The Warrior King (Inferno Rising)
Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more Amara titles… Bane’s Choice
Nightshade’s Bite
Drakon’s Promise
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Abigail Owen. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
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Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Heather Howland
Cover design by Bree Archer
Cover photography by PeopleImages/Gettyimages
Imam Arif Budiyanto/Gettyimages
lermannika/Gettyimages
ISBN 978-1-68281-489-5
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition March 2021
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Prologue
Samael Veles considered himself to be a solid judge of character, but he still wasn’t a hundred percent confident about what his king had gotten them into. Supporting the uprising against the High King of dragon shifters was a dangerous gambit.
Suicidal, even.
But his king, Gorgon Ejderha, had been leader of the Black Clan for longer than any king of the other five dragon shifter clans—white, blue, green, red, or gold. He hadn’t remained in power that long by acting stupidly or rashly. Which was why Samael hadn’t argued with the orders that put him where he was now—standing in the throne room of Gold Clan’s mountain, backing the man who’d come to claim that throne.
Brand Astarot had mated a phoenix. A fucking phoenix.
Phoenixes were a prize sought by every creature. Particularly dragon shifters, whose right to rule as High King over all the clans was dictated by who mated a phoenix.
Kasia Amon’s appearance, after no phoenix had been seen in over five hundred years, had rocked the dragon shifter world and given Samael’s own king hope where none had existed before.
A plague had infected the dragon shifter kingdoms since the last phoenix had died, and that sickness had a name.
Pytheios. The Rotting King of the Red Dragon Clan.
With no phoenix, Pytheios had named himself the de facto High King. He’d put kings loyal to him on every other throne, Gorgon holding his seat through sheer luck and masterful political maneuvering. With Pytheios in power, the world had grown darker every day—fewer mates found for their people, more dragons going rogue, and more of their clans falling into poverty.
Except a second phoenix had been revealed. Skylar Amon, Kasia’s sister, was now mated to Ladon Ormarr, the King of the Blue Clan.
One phoenix was something to celebrated, if she was real. But two… Impossible for a creature so rare, only one had ever been known to be born each generation. They could be lies, a show, a trick to turn the tide of the uprising against Pytheios.
But Gorgon supported this alliance, and Samael, Captain of the King’s Guard, was here as Gorgon’s representative, backing Brand’s play.
He just wasn’t happy about it.
The old men sitting on the dais, the Curia Regis council for the previous—and recently slain—gold king, didn’t seem too impressed by Brand’s claim to the throne so far.
Samael checked the corners, checked the doors. Getting into this mountain had been too easy. They should have been stopped. At the very least, Brock Hagan should be here. As the son of the previous king, he would be the man with the most legitimate counterclaim to the throne.
Suddenly, Brand’s body wavered as though they were all witnessing a mirage in the middle of a castle, a sign the man was shifting.
Samael planted his feet while trying to appear at ease, waiting for what came next. There wasn’t space here for a gold dragon in full form, but they’d already discussed this demonstration, so he made no move to give the gold rogue room.
Brand brought forward his wings only. The men on the dais went slack jawed, and even Samael had to admit to being impressed by Brand’s display of control.
Brand stared down the old men and spoke. “I state this for all the gold dragons within range to hear…”
Dragon shifters communicated telepathically when in dragon form. Brand was doing that now, communicating to every shifter near him.
“My name is Braneck Astarot Dagrun. Son and only living heir of King Fafnir. Slayer of the false king Uther. And the man whose mark you bear on your hands. I am the rightful King of the Gold Clan of dragon shifters, and I will take my throne.” Brand pointed to the empty gilded chair on a raised dais behind where the men of the Curia Regis sat.
Interesting that he didn’t list his phoenix mate as a credential for that claim. Why not? Because he wanted the throne on his own merit? Or because she wasn’t truly a phoenix?
Samael’s mind spun with dark possibilities.
Do your duty.
He had orders—support and protect the new gold king. Samael did a quick sweep of the room, listening outside the doors for the running of feet, soldiers to come to the aid of the viceroys still seated on the dais.
Quickly, Brand introduced all representatives of his allies in the room—including Samael as Gorgon’s man. The Blue and Black Clans stood together, and the Gold Clan would stand with them. “They are here as proof of the support I bring with me,” Brand said. “I can take my throne by force, but I would rather save my people from the bloodshed. Swear allegiance to me now and you’ll live.”
The previous king’s viceroys paled with each word Brand uttered. Two of the men sitting before Brand covered the marks that could be seen on the fleshy part between their thumbs and forefingers. The king’s marks. Magical marks that showed a dragon shifter’s loyalty to the king of their clan—now Brand’s family insignia, though some of the gold dragons still bore the now-dead king’s mark.
Finished with his claim, Brand lifted his head. He listened for answers from the people who’d heard his telepathic message, and the room sat in silence for a long time, tension piling on tension until it reached screaming pitch. Until one corner of Brand’s mouth lifted in a smile that would make the most hardened warrior wary.
“My people have spoken,” Brand murmured. “Bow to your king.”
One by one, each of the men stood and knelt. All except the oldest. Brand gave a single nod to one of the men on his left, who took that man into custody and led him out of the room quietly. Not for execution, but imprisonment.
A damn miracle that this had happened without a single death.
A movement in the back corner of the room caught Samael’s attention, and everything inside him stilled, readying for a fight. He didn’t move yet, waiting to confirm the threat.
Except nothing stood in the room over there. Another check showed an ornate mirror hanging several feet above the floor. He must’ve seen the movement of someone in the room, and no one here was a threat. Not anymore.
Not that he relaxed.
“Brock will not sit by for this without a fight,” another of the viceroys warned.
Truth. The son of the previous ruler should be defending his father’s throne. All reports showed he’d gone into hiding, leaving his people unguarded. Coward.
Samael did another sweep, using all his senses, not really listening as Brand addressed the comment and then had the Curia Regis ushered out of the room. Taking a throne shouldn’t be this easy. Holding it would no doubt be more difficult. They couldn’t let down their guard. Not yet.
As soon as the door closed behind the departing viceroys, Kasia threw her arms around Brand’s neck. “You did it,” she whispered.
Brand scowled, as if he didn’t like that. “It’s not over yet,” he murmured before claiming her lips in
a kiss so reverent, Samael glanced away, feeling the need to give them privacy.
The way the new dragon king watched his mate, with possession and something more in his golden gaze—adoration, love, desire, protectiveness… Phoenix or not, their mating was real. Fated. Samael couldn’t deny that, not after being around this couple for five minutes.
A movement over by the mirror snagged his attention again. He looked harder, and another flash drew his gaze…inside the mirror.
What in the seven hells?
The reflection was moving, glowing almost, with…flames? Except the brightness didn’t flicker through the throne room.
Slowly, Samael slunk nearer for a better angle. The second he got a full look, his body went quiet. Then his dragon rumbled in his head, a long purr of a sound. The reflection in the mirror was that of a woman, tall and willowy with strawberry-blond curls wild around her face lifted by the flames that danced over her body. Only a very few fire creatures had that kind of power. Was she a dragon shifter? Her manner of dress, though—almost medieval in appearance—brought him to ghost. But ghosts didn’t light on fire.
Whoever—or whatever—she was, she seemed to be watching the proceedings with interest.
Samael turned his head, searching for where she would have to be standing in the room for that mirror to pick her up, except no one was there. He whipped his head back—she hadn’t moved. She was definitely there.
Am I seeing ghosts now?
Brand and Kasia parted. “I need to talk to Ladon,” Brand said. “Now.”
Together, they led the remaining men in the room away, but Samael lingered, moving toward the mirrored image. She’d smiled watching Brand and Kasia together.
Why did she care? What was going on here?
With a final step, Samael moved directly in front of the mirror, directly into her line of sight, staring her down.
The woman froze. Except she thawed as quickly as she’d turned to ice, her glacial eyes turning darker blue as her gaze skated over him. The way she took him in, with an almost childlike innocence—it was as though she didn’t know he was standing there watching her check him out. What did she see, anyway? A hardened soldier who’d achieved more than anyone had ever expected he could?
Her aura of soul-stirring susceptibility reached through the glass and wrapped around him. A conflagration of emotions exploded inside his chest—dark need, harsh possessiveness, and the strangest sense of knowing. The flood of it left him almost dizzy.
Her own gaze flickered. Awareness flared in her eyes—he saw it. He was sure he saw it. Only that awareness was quickly replaced by a cold fear as her gaze connected with his. The woman held still, not even daring to breathe.
“Who are you?” he demanded. The words came out harsher than he wanted, his dragon pushing to be released.
With a gasp, she stumbled backward, and the image suddenly changed. He found himself staring at his own reflection, his black eyes stunned.
A glance down revealed the same shimmering mirage-like waves that had surrounded Brand earlier. Except this was involuntary. Instead of booted feet, Samael stood on talons, black scales rippling up his legs.
“Fuck.” He shook off the shift, regaining control over his dragon, who’d pushed closer to the surface than ever before.
Samael never lost control.
Mine, the beast inside growled.
Samael balked, turning his back on the damn mirror. She couldn’t be his. He had no idea who she was…what she was. She could be a spy for Pytheios, for all he knew.
No. Better to forget this happened. If he saw her again, he’d get the truth from her. Now and always, his duty lay with his king.
Chapter One
Today, Meira Amon would mate a dragon shifter.
Not for the first time in her life, she wondered if fear could kill a person. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. Not that she would back down. Her heart had to settle down eventually, right?
Phoenixes, after all, were able to choose their own mates, rather than rely on the fates, and that’s exactly what she’d done. She’d chosen.
Gorgon’s shock when he discovered not one or two but four phoenix sisters in existence had been the sharpest emotion the man had given off in the very short time she’d known him. Her and her sisters’ existences had been a miracle that some dragon shifters might not believe to be real, but the king, at least, believed them and had accepted her offer to mate.
Her offer.
She’d partially expected the fates to give her a sign that she was doing the right thing mating King Gorgon—a dream, a gust of wind with creepy timing, a bolt of lightning, even. No such luck. Love and loyalty had driven her. She might not be her sisters—never having come close to Skylar’s form of rash bravery, or Kasia’s version of steady courage, or Angelika’s bright confidence—but Meira was starting to find her own kind of resolve.
Including, any minute now, walking through the massive double doors that led to the throne room in Ben Nevis, the mountain stronghold of the Blue Clan, to bind herself to a good man, but one she didn’t love.
Oh gods. I’m really doing this.
They’d taken a few months to plan the ceremony. Neither Kasia nor Skylar had had a mating ceremony, simply skipping to the physical part of binding their lives to their mates through fire and sex. Gorgon had insisted that all dragon shifters needed to see that at least one of the phoenixes had done things the proper way, which was why they’d risked waiting as arrangements had been situated to the smallest detail.
Not quiet months, unfortunately, with constant attacks from the Green and White Clans. The Red Clan, meanwhile, had remained unnervingly silent, more concerning than direct attacks.
What was Pytheios up to?
Meira had a hard time hating anything or anyone, but her hate for that man threatened to consume her, the emotion a physical flaying of her heart. Every single day.
Hate for the man who’d murdered her father and grandparents before she was born. Who’d sent her mother into hiding, pregnant and alone, until he tracked her down and killed her, too. More horrors that she’d learned recently could be laid at his feet. All in pathological pursuit of a crown and power.
Meira would do anything to help stop him.
Offering to mate a dragon shifter king fell under the heading of “anything.” The tie that would bind the Black, Blue, and Gold Clans together.
If it turns the tide of the war as the legends claim, it will be worth it.
She’d made her decisions, ones that set her future in stone. A future that only needed her to open the door before her and step through.
If only her legs would stop shaking.
Needing to bleed off the tension buzzing through her, Meira fluffed out the skirt of her midnight-black mating gown, the color of her new clan. The sparkling jewels in all the colors of the dragon shifter clans—black, white, blue, green, gold, and red—sewn into the delicate material flashed and glittered with the movement.
Angelika, the only one of her sisters whose existence had still not been revealed to any but the three allied kings, was already inside with the wolf shifters their mother had sent her to for protection. She would continue to pretend to be one of them, hiding her existence from all but a handful who knew the truth.
She had been pissed as hell not to be included in the ceremony, storming into Meira’s room the day she found out, luckily when only Kasia and Skylar had been around to witness.
“I’m supposed to be part of this day,” Angelika had grumbled.
Meira had taken her by the shoulders. “You are.”
That had earned her a wrinkled nose. “Yeah. Sitting at the back of the room with the rest of the rabble.”
“Wolf shifters aren’t rabble.”
They’d stared at each other a second before both snorting. “To us, maybe,” Angelika had said. “But as far as most dragon shifters are concerned…” She’d shrugged.
Meira had said nothing, because there was nothing to say. Angelika wasn’t wrong. Dragon shifters called the wolves mutts behind their backs, sometimes to their faces. But they were men to be trusted as far as the sisters were concerned. As long as the wolves were keeping Angelika’s existence secret, she had to pretend to be mated to one, which meant she wouldn’t stand at the front of the great hall with Meira today.