Brock Hagan.
“Go get her,” Pytheios ordered.
Dread cascaded through her in a fall of ice along her nerve endings. Meira had no doubt whom the red king had sent Brock for.
He’s coming for me.
With a blast of golden fire, Brock blinked out of sight. He couldn’t teleport, so how the hell was he doing that, and where was he?
In the same horrible instant, every red dragon sent up a roar of challenge, plunging into the fray. In one gigantic, enveloping move, dragons from the Red Clan overwhelmed Ladon’s forces and Sam with them, vanishing from her sight.
“There you are.” An almost cheerful voice slid through her mind.
Meira gasped as a massive gold dragon materialized out of nowhere, the ozone stink of magic all over him as he hovered inside the hangar, then landed with surprising lightness of foot not a hundred feet from her.
Brock.
“Just as Pytheios predicted,” he said. Had he been in human form, he’d probably be examining his nails, suiting action to the boredom in his tone, only his emotions were a riot inside him. All that hatred stored up now aimed at her was like poison in the air. “Your sisters won’t stay away long. They’ll find some way to try to save you. Then I’ll take all four of you to him.”
Meira glanced around, but she was nowhere near a reflection and she was backed against the stone of the mountain. No place to run and hide. Only the edge and the ravine below. Certain death.
As the gold dragon slithered toward her, Meira reached for her fire anyway, but none came. As though her soul had gone coldly empty. Like a switch had been turned off.
Samael—
Her mate’s name screamed through her mind a heartbeat before the gold dragon lunged for her and she threw herself from the precipice. Only instead of plummeting off the side, an arm emerged from the mountain itself, wrapped around her waist, and dragged her into the rock.
…
Samael had always known the secret to his ability to fight—a lack of fear.
Even as a boy, he’d been able to shut off emotion and focus only on what had to be done. It meant he took risks. Pushed his body and his abilities to the limit and didn’t give a damn if the result was his death.
With no family to mourn him, he had little to live for. So he’d lived for his king, his people. What death could be more honorable than sacrifice?
He’d been all set to end his life for Meira. For his mate. Until he’d seen Brock appear out of thin air behind her in the hangar. No doubt sent by Pytheios, who seemed to have disappeared the second his forces engaged.
Smart. Instill doubts and then let the cards fall while he remained in safety, no doubt watching.
But the red king didn’t matter. All that mattered was Meira. Facing down Brock, who’d somehow gotten to her. Samael couldn’t get to her fast enough. He tasted terror for the first time, acrid and sharp against his tongue, pumping adrenaline through his veins hard. His gut flipped over with the impact.
What was I thinking?
He’d been as bad as Meira when they’d first met, following others almost blindly, letting loyalty and duty drive his actions and his choices, even when he knew those choices were wrong.
The truth slammed through him with more force than that damn lightning bolt. His mate, the woman the fates had set on a collision course with him before their birth, the woman they’d gifted him with, was in danger.
He’d thought he could leave her. Gods in hell, he’d never been so wrong.
Samael pelted through the sky, willing his body faster. Wishing for once he was a blue dragon, with their incredible speeds. Another dragon joined him, off to this right, on the same trajectory.
Gorgon.
Brock lunged for his mate.
“Meira—” He’d shouted as she turned, her intention to jump to her death obvious in her pale, determined face. A heartbeat before two arms emerged from the rock wall and the mountain swallowed her whole.
What the fuck?
Samael paused, for a half second unsure. Terror had him wanting to go after her. Though how, he had no idea.
A singeing pain suddenly lanced through his neck, and for a terrible second, he thought an enemy had gotten to him and this was the end.
Except no blackness followed, and the pain disappeared as fast as it had come.
Seven hells…the mating bond. Instead of shock, rightness settled through him, followed by a surge of protective terror the likes he’d never known before. Only his mate was gone.
His dragon, however, jerked his focus back to the biggest immediate threat. Brock.
He’d been coming for them since day one. Now they knew, sent by Pytheios himself.
Samael tried to slam into the bastard from the side, but that beat of hesitation combined with the way the previous gold prince moved—there one minute, then gone the next, popping up into the air like a damned kangaroo—and Samael flew by like an asshole.
Gorgon, however, hit Brock dead-on. So close to the ground, the two dragons dropped back to the surface with such force the chamber seemed to shake around him. Meanwhile, Samael executed a pinhead turn and launched himself at the two dragons grappling on the floor.
He tried to come in from Brock’s blind side as the gold dragon had Gorgon by the front leg. Except Brock dropped Gorgon and spun to face Samael, who had to jerk out of the way of snapping jaws. He didn’t see the spiked tail coming as it struck true in his back hindquarter, puncturing deep, pain ripping up his leg and spine.
With a snarl, Samael did the only thing he could and twisted to land his front claws on Brock’s twitching tail. With a twist of his leg, he snapped the spike still embedded in his flesh off, and Brock grunted, the only sign he’d felt that break.
The giant gold dragon spun
