Chapter Three

No. Gods, don’t let this happen.

Meira tried to get closer to Gorgon, tried to take it back, to pull her fire back into herself. Bile stung her throat, blending with the vomit-inducing stench of burning flesh. The king stared back with shocked, awful, horror-filled eyes as her flames consumed him. He fell to his knees, and she could see him fighting the flames, his own black fire flaring out like sunspots only to be devoured by the red gold of her own fire in an instant.

One kiss was all it had taken.

They hadn’t even gotten to the undressing part, let alone the sex part. She’d turned on her flames and he’d kissed her lightly, so sweet. Except then he jerked back, a silent howl of pain contorting his features.

Already his bronze skin had turned charred before cooling to gray. Other parts continued to burn, glowing bright embers, and parts of him were sifting to ash. Like her mother in that field all alone.

“No, no, no,” Meira cried, hardly aware of the words pouring from her mouth.

She fell to her knees beside him, reaching in past the flames, which didn’t hurt her, to take his hand, already ashy against hers. “I’m so sorry. I’m here. Look at me.”

His eyes, already solid gray, shifted in his face as if searching. Could he see her? “I won’t let you die alone.”

Speaking words she wasn’t even aware of, words that tried to pass what little comfort she could to a kind man who didn’t deserve such an end, Meira gathered him in her arms, her own heat enveloping her even as his legs disappeared from beneath him. The terrible shuddering racking his body rattled the teeth in her head. Gods above, had death by fire been this horrible for her mother?

Gorgon suddenly gripped her hand tighter, though all that remained of his own were frail bones, then his mouth opened and the gaping hole of what she had to assume was pain, except something was going on with his face. As though the bones were shifting beneath the ash, changing shapes.

No longer his face at all.

The layer of ash fell away, revealing fresh new skin and a completely different face—younger, a softer chin, and red-brown eyes, the hallmark of a red dragon shifter.

One emotion above the fear of death buffeted her.

Deception.

Meira yelped and dropped the body of the man she’d thought was her doomed mate, scrambling back on the floor away from the stranger until her back hit the foot of the bed.

A thunderous thud rattled the door. Samael.

The new face didn’t stay fresh for long. The fire claimed and charred the new skin just as the old had been, only by this time most of his body had already disintegrated.

Another slam against the door, this one causing a crack to appear in the thick wood. “Let me in!” Samael shouted, his voice muffled.

Meira forced herself to her feet and stumbled around the impostor. That was what some corner of her scrambled mind told her he had to be, the only thing that made sense. Her hands were shaking so hard, it took three tries for her to manage to unlock the door. She jumped back in time to get out of the way as Samael slammed it open. The door hit the wall behind with such force it embedded in the rock, small fragments of wood and stone falling to the floor, the gritty sound loud in the sudden silence as the man on the floor finished disintegrating and the fire disappeared all at the same time.

Samael ran to the heap of burned flesh and knelt beside it. He ran his fingers through the dust and ash then made a fist, seeming to grasp for control.

He won’t hurt me.

Meira shouldn’t be sure of that. He was Gorgon’s captain and would believe what his eyes were telling him. That she’d killed his king, the man he was sworn to protect.

“What have you done?” Samael asked in a low voice.

Hands to her mouth, Meira could only shake her head in horror. Was he asking her? Or asking his king?

Samael turned his head to spear her with a dark gaze full of rage, his fire sparking, like looking into an abyss that was reaching out for her. “What. Have. You. Done?”

No mistaking those growled words were directed her way. “It’s—” She had to stop and swallow around a throat so dry it felt coated in dust. Coated in a nameless man’s ashes. “It’s not—”

Samael bolted to his feet, crossing the room in two long strides, backing Meira up against the rock wall of the cavern the suite was carved from. “Don’t you dare say it’s not your fault.”

She should be terrified. This man had every right to kill her here and now. She’d heard many of Ladon’s men speak in hushed tones of respect about Samael’s skills when it came to killing. A rational person would be cowering and begging for her life.

But part of her refused to be that woman. Not in front of him.

Samael’s emotions, released from their bonds, swirled and eddied around her like a riptide—anger, grief, blame. And one other, above all others. Protectiveness.

For her? Or his clan?

That same part that refused to cower also found the strength to step forward, stopping him with a shaking hand in the center of his chest. Most likely he allowed it thanks to shock that she even tried.

“That’s not Gorgon,” she said, the words clearer than she expected given how her throat was closing up.

Thick brows pulled down over eyes still licked with obsidian flames. “The fuck you say.” He pointed a finger at the pile where the body had been. “Only two people came into this room—”

She gave her head a frantic shake. “I thought it was him until his face turned into another man’s. A man with red-brown eyes.”

Deliberately, she left out the bit about sensing the man’s deception.

Samael took a step back, hands going to his hips as he directed his gaze between her and what had once been a man. He almost seemed to be waging a war within himself. No wonder, as he had no reason to believe her. No proof, beyond her word.

Given Pytheios’s display, what if he decided she was false? A liar and pretender.

Suddenly, Samael’s arms rippled, turning to shining, jet-black scales before returning to human skin, his dragon obviously close to the surface. Was he deciding whether or not to kill her now or turn her over to his people to do the job for him?

“Gods be damned,” he spat. Then raised his head. The fire doused in his eyes, leaving them smoky for a heartbeat. An eerie calm settled over him, stealing through her, exactly how she imagined him in battle. Meira held her breath, waiting for the final blow to come.

Samael grabbed her by the arm and turned toward the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” she asked, though she didn’t dare struggle against his hold.

“Move,” he commanded.

Fear had Meira digging in her heels. “I shouldn’t—”

Frustration rippled across his features. “We have to get you out of here,” he said in distinct, almost insulting clips. “We use your mirror trick to get away, obviously. The question is where to go?”

Meira stilled in his grasp. “If we run, everyone will assume I’m guilty.”

“They’ll assume you’re guilty either way.”

Couldn’t he see? “At first, maybe, but you believed me.”

He stepped closer, lowering his head until his warm breath fanned across her face, the sand and smoke scent of him replacing the smell of melted flesh in her nostrils. Close enough to step into him and let him take the weight of her troubles. Close enough to kiss—

“I haven’t decided if I believe you or not,” he said.

“Oh.” She dropped her gaze to her feet. Disappointment played hopscotch in the region of her heart and made Meira want to wince, but she kept her inexplicable feelings to herself.

She raised her eyes only to find Samael staring intently at her, a small frown between his brows as though he were trying to figure her out.

His next words to her came out almost gentle, for him. “We’ll figure it out.”

Not a threat. More a reassurance.

Samael straightened suddenly and stepped back, his thoughts concealed behind blanked-out features, emotions fading like disappearing ink, as he walled them off yet again. “If that wasn’t the real Gorgon, then hopefully my king, and your mate, is still alive. We find him, we fix all this.”

He turned away, but Meira still didn’t follow him into the bathroom.

Pytheios had dropped a big stinking bomb of doubt in their midst. She couldn’t leave her sisters and new brothers-by-blood to deal with that on their own. The fake Gorgon’s death and her disappearing would only escalate the speculation, turn disbelievers within the clans against them.

“Bleeding heart,” came a muttered imprecation from the bathroom.

She lifted her head. “What?”

“I can practically read the bubble over your head,” Samael said. “The best way to help your sisters is to find Gorgon. Besides, they’ll be able to point out the pile of ash they think is him as proof that you are what you claim. Only a phoenix can kill a dragon that way.”

“What if they think the pile of ash is me?” It would kill her sisters to believe that. They’d already lost their mother. She couldn’t put them through that pain. Not again.

Samael opened his mouth as though to answer, but paused, head cocked, the gathering tension running through his body practically vibrating the air around them like a tuning fork. “They won’t think it’s you…because there will be witnesses.”

“Witnesses?”

Again, he grabbed her by the arm, only this time his grip was such that she knew she wouldn’t be able to break free. If anything, he’d leave a mark from his grasp alone, though she knew he didn’t mean to harm her, even in a small way.

He hustled her to the bathroom and pointed at the mirror. “They’re coming. Now. Do your thing.”

Meira processed the urgency in his voice and swiftly came to the horrible conclusion that he was right. Maybe finding Gorgon was the best course of action. Even if it hurt her sisters.

Either way, they were out of time. She needed to make a choice.

Still not sure it was the right one, Meira reached for a peace she was far from feeling, then closed her eyes, shutting out her concerns about her sisters, the dead remains of whoever he was in the room beyond, and Samael beside her, not to mention whatever the dragon shifter captain was hearing that she still wasn’t yet. She scrounged for a calm she’d been practicing all her life to find in the midst of fear.

Because she was always afraid.

“Please don’t touch me,” she begged, eyes still closed. “I don’t want you to end up like him.”

Samael released her as though she’d just declared he was holding a poison-dart frog, which would have been amusing in other circumstances. With a flick of her will, flames ignited across her skin. She opened her eyes and silently told the mirror in front of her to show a different scene than the reflection of their faces in the bathroom.

“That’s not far enough away,” Samael snapped. He wasn’t even looking at the mirror, so she wasn’t sure how he knew that. His face was turned toward the door.

“I need to change clothes,” she explained.

“They’ll know to look for you in your room.”

“Good thing we aren’t going to my room.”

He blinked, almost as though surprised she’d popped back like that. She was a little surprised herself, actually. A creak of leather, like a new saddle, had her glancing down. Sure enough, Samael’s hands had formed into fists pressing against the well-worn, medieval leather gauntlets he always wore on both hands. In the same instant, Meira finally picked up the low rumble of voices, an echo down the hallways. Whoever was coming didn’t know yet that they needed to be concerned.

“Hey!” a voice shouted. They probably noticed the door crashed in. The sound of feet breaking into a run against the stone flooring threw her heart into a faster cadence to match.

Closer and closer.

“Up you get.” Samael went to take her by the waist, to lift her onto the countertop most likely, but he paused, remembering the flames, and waved at her to move herself. Scrambling a bit on the slick stone surface, she climbed up. As soon as Meira stepped through, she dropped to the floor inside, turned and pressed her hand against the mirror, allowing him to step through.

A shout sounded and several of Samael’s men burst into the bathroom, their faces a comical reflection of shock as they saw her and their captain in another room before she turned off the fire and shut down the link. As though nothing had happened, only two faces gazed back at them in the mirror on the other side, Samael’s dead calm while hers appeared slightly wild-eyed, not helped by her hair, which had started to stand out from her head with static electricity.

Get moving. It was almost as though she could hear her mother’s voice prodding her along like she had when Meira had been a child.

This time she listened.

Meira ran through Ladon and Skylar’s suite to their bedroom. In one of the large armoires, she found what she was looking for—Ladon’s clothes. Grabbing a pair of tactical pants and a black T-shirt, which would work better for where they were going, she tossed them at Samael. “Um…I hope they fit.”

Samael was roughly the same height, but slightly leaner than Ladon. She didn’t bother to wait and see if he took her suggestion to change.

She moved to the next armoire and pulled out one of Skylar’s preferred outfits of skintight but breathable material in black, matching sports bra, and a short-sleeved workout shirt overtop. Skylar was curvier and shorter, but these stretched and hopefully should fit. Except maybe the sports bra.

Meira’s dress was pooled around her feet before she thought about her company. Pausing, she tossed a glance over her shoulder to make sure Samael wasn’t watching and stilled at the sight of a broad, bare back, ripples of muscle, and taut, burnished skin.

Her brain short-circuited.

Around gargoyles and wolf shifters and dragon shifters, she’d seen her fair share of muscled men. Shifters were fighters, these men predators, and naturally fit. On top of that, Samael was a warrior. While dragon shifters claimed an accelerated healing that helped, he should’ve been marred with scars or other evidence of the battles he’d fought. Ladon himself boasted a scar down one side of his face.

But Samael’s skin was clear of blemish. Perfect. Except for the family crest emblazoned on the back of his neck, same as every dragon shifter bore.

She tipped her head, studying him as he left his gauntlets on, struggling to tug the shirt over them.

Samael turned his head and caught her staring. He straightened slowly, the play of muscles across his back with the movement nothing short of fascinating. All leashed power, ready to spring. What would it be like—

I just watched a man die a horrible death and Gorgon is missing. What in all the hells is wrong with me?

He said nothing, simply staring back, and Meira’s chest went instantly tight, like her ribs clamped down on her lungs.

It took the mere flick of his gaze down her body, leaving a trail of sensation in his wake, for her to remember.

With a gasp, and no doubt a full-body blush, if the heat sweeping her skin like wildfire was any indication, Meira forced herself to turn away. Keeping her back to him, she quickly changed. She also helped herself to socks and a pair of Skylar’s boots, which were surprisingly comfortable and supple.

In addition, she grabbed a handful of throwing knives, slipping them in various pockets she knew Skylar kept hidden in her clothing. Knives had been one of the few things Meira had been capable at when it came to the fighting skills their mother had insisted they learn. She was crap with any kind of firearm or stick weapon. Not too bad with a bow, but not great, either.

Next, she grabbed a carrier, more a hydration pack, smaller than a backpack. Removing the bladder, she stuffed a long-sleeved shirt in it along with underwear, socks, and her veil.

“Feeling sentimental?”

She turned to find Samael watching her in that close way of his, though he still stayed on the other side of the room, like a wild animal wary of a human in his territory.

Meira shook her head. “These jewels are worth quite a bit of money. I’d rather not have to sell them, but if we need to, it gives us options.”

Samael’s brows shot up. “Good thinking,” he said slowly.

Underestimated tended to be where she thrived. If no one had high expectations, then at least they’d always be pleasantly surprised.

“One second.” Her vision went red as she reignited her fire and turned to the massive mirror leaned against the bedroom wall. A memory floated through her head of her and Skylar in here one day.

“I’m surprised you’d want such a big mirror, Sky,” she’d said to her sister. “You were never vain like that.”

Skylar had lit up with a secret smile. “It’s not for looking pretty, Mir. It’s for…other things.”

“Forget I asked.”

Now, she changed the image to the rooms she’d been staying in. Specifically, to her own dresser with a mirror above it.

Samael started to reach for her. “What are you—”

She reached a hand through and grabbed the tablet device she’d left within thankfully easy reach. Pulling it through, she shut off the reflection. “I need this.” She waved it at him and then stuffed it in the pack as well. “You ready?”

“We need to decide where to go first.”

“I think…” If she was queen, she really needed to work on speaking up more forcefully. “I mean, I have that covered.”

Meira took a deep breath, gathering the small amount of courage she had left. Last time she’d left her sisters, she’d made the heart-wrenching mistake of believing she’d never see them again. Barely over a year later, and she’d seen that error corrected. She’d see them again this time, too.

Believing that was the only way she could make herself go.

“You planning to just stand there?”

Samael’s voice shook her out of the memory, and Meira focused her mind. The image she called forth from the other side showed a stone floor, walls, and ceiling, but different from the caverns of Ben Nevis. This stone appeared man-made, like a castle. Inside the room, across from the mirror they would step through, an ornate four-poster bed covered in what she now knew to be pale-yellow silk took up most of the space, along with a matching carved armoire to one side and chest at the foot. The decor harkened back to another age. An age of castles, knights, and fair maidens. Fairy tales. Again.

Pulling the fire back from her hand so it wouldn’t touch him, she took Samael’s arm by the sleeve and guided him through the reflection. As soon as they were across, she doused the fire and the mirror returned to normal. The one they’d come through on this side was a bit dingy with age, especially around the edges.

She didn’t bother to get out her tablet, though her hands were itching to. Where she’d brought them, it wouldn’t work, anyway.

Samael looked around, the tense cast to his shoulders, the way his gaze darted about, showed him ready to defend them both if he had to.

Meira moved her hand to grasp his forearm, the muscles jumping under her touch. She almost let go as an electric charge passed from his skin into hers. If she lifted her hands, would her palms be imprinted with Samael? Slowly, as though reluctant to do so, he brought his gaze round to hers.

The rush of his emotions blindsided her—pure need, a wanting so deep every part of her lit up with tingling, blinding awareness. A searing heat rushed inside her, pulsing in an answering rhythm.

She jerked her hand back, stuffing both behind her back like a child caught doing something she shouldn’t. This man was her only hope to find her mate and fix this. What was wrong with her?

“Where are we?” Samael asked, his voice dropping to a low rumble that skated over her skin like a caress.

Meira licked suddenly dry lips, trying her best to contain everything inside her. “Somewhere safe.”