The Warrior King (Inferno Rising) by Owen, Abigail (reading a book txt) 📕

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