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

“I owe your mother my life, and I’ll use it to protect you, solnyshka.” He sent an indifferent glance Samael’s way. “He does not fall under the same protections.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Samael snarled.

Sunshine. The gargoyle had called Meira sunshine. It fit, from her bright hair, to her eyes, to her name, which meant “one who illuminates.” But the term of endearment was too casual, too easily cast from the tongue. Was there more here? Had Meira fallen in love with the protectors her mother had clearly sent her to?

Carrick ignored him, instead reaching out to run his fingertips down the side of Meira’s face. An intimate gesture that had Samael gritting his teeth to keep from ripping the fucker’s hand off. A violent response that he should ignore, except…

He’d learned long ago to rely on his instincts. The trouble was, what his instincts, and the dragon inside him, were telling him was…complicated. Potentially deadly at worst. At the best, catastrophic. So he ignored it like he’d been doing since the day she offered herself as a mate for Gorgon.

Focus. They had to fix the problem staring them in the face first.

“You are unharmed?” the gargoyle asked Meira softly.

Her eyes faded to light blue, allowing more of the white in. Clearly whatever threat she was worried about earlier had passed. She smiled softly at their reluctant host, and a burn of jealousy scored through Samael. Until she happened to glance over the gargoyle’s shoulder directly at him and blinked.

“Other than losing the man I’m supposed to mate, I am well,” she said.

Carrick stepped back and gave an oddly formal little bow. “Come with me.” He shot Samael a look swimming with distrust. “Both of you.”

The gargoyle stomped out of the room, his thick boots sounding as though they were still made of stone.

“Goat,” Carrick called back into the room. “Come.”

Vincent trotted out after him, short tail wagging away.

“I guess he’s Carrick’s goat now,” Meira murmured.

Side by side, she and Samael followed the animal out into the hall.

“This is where your mother sent you?” Samael asked quietly.

“Yes.”

Rumors were right for once. In the midst of her own death, Serefina Amon had split her four daughters up and teleported them to the corners of the earth, each to a different protector. He knew Kasia had ended up in Alaska with Maul as protection. Angelika was still pretending to be part of the wolf shifter pack she’d been sent to in the Pyrenees Mountains between France and Spain, though they now stayed with Ladon’s clan. And Skylar had gone to somewhere in the Andes Mountains with a band of rogue dragon shifters, of all things, though she remained reticent when it came to the details of who or where.

Meira’s reticence made Skylar look like an open book with audio and even a visual aid. She’d merely contended that wherever she had gone, she’d been safe.

“Do you trust him?” Samael mumbled under his breath.

She shot him an annoyed scowl, brow furrowing, and adorable with it. “That’s a silly question.”

“Is it?”

“Carrick is a friend, and I trust him.” She walked a few more steps, then muttered, more to herself, “Seems obvious to me.”

Samael held back a snort of laughter. Now where had that come from? Normally, she wouldn’t say boo to him. Maybe she was showing him the real her, a side he’d guessed only her sisters saw. Suddenly, in the most unexpected circumstances, she had him wanting to laugh, shake her, and cuddle her at the same time.

Wrong. Wrong. All wrong. Terrible idea. Their mission was the king, her mate in vow if not in deed. Samael needed to focus on that, and that alone.

His dragon violently disagreed.

He ignored the beast inside him, trying to think through all the angles. Adish, Gorgon’s beta and next in line for the throne, would get a hold of the clan, bring them in line. After he secured them a safe place to stay—here or otherwise—his next step should be contacting Adish as soon as possible and filling him in.

Carrick led them through a wending series of endless hallways, each decorated in a way that, similar to the gargoyle’s clothing, hearkened back to medieval times, and even earlier. Like with the outside and all the different styles of architecture, the inside’s decor was that of a blend of various ancient human cultures. He even spotted a few Greek columns.

A place out of time. Or of time. A reflection of the ever-changing world.

“Is this for real?” Samael said, though quietly.

“You haven’t even seen the best part,” Meira tossed at him, lips tipped in a secretive smirk.

“What’s the best part?” Now she had him distracted with inconsequential details. Did he want to know?

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

Probably they wouldn’t have time. He tucked the odd sense of disappointment away, because the sparkle of delight in her eyes had him more curious than he should be given the circumstances and surroundings. How did she do that?

You don’t do curious, he reminded himself.

The sounds of a large group gathering—the low murmurs of men, the more melodic tones of women, and the higher-pitched squeals of children, granted all with that gravelly texture—had Samael tensing long before they entered a room that reminded him of the great hall in his own mountain of Ararat in Turkey. Ben Nevis also had a similar room, used as a sort of social common room, though more for the upper classes.

A massive fireplace and hearth took pride of place at each end, incorporated into vaulted ceilings, the structures of which extended to the floors. Murals graced each section formed by the buttresses, but the paint had not faded with time like most found in human castles or fortresses these days. These were pristine and brightly colored, edged in glittering golds and silvers and coppers, the telltale sparkle of jewels decorating various spots.

The room reminded him of Russian Orthodox churches. Breathtaking.

Groupings of chairs and a few long tables formed smaller seating and meeting areas throughout