and both Samael and Brock looked up to find gold dragons materializing in waves, each launching itself from the training chamber into the skies, pounding into the fight with their size and strength.

Brand had come with his men. Thank the gods.

Five of the gold fighters turned and came after the dragon who’d once been their prince. Shooting Samael a snarling glare, Brock, no fool and obviously realizing the odds had just been evened, took to the air, flying away. Samael stumbled as he went to follow, but as quickly as Brock and all the red dragon shifters had appeared in the fight, they disappeared again.

Black fucking magic.

Gold, blue, and black warriors pulled up. The thundering cry of battle cut off in a beat of confusion before they all realized that the red dragons were gone. The white and green forces remained, it seemed. Still obscured by the clouds, some launched away from the mountain in obvious retreat, while others stayed to give their brethren time to get away.

Samael, adrenaline leaving his body in a whoosh, swayed and fell to the ground, his injuries enough to leave him stunned.

Gorgon was dead.

He knew that, and yet he still managed to lumber to his feet, nosing at his friend, his mentor, his ultimate supporter. Gorgon lay in a limp, unmoving pile, his spirit gone to the underworld, where his deeds and decisions would be weighed.

“Dragons of the Black Clan…” He paused to swallow down a grief so stark he slowly turned numb from the inside out. “Our king is dead.” He sent the thought to the entire clan.

Tipping his face to the heavens, shrouded by the rock of the mountain above him, Samael roared his grief, a stream of fire blasting from his maw. All around him, inside and outside the mountain, a terrible thunder of roars and wails from his people shook the very stone foundations of Ararat to the core.

Samael didn’t stop, not until his belly emptied of the flame, leaving him vulnerable to the remaining forces of white and green dragons in retreat.

The king was dead. The man who’d given him everything had been killed by Brock.

Killed protecting me.

Heavy guilt weighed down the grief, but, in the same instant, the severity of Samael’s own wounds penetrated. His legs trembled hard, rattling his entire body. Spots consumed his vision as Samael collapsed beside the man who’d been a father to him. The man he’d repaid with betrayal.

Meira.

On the heels of the guilt and grief came a terror the like he’d never before experienced. Terror for his mate.

Fuck. Was she still embedded in rock? Sounds of continued fighting of those closest to the mountain while their comrades escaped, muffled by his location so deep into the hangar, cracked and roared outside. The storm still thundered away. More danger.

Only he couldn’t force his body to move. Not like before, when the lightning paralyzed him. This time, his dragon refused to leave the body of his slain king. That acrid coating of fear washed over his tongue, and the human side of him beat against the dragon from the inside.

Mate.

The dragon side of him, fully in control for the moment, didn’t budge.