The Warrior King (Inferno Rising #3) - Abigail Owen Page 0,27

snapped to him, and Pytheios had to contend with the sudden, unusual sensation of fear clutching at his heart, its fingers icy and grasping. He wasn’t sure of her intent until she leaned over him in his chair, placing her weight on her hands on the arms, then paused. “For you…my love.”

She placed her lips to his, then released the essence she held inside her, filling him with it.

Chapter Six

Meira lay on her side, knees pulled up close, tucked awkwardly so that she could study her tablet. She’d set up a program that was scanning and analyzing a host of ancient texts she’d downloaded while at Ben Nevis, searching for answers to so many questions. Just one way she was trying to help. If she could find proof of who she and her sisters were, or more information about her kind, proof that there could be more than one, or even proof of the legends surrounding mating them, maybe it would convince more dragons to follow them.

She’d been going over the results any time she could get away from the ceremony plans and her sisters. With no electricity here, she’d have to ration her time until she could get somewhere to charge the device, so she couldn’t read long.

A shiver chased itself up the curve of her spine and spiraled out from there. Thanks to the location and the open window—and despite the fireplace and her own inner heat—she was rarely warm in this place—her only complaint when it came to living with gargoyles. Actually, that wasn’t true. She’d desperately missed her sisters.

Samael, meanwhile, stood at the window, broad back facing her. A watchful sentinel in the black of the moonless night. Her protector.

Not because he wants to be, she reminded herself. Because the only emotion filtering through to her from the man was that of reluctance.

“You should sleep,” Meira said quietly, the words floating in the air between them.

Other than turning his head slightly in her direction, he gave no other indication that he heard.

Typical macho shifter. “This is the best shot you’re going to have at getting decent rest,” she pointed out. “Carrick and all the others are out there. Nothing is getting in this place tonight.”

Samael did turn to face her at that, only to lean his hips back against the windowsill, arms crossed, stretching Ladon’s T-shirt and distracting her. A solid wall of man doubt. If anything, that holding back in his emotions strengthened as he gazed at her.

Irritation itched at her like chigger bites. After avoiding him all this time because of those emotions that he held in check, she shouldn’t be annoyed that he held them back so hard. If anything, she should be grateful. So why wasn’t she?

“We got in here,” he pointed out.

Meira turned off her tablet and propped her head up on one hand to address him more upright. “Only because I have permission. Gargoyles hold a special magic that makes the place they guard impenetrable. When Carrick agreed to watch over me should the time come, he and my mother made a blood oath on my name. Otherwise, I would never have found this place again once I left.”

Face in shadow, she could see enough by starlight to watch Samael’s jaw work as he chewed over that information. “That’s handy,” he said. “How does one get a gargoyle to swear a blood oath like that?”

Good question.

Meira shrugged, the silk of her duvet rustling with the movement. Her turn to strap down strong feelings. A necessity when she thought of her mother. “We didn’t even know Mama knew any gargoyles, and Carrick gives me a different answer every time I ask.”

Samael ran a hand around the back of his neck. The first outward indication of stress she’d ever seen from the man. “I suppose it’s not an option that gargoyles would want to be widely known?”

“I came to the same conclusion. Like the mob.”

A pulse of amusement coming from Samael lit her up. Only not at her expense…more like he thought her cute. “I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said. “But the mob?”

“You know. Secretive. It’s all about who you know. But don’t break that trust. I mean, where is Jimmy Hoffa, anyway?” Meira shifted in the bed and tried not to blink at how easy it was to talk to him. While she’d never call herself shy, she wasn’t exactly a talker, either. Except, maybe, with her sisters.

Samael lowered his head. Was he smiling? Hard to tell in the darkness.