His next words to her came out almost gentle, for him. “We’ll figure it out.”
Not a threat. More a reassurance.
Samael straightened suddenly and stepped back, his thoughts concealed behind blanked-out features, emotions fading like disappearing ink, as he walled them off yet again. “If that wasn’t the real Gorgon, then hopefully my king, and your mate, is still alive. We find him, we fix all this.”
He turned away, but Meira still didn’t follow him into the bathroom.
Pytheios had dropped a big stinking bomb of doubt in their midst. She couldn’t leave her sisters and new brothers-by-blood to deal with that on their own. The fake Gorgon’s death and her disappearing would only escalate the speculation, turn disbelievers within the clans against them.
“Bleeding heart,” came a muttered imprecation from the bathroom.
She lifted her head. “What?”
“I can practically read the bubble over your head,” Samael said. “The best way to help your sisters is to find Gorgon. Besides, they’ll be able to point out the pile of ash they think is him as proof that you are what you claim. Only a phoenix can kill a dragon that way.”
“What if they think the pile of ash is me?” It would kill her sisters to believe that. They’d already lost their mother. She couldn’t put them through that pain. Not again.
Samael opened his mouth as though to answer, but paused, head cocked, the gathering tension running through his body practically vibrating the air around them like a tuning fork. “They won’t think it’s you…because there will be witnesses.”
“Witnesses?”
Again, he grabbed her by the arm, only this time his grip was such that she knew she wouldn’t be able to break free. If anything, he’d leave a mark from his grasp alone, though she knew he didn’t mean to harm her, even in a small way.
He hustled her to the bathroom and pointed at the mirror. “They’re coming. Now. Do your thing.”
Meira processed the urgency in his voice and swiftly came to the horrible conclusion that he was right. Maybe finding Gorgon was the best course of action. Even if it hurt her sisters.
Either way, they were out of time. She needed to make a choice.
Still not sure it was the right one, Meira reached for a peace she was far from feeling, then closed her eyes, shutting out her concerns about her sisters, the dead remains of whoever he was in the room beyond, and Samael beside her, not to mention whatever the dragon shifter captain was hearing that she still wasn’t yet. She scrounged for a calm she’d been practicing all her life to find in the midst of fear.
Because she was always afraid.
“Please don’t touch me,” she begged, eyes still closed. “I don’t want you to end up like him.”
Samael released her as though she’d just declared he was holding a poison-dart frog, which would have been amusing in other circumstances. With a flick of her will, flames ignited across her skin. She opened her eyes and silently told the mirror in front of her to show a different scene than the reflection of their faces in the bathroom.
“That’s not far enough away,” Samael snapped. He wasn’t even looking at the mirror, so she wasn’t sure how he knew that. His face was turned toward the door.
“I need to 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
