The Warrior King (Inferno Rising #3) - Abigail Owen Page 0,15

change clothes,” she explained.

“They’ll know to look for you in your room.”

“Good thing we aren’t going to my room.”

He blinked, almost as though surprised she’d popped back like that. She was a little surprised herself, actually. A creak of leather, like a new saddle, had her glancing down. Sure enough, Samael’s hands had formed into fists pressing against the well-worn, medieval leather gauntlets he always wore on both hands. In the same instant, Meira finally picked up the low rumble of voices, an echo down the hallways. Whoever was coming didn’t know yet that they needed to be concerned.

“Hey!” a voice shouted. They probably noticed the door crashed in. The sound of feet breaking into a run against the stone flooring threw her heart into a faster cadence to match.

Closer and closer.

“Up you get.” Samael went to take her by the waist, to lift her onto the countertop most likely, but he paused, remembering the flames, and waved at her to move herself. Scrambling a bit on the slick stone surface, she climbed up. As soon as Meira stepped through, she dropped to the floor inside, turned and pressed her hand against the mirror, allowing him to step through.

A shout sounded and several of Samael’s men burst into the bathroom, their faces a comical reflection of shock as they saw her and their captain in another room before she turned off the fire and shut down the link. As though nothing had happened, only two faces gazed back at them in the mirror on the other side, Samael’s dead calm while hers appeared slightly wild-eyed, not helped by her hair, which had started to stand out from her head with static electricity.

Get moving. It was almost as though she could hear her mother’s voice prodding her along like she had when Meira had been a child.

This time she listened.

Meira ran through Ladon and Skylar’s suite to their bedroom. In one of the large armoires, she found what she was looking for—Ladon’s clothes. Grabbing a pair of tactical pants and a black T-shirt, which would work better for where they were going, she tossed them at Samael. “Um…I hope they fit.”

Samael was roughly the same height, but slightly leaner than Ladon. She didn’t bother to wait and see if he took her suggestion to change.

She moved to the next armoire and pulled out one of Skylar’s preferred outfits of skintight but breathable material in black, matching sports bra, and a short-sleeved workout shirt overtop. Skylar was curvier and shorter, but these stretched and hopefully should fit. Except maybe the sports bra.

Meira’s dress was pooled around her feet before she thought about her company. Pausing, she tossed a glance 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