The Warrior King (Inferno Rising #3) - Abigail Owen Page 0,84
page, I think.”
“That’s nice.”
She nodded slowly, tracing a pattern over the back of his hand with her finger. “I’m not used to it. Not even my sisters think the same way I do.”
He tugged on her curl to draw her closer and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “A good thing for mates, don’t you think?”
Sky-blue eyes sparkled at him. “I’d never thought of it like that.”
Damn adorable. His cock stirred, but he forced it to settle, though it left him heavy and aching. “To answer your question…yes, proof.”
“Hmm…” She flipped his free hand over and traced the lines. “But we can’t wait.”
“My thinking as well.”
“Did you know humans believe they can see a person’s future in the lines on his hand?”
He managed to keep up with her change in subject, starting to wonder if she did that when she needed time to process something. “Oh?” he asked mildly.
She nodded primly, obviously enjoying herself. “We lived with a band of Roma at one point. One of the women taught me the way.”
“And what do the lines on my hand say?”
“Let’s see…” She tipped her head to the side. “You have a long palm but shorter fingers.”
“My fingers are not short.” He tried to tug out of her hold, but she held on.
“It means you are of the fire element.”
“I could’ve told you that.”
She ignored him. “Fire means you are passionate and confident but can lack empathy.”
“So now I have short fingers and am an asshole. I’m not sure I like this hand-reading thing.”
“Palmistry, they call it.” She brought his hand closer to her face, studying it. “Your mount of Mercury, here”—she pointed to the base of his pinkie finger—“is raised. You’re strategic and resourceful.”
“That’s more like it.”
“Your fate line”—she traced a finger over his palm, and Samael was damn tempted to end this session with something else guaranteed to engage her mind as well as her body—“is deep and straight. However, your sun line gets closer to it until they intersect. An external event will affect your fate in a way you can’t change.”
Samael shifted, suddenly no longer comfortable with this game.
“But your lifeline is strong, indicating a richness and passion in everything you do.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Why do you think the clan won’t believe in you?” She switched topics all over again. “Gorgon clearly did.”
Samael knew Meira wouldn’t care one way or another, but he didn’t talk about his background. Not to anyone. Not even when he’d first joined the King’s Guard and Rune had questioned his loyalty, his bravery, his abilities. Pretty much everything.
“I grew up lowborn…common,” he said.
A small frown pleated her brows. “So?”
“Thanks to dragon shifters’ long lives, specific bloodlines have been around for ages. My bloodline is relatively new. Not a drop of royal blood in me. Only royals sit on the throne. Getting to where I am already was about luck more than anything. That and a king’s guilt.”
“Guilt?”
He nodded slowly. “My father was part of a minor revolution against Pytheios. My father had yet to find his mate at the time. He was aging and desperate. He claimed Pytheios was doing something wrong with all the mates. Fewer and fewer common folk were finding theirs or being given the chance to attend a mating ceremony.”
Meira pulled a face. “After what Rune had to say, I’m not sure he was wrong.”
Samael had already wondered at that. Had his father been right, seen the early warning signs, all those ages ago? “That might be worse.”
Meira tipped her head and waited for clarification, and, for once, Samael didn’t mind talking about his past.
Maybe the lack of judgment in her eyes settled him, or knowing she was his mate now and forever. “Shortly after organizing a handful of peaceful protests, my father found my mother. Not through the process we have now. He found her in a human village at the base of Ararat. One whiff, and he knew.”
Meira’s eyes widened. “Wow. He scented her and knew? How?”
Samael lifted the curl still wrapped around his finger and inhaled. “He said her scent reminded him of everything that was lovely in the world. A very specific scent.”
“What scent?”
“Guess.” Samael grinned, then chuckled when her eyes narrowed playfully.
“Hmm…” She scrunched her face up something adorable, gaze moving around the room but not seeing as she thought it through. Then she gasped, and he knew she’d hit on the right answer.
“No,” she breathed.
“Jasmine.”
Meira’s lips formed into an “O” of surprise, and Samael, laughing, kissed her