The Warrior King (Inferno Rising #3) - Abigail Owen Page 0,119

of twenty disappeared.

Then another.

And another.

If anything, rather than flagging, Skylar sped up, and Meira lost track of how many had been sent.

Sweat beaded Skylar’s brow, and her hands visibly trembled, but she pushed through, continuing on. Until she pitched forward, hands on her knees, chest heaving as she sucked oxygen into lungs as though she’d sprinted a marathon.

“Are you okay?” Meira asked.

Skylar shook her head. “I need to send more. Ladon needs…more.”

Meira put a hand on the back of her sister’s head. “You’ve done enough. Let me finish.”

Before anyone could ask more, she fired her own flames and set the reflection in the glass to that of the Ararat room. Through the portal, they could see Brand’s forces. As Samael’s had earlier, they shifted in waves, launching into the air with a roar of challenge.

“Go!” she yelled at the remaining fighters. “Fast. I don’t know how long I can hold this for so many.”

Taking her at her word, the shifters sprinted through. Until, finally, the chamber was empty except for her and her sisters. Kasia supported Skylar with an arm around her waist. Meira, hand still on the mirror, held her other one to her sisters, and together they stepped through into chaos.

Blue, gold, white, green, black, and red dragons—all six clans pitted against each other for the first time in millennia—swarmed the mountain in a mass of color and fire. The scents of sulfur and blood permeated the air. There was no making sense of it.

…

A cry rose up from outside, and both Samael and Brock looked up to find gold dragons materializing in waves, each launching itself from the training chamber into the skies, pounding into the fight with their size and strength.

Brand had come with his men. Thank the gods.

Five of the gold fighters turned and came after the dragon who’d once been their prince. Shooting Samael a snarling glare, Brock, no fool and obviously realizing the odds had just been evened, took to the air, flying away. Samael stumbled as he went to follow, but as quickly as Brock and all the red dragon shifters had appeared in the fight, they disappeared again.

Black fucking magic.

Gold, blue, and black warriors pulled up. The thundering cry of battle cut off in a beat of confusion before they all realized that the red dragons were gone. The white and green forces remained, it seemed. Still obscured by the clouds, some launched away from the mountain in obvious retreat, while others stayed to give their brethren time to get away.

Samael, adrenaline leaving his body in a whoosh, swayed and fell to the ground, his injuries enough to leave him stunned.

Gorgon was dead.

He knew that, and yet he still managed to lumber to his feet, nosing at his friend, his mentor, his ultimate supporter. Gorgon lay in a limp, unmoving pile, his spirit gone to the underworld, where his deeds and decisions would be weighed.

“Dragons of the Black Clan…” He paused to swallow down a grief so stark he slowly turned numb from the inside out. “Our king is dead.” He sent the thought to the entire clan.

Tipping his face to the heavens, shrouded by the rock of the mountain above him, Samael roared his grief, a stream of fire blasting from his maw. All around him, inside and outside the mountain, a terrible thunder of roars and wails from his people shook the very stone foundations of Ararat to the core.

Samael didn’t stop, not until his belly emptied of the flame, leaving him vulnerable to the remaining forces of white and green dragons in retreat.

The king was dead. The man who’d given him everything had been killed by Brock.

Killed protecting me.

Heavy guilt weighed down the grief, but, in the same instant, the severity of Samael’s own wounds penetrated. His legs trembled hard, rattling his entire body. Spots consumed his vision as Samael collapsed beside the man who’d been a father to him. The man he’d repaid with betrayal.

Meira.

On the heels of the guilt and grief came a terror the like he’d never before experienced. Terror for his mate.

Fuck. Was she still embedded in rock? Sounds of continued fighting of those closest to the mountain while their comrades escaped, muffled by his location so deep into the hangar, cracked and roared outside. The storm still thundered away. More danger.

Only he couldn’t force his body to move. Not like before, when the lightning paralyzed him. This time, his dragon refused to leave the body of his slain king. That acrid coating of