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

and warm, with a lack of moving air in an unlived-in, abandoned way. They passed through a small living space with couches that buckled in the center sitting on thick brown carpeting, all also ripped to shreds. Knives, he guessed. Not dragon claws, or the roof would’ve been ripped off.

A small squawk of sound reached his ears. Some kind of rodent in the walls, at a guess. Samael ignored it. They walked down a hallway past a series of smaller bedrooms. Each one he passed sported a single twin-size bed and basic dresser and desk. Nothing more. Once again, these rooms appeared as though a large predator had slammed through, ransacking the place. No doubt in search of any clue as to where the phoenix might have gone.

What would they have thought when they found multiple beds? That more than one phoenix existed at all was nothing short of miraculous, leaving an unending list of unanswered questions when it came to their legend and lore.

Samael paused at one bedroom with what appeared to be computer parts, though no computer. “Was this your room?” he called after Meira’s retreating form.

“Yes,” she answered over her shoulder, not stopping.

“Don’t you want to pack up some clothes or go through drawers for keepsakes?”

Meira paused in a doorway several down. “No. He already took anything of value.”

“He?”

“Pytheios. The video showed him going through the house.” She shrugged, but he got the impression that she was holding herself together by sheer will. “We weren’t allowed keepsakes, anyway.”

Nothing? Not a single thing to remember her life by? Remember her mother by? “And I thought I had a rough childhood,” Samael mumbled to himself.

Another tiny sound from one of the rooms down the hall, and Samael held in a sigh because now he recognized it. At the same time, a glint of glass catching sunlight streaming through the window snagged his attention, and he stepped inside to inspect it more closely. Caught in the thick carpeting, the same ugly brown as the rest of the house, was a silver ring with a small, polished gem of orange amber.

Not wanting to upset Meira more, Samael slipped it in one of the pockets of his borrowed pants. He’d give it to her another time.

Still following her lead, they made their way to a slightly larger room. Their mother’s room, no doubt. Meira had stopped before a tall free-standing mirror.

“Here. By me.” She pointed and he took up his position.

“Are you ready—” She paused and cocked her head, listening.

Samael had already caught the small sound again, much closer now, and grimaced.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“I know you heard that.”

“We don’t have time.”

That only got him a narrow-eyed scowl.

Samael sighed. “Under the bed.”

Meira dropped to her hands and knees, colorful hair spreading out on the brown carpet as she looked underneath.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed. Then slowly reached out, carefully and gently lifting something out from under the mattress.

A tiny, scruffy, skin-and-bones kitten. Difficult to tell its color under mud-matted fur. “You were just going to leave her here?”

Samael gritted his teeth against both her judgment and the guilt that she seemed to so easily elicit in him. “Cats are resilient.”

She held up the scrawny body and he—hardened dragon shifter warrior that he was—flinched inwardly. “Obviously not,” she said, still accusing.

Dragons might have protective instincts, but they had nothing on this woman. She collected strays wherever she went, it appeared. “What are we going to do with it while we track down Pytheios?”

That stubborn chin popped in the air. “Find it a home.”

Samael ran a hand over his face. Why was he not surprised? “At least put it on the floor out of sight while we do this thing.”

She pursed her lips but moved to stand beside him and settled the mite at their feet. For its part, the kitten stayed right where she set it. Out of fear or the recognition of a savior, Samael wasn’t sure.

At least I’m not the only one who does her bidding so easily.

Standing up, Meira looked at him. “Okay. Ready now?”

This was a horrible idea, but Samael honestly couldn’t see any other way. Meira was right. Secrets were Pytheios’s weapon. The only way to combat secrets and rumors was with the truth, even if it meant screaming into the storm.

“Are you sure you can do this?” he asked.

Appearing in every mirror in Ararat, a mountain she’d yet to set foot in, to deliver their message would stretch anyone with this rare ability, it seemed to Samael. Young dragons didn’t attempt to blow fire for the first year or two after they learned to shift. Meira had only been a phoenix for two years. Not even. And most of those were spent cooped up with gargoyles.

“We should stick to the plan. My calculations showed a high probability of success if we have more help.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He was talking about her powers, and she knew that.

Meira grimaced. “I’ve never tried something this big. We might have to do it in phases.”

That wouldn’t be as effective as Pytheios’s display. Still, it would prove she had power to those starting to doubt. What kind of power was a different story. Likely she’d be called a witch by the naysayers of the clan. Or, as Samael privately thought of them, the bitchers and complainers who apparently had nothing better to do in life than drag others down and see everything in a negative light. Humans weren’t the only breed with skeptics.

“No turning back now.” Meira closed her eyes, and the flames he was becoming intimately familiar with flowed from her skin in rivers of gold and red until she stood ablaze before the mirror.

Chapter Eight

I can’t do this.

The plan was to reach every mirror in Ararat to address as many of the Black Clan dragons as she could in one shot. Pytheios’s floating flame trick at her mating ceremony had given her the idea.

But this was… After the first ten or so, with each