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

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