The Warrior King (Inferno Rising #3) - Abigail Owen Page 0,59
veil covered it.
The entire room went silent, every dragon shifter in the room focused on her.
Aidan, his arm hooked around Sera, turned piercing blue eyes their way. Then he leaned down to Blake. “Why don’t you go play, buddy?”
At a nod from his mother, Blake groaned and trudged out the door, muttering, “I don’t get to be around for anything good.”
“Who is the true High King?” Rune shot back as soon as the child was out of dragon ear shot. “More than one phoenix mated to more than one king begs the question, don’t you agree?”
Meira’s mind took a step back from the emotions clotting the air and assessed the man in front of her. As a rogue and a traitor, did he care who led? Something in the set of his jaw, the way he watched her, the single beat of emotion that tapped at her empathic shield, told her this mattered to him, but not because of multiple phoenixes.
Find out what he wants.
The thought came from that same empathic power. Calm stole through her with eerie ease and Meira let it. Because the truth of those words was so crystal clear to her. She slowly, deliberately, lowered those shields that held out others’ emotions, and braced herself for the impact.
Only instead of a tsunami hitting her, threatening to drown her, the emotions came at her softly.
Am I doing this?
Harsh emotions swirled around each person, and yet they weren’t overwhelming her, more like lighting each person in the room up so she could read them like her computer code. Worry and a deep love from Tyrek. Curiosity and hope from Aidan and his family. She didn’t dare look to Sam, moving on. Suspicion and also…hope…from Rune. Now, that was interesting.
Meira focused on the black dragon shifter and the surety of her first thought. What did he want? “How about we take down the one who’s not and figure out who is after?”
Her heart tumbled around inside her at being so bold, except she wasn’t nervous or edgy or any of those other things, like before. She wasn’t putting on a mask right now. This was how she could contribute, and that gave her…authority.
Sam’s hand inched over, brushing against hers in a barely there touch. A show of solidarity. He couldn’t touch her. Not really. Not here. And she shouldn’t want him to, but dang if that small spark of physical connection didn’t zing through her, bolstering her confidence even more.
“I don’t know you,” she said to Rune. “And you don’t know me. But my mother trusted you.” She glanced at Tyrek and back to him. “My uncle trusts you. My sister trusts you.”
Sam straightened beside her. “Based on what I’ve seen, I think we could be stronger together than apart. Don’t you?”
Exactly what she’d been thinking. She inched her hand into his and squeezed. The warmth of his emotions hit her right in the solar plexus, spreading deliciously outward from there. All coming from Sam. Realization sneaked inside her with it. She wasn’t scared of his emotions. Not anymore.
What was going on inside her? What was driving this sudden change? The empathy? Had opening herself up flipped some kind of switch?
Regardless, some piece of her, unknown to her until this moment, was sure that they were the same in that way. Both of them felt like outsiders. Both buried their emotions deep down and did what had to be done. They were…the same. Or two parts of a whole. Like a lock and a key.
Meanwhile, Rune crossed his arms, considering both of them. “I’m not coming back into the fold only to find another dictator rising up in Pytheios’s place. I’ve been pretty fucking alone cutting off the heads of hydras with nothing to show for it except more heads.” He held up his hand, missing the mark of his king, his bitterness a stark sizzle around him.
“Until now,” Aidan said quietly.
Meira locked gazes with Rune, needing him to hear her. “You think my sisters or I want another monster to lead?”
When he said nothing, she spread her hands wide. “You’ve met Skylar.”
Beside her Samael gave a small snort that might’ve been a laugh but only served to remind her how she was still holding his hand. Slowly, she inched away, hers turning colder at the loss, the wood of the table rougher against her skin.
“What are you suggesting?” Rune asked with narrowed eyes. That tiny spark of hope inside him pulsed.