Zanaikeyros: Son of Dragons

  “I know you did, Jordan. And that’s why I didn’t search your purse, look for the letter. That’s why I let the whole unholy spectacle play out.” She started to object, to explain her actions, but he waved his wrist in a gentle arc, indicating that he really wasn’t stuck on the details. “You weren’t entirely honest with me,” he said plainly, “and I haven’t been entirely honest with you, either. Perhaps we should start there…”

  Jordan’s heart fluttered in her chest, and it immediately beat faster. Oh, shit—what hadn’t he told her? And how bad was it? She bit her lower lip and searched his eyes, almost too afraid to listen.

  He shook his head, slid out of the seat, and crossed the tub with graceful ease, taking a seat in the bench beside her, then reaching for her hand.

  She let him take it.

  She was too unsteady to object.

  “Nothing nefarious, dragyra,” he assured her. “Just careful omissions, here and there.” He rotated his thumb in a gentle circle, along the center of her palm. “You wrote that letter to Dan while I was at the temple, correct?”

  She nodded and looked away, staring at the water.

  He squeezed her hand. “In truth, you could have emailed him or called him, although the dragon lords would have known—they would have felt it.”

  She frowned. “But I thought you said my cell phone wouldn’t work here—I checked it, and there was never a signal. And as for Wi-Fi, I figured that was the same kind of thing. The dragyri speak telepathically; you don’t have any use for those things.”

  Zane offered her a half-hearted smile. “We rarely use those things with each other, at least not on this side of the portal, but we do conduct a lot of business with the human realm—not everything can be made or acquired in The Pantheon.” He watched as a small swell of water rolled over their linked fingers and cast a pale red shadow beneath the surface, projecting from the underwater lights. “On the back of the desk, in our suite, there was a sapphire paperweight—did you see it? It’s a round, palm-sized object with a flat, level base.”

  Jordan thought about the layout of the desk and the few items she had seen. “Yes,” she said softly. “It was sitting in the corner.”

  Zane inclined his head. “If you place your hand over the top of the globe and grasp it, the stone will warm to your touch, and then it will begin to glow. Every radio frequency or wave used in the human realm can be duplicated and harnessed—recreated and captured—in that sapphire stone. It was easily manufactured by the gods. Should you choose to communicate through a human device, you need only to invoke the sapphire sphere. There are several on every floor of the lair: one on each desk, and a larger one on the accent tables at the end of each communal hall.”

  Jordan swallowed any potential protest and chuckled insincerely. “That would have been nice to know.”

  “Yeah,” Zane teased her. “You would’ve called every agency you could think of: the FBI, the CIA, heck, the White House—am I right?” In spite of his momentary levity, he understood the gravity of the situation and pressed on without awaiting an answer. “Point being: I withheld the entire truth, at least initially, because our connection was too…uncertain.” He tempered his voice, and his dragon eyes narrowed. “And I withheld the entire truth about something else as well.”

  She held his gaze without wavering. “About what?”

  “The temple. The consecration. The full stakes involved.”

  Oh. Shit.

  She braced herself for the worst—if he was going to tell her something awful, something unthinkable, she wanted to suppress any potential hysterical reaction.

  “Do you remember that night in your apartment when I told you I would not let you die, nor would I relinquish my life to make this easier?”

  She nodded.

  “What did you think that meant?”

  “I don’t really know,” she answered honestly. “That you weren’t going to let anyone—or anything—kill me, and that you weren’t going to allow me to risk your life, or your safety, either.” She cringed. “I know I almost got you killed, Zane—I just…I just don’t know what to say. I had to do what I did. It was—”

  “No,” he interrupted, once again squeezing her hand. “We can speak more about that later, if you wish. Right now, I’m referring to something else.”

  She stared at him blankly, feeling a bit like a child being chastised by a teacher. “Okay.”

  “Jordan, there are consequences for failing to bring one’s dragyra to the temple on the tenth day of the claiming.”

  If not for the warm, calming water, she would have visibly shivered. “Like what?”

  He lowered his voice instinctively. “If you fail to show up, you will…perish…in your sleep that night. And I…I will have my amulet removed by Lord Saphyrius.”

  Jordan shot up in her seat, recoiling. She wrenched her hand free of his and held it up in question. “What do you mean by perish?”

  He frowned. “Perish.”

  She shook her head in disbelief, and then her eyes shot to his amulet, resting so conspicuously on his naked chest: The uneven natural stone was exquisite, priceless…ominous. “What happens if he removes your amulet?”

  Zane glanced away, and his silence shook her soul.

  “Zane, what happens?”

  He showed no emotion whatsoever. “My existence will be no more.” And then, as if he was reading a fictional page from an ancient text, he went on to tell her about the seven white clay mountains—the Garden of Grace—and how the statues were the souls of the Dragyr’s dead, immortalized as gemstones forever. He reminded her, yet again, about the life-force imbued in the sacred stones, making it clearer this time that, for all intents and purposes, the gemstone was the equivalent of a human soul—once it was gone, the body was no longer animated.

  Jordan felt faint.

  She felt disoriented and sick to her stomach.

  This was insane.

  Unthinkable.

  Utterly…and absolutely…horrific.

  After several protracted moments had passed—she would process the bulk of it later; they still had four more days—she asked him, “Has anyone ever done that? I mean, a human woman refusing to enter the Temple?”

  Zane’s countenance changed, and his features grew strained. “Yeah. It’s happened.”

  He rolled his shoulders in an unconscious gesture, trying his best to relax, and for the second time since she’d met him, Jordan caught a faraway look in his eyes—she had seen that look before, that night in her living room when he had crouched in front of the sofa and taken a drop of her blood. “Zane…” She spoke softly. “That night, when you asked me about my family, whether or not I had a lot of relatives, I told you about my parents…about my grandmother passing away.” She sighed. “You had this really distant look in your eyes, the same one you have now. What is that about, Zane? Who did you lose?”

  Zane stirred restlessly in the tub, sending several waves of water rippling across the surface, and then he slowly shook his head, dismissing the subject.

  “Am I the only one who has to be vulnerable?” she asked. “The only one who is constantly exposed and off-balance?”

  Zane blinked his sapphire-gold eyes; his tongue snaked out to lick his lips; and his features looked positive ashen…like he had just seen a shade. “Jaquar.”

  A single word.

  “Who?” Jordan asked. She leaned in, toward him. “Zane, who is—who was—Jaquar?”

  Zanaikeyros slowly exhaled. He brushed his hand through his hair and hung his head, trying to hide his eyes. “Jaquariaz Saphyrius,” he whispered, gradually raising his chin. “He was one of the original forty-nine hatchlings. We were born…we emerged…on the same day, at the same time: January 7, 1016. So, I guess we were a lot like twins.” His forehead creased into a frown, and the light in his eyes grew dim. “I don’t think we spent a day apart in seven hundred years. He was more than a brother to me—he was my closest friend.”

  His nose twitc
hed in anger, and his voice grew hoarse. “His dragyra could not be persuaded to enter the temple. She just didn’t want any part of this life. She was attached to her human identity and zealous about her religion—she saw Jaquar as some sort of evil spirit, and nothing could dissuade her.” Like a candle blown out in the night, the dim, lingering flicker in Zane’s pupils extinguished: a total eclipse of his soul. His voice was utterly hollow as he spoke his next words. “And that was a shame—for her—because Jaquariaz was, actually, the most honorable, genuine, and incorruptible male I’ve ever known. She missed out on a lifetime of happiness.”

  Jordan let Zane’s words linger for several heartbeats. Finally, when she spoke, she treaded very carefully. “Jaquar is on the mountain?”

  Zane nodded and looked away.

  An animal in a nearby tree hooted, and it sounded very much like an owl, perhaps a little larger, more resonant…more mysterious. And in that moment, something struck Jordan deep in her soul, something she hadn’t been aware of before: It was as if the fog all around her suddenly lifted, and the sky grew unexpectedly clear—like a downpour of rain had suddenly abated, and the mist was instantly gone. For whatever reason, Jordan could see the entire horizon beyond her immediate view. She could see Zanaikeyros Saphyrius as he truly was, and she could see a crystal-clear portion of his ancient heart.

  The Dragyr was a mercenary, to be sure.

  He was as savage as he was handsome; as dominant as he was strong.

  He was clear-headed, determined, and ruthless when he had to be.

  But he was also eternally alone.

  Zane had never had a mother to hold him, kiss him, or tuck him into bed. And he had never known a father in any real sense of the word. His maker was a dragon lord who demanded his obedience, rescued him when he was in trouble, but would just as soon punish him—harshly, brutally, and without mercy—if it came down to it. The dragyri had never had a sister or a brother, outside of Jaquar and his lair-mates.

  And he had never had a wife…or kids.

  He was a soldier for the Temple of Seven.

  A hired gun…

  A supernatural killer.

  Who had always known war, and fire, and blood.

  He hunted like a predator to feed his inner flame, to reanimate his essence, and the act was as impersonal as it was, ironically, intimate. He was a primordial, detached soul following his master’s orders and hoping to survive—for what? To live another day? Another century? Another millennium?

  All of it…alone.

  Despite all her inner turmoil—her personal angst and her dread—she would have had to be unfeeling—cold and entirely heartless—to not feel some compassion for this solitary male.

  “I’m sorry, Zane.” She said it, and she meant it.

  He nodded. “Yeah. So am I.”

  She didn’t want to push the subject, dig any deeper into an open wound, but she had to know, to understand: “So, it’s true, then? A female can’t be forced to enter the temple?”

  Zane met her seeking gaze, and his demeanor seemed much more calm. “It’s a matter of degrees,” he amended. “She has to enter the temple of her own volition—that is the decree. Whether that means her own decision, wish, or desire is up to debate. It is not unheard of for a gentler male to try to win his female’s heart…in only ten days…to insist upon obtaining her desire.” He leaned back in the smooth, rounded chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “But it is also not unheard of for a harder male, a more determined male, to take matters into his own ruthless hands: Friends, loved ones, and even children—nieces, nephews, and wards—have been held hostage and used as leverage. Threats have been made against entire villages and clans…potential retaliation from other members of the lair if the female does not acquiesce. At the end of the day, she has to walk across that threshold on her own. She doesn’t necessarily have to want it. Or to like it.”

  Jordan gasped.

  She glared at Zane as if he had just grown horns, hoping to find the truth in his eyes—which kind of male was he? The former, or the latter?

  But what she saw in those golden pupils was a solid, unyielding wall, an impenetrable fortress built by a male who was just as afraid—and determined—as she was: a dragyri warrior who had lost his best friend to this cruel, unforgiving world that he hadn’t chosen, either.

  She swallowed her distrust and tried to reach out…just a bit. “What do you want from me, Zane?” She practically held her breath, waiting for his answer, and for a moment, it looked like he could go either way: retreat into his hardened shell, or reach out and try to connect.

  He stirred restlessly in his seat, still clinging to her hand, and then he made his decision. “I want you to try, Jordan,” he said earnestly. “I don’t know if love is possible in such a short time, although I have seen it happen. And I don’t know if there’s anything I can say or do to deepen the bond between us—in the limited time we have left. But I do know that if you keep resisting, hiding, running, there won’t be a chance for either of us. Your fate is unwanted—I get that—but is it a fate worse than death? Only you can decide. I want you to try to open your heart, try to open your mind, try to let me in, dragyra. See what might happen…between us.” He grasped her hand in his—took it back—and she was curiously relieved. “I just need you to try with me, Jordan.”

  Jordan listened to his words.

  She took them in, thought about them, and refused to run and hide.

  And that determination, that desire to survive brought them both back—full circle—to the previous events of the day, to the giant gray elephant sitting in the middle of the tub: the assistant district attorney, and Jordan’s attempt to escape. There could be no trying, no attempt to understand, no bridge built between them unless and until they cleared the air.

  “Dan,” she ventured bravely. “What I did, by reaching out to Dan—how does that affect things? How did that affect you?”

  f

  Zane felt the shift in Jordan.

  He felt it in himself.

  After nearly retreating from the situation, she had managed to draw him out—they had somehow made a connection and, although it was tentative at best, he didn’t want to ruin it by discussing her ex-lover.

  Not now.

  Not when they were right on the verge of a breakthrough.

  Yet and still, they had to see this through.

  He sighed. “From this moment forward, only truth between us?” He posed it as a question, waiting for her assent.

  Jordan hesitated—clearly thinking it over—and then she nodded her head. Her gorgeous hazel eyes shone like twin jewels in the moonlight, and every instinct in his body wanted to reach out…to touch her…to draw her in for a kiss. But it was much too soon. Much too aggressive.

  His dragyra wasn’t ready, so he made another calculation…

  He released her hand, slid out of the seat, and sidled up behind her on the lounge, gently inching her forward. Her shoulders tensed, and she looked back at him with unease—but she didn’t try to stop him. As he’d calculated, her body was buoyant in the water, and it floated toward the surface, just long enough for him to slide beneath her, behind her, and to tug her back into his lap. Straddling her hips with his legs, he wrapped his massive, muscular arms around her shoulders and he drew her to his chest. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and he nuzzled her neck, beneath her ear. “This is better for me,” he rasped. “Having you in my arms. I want you to feel safe, Jordan. I want you to feel protected. I want you to feel my heart as we talk—to know that it beats for you, despite your earlier betrayal. I want you to feel the strength of my commitment.”

  She shivered, and then she gulped—and Zane suppressed a smile.

  Gods knew, he was pushing her beyond the limit, but they were running out of time.

  Slowly—oh, so cautiously—she finally let her body relax and settle into the frame of his. She placed both of her elegant hands on his arms, but a mosquito buzzing by would have made
her jump out of the water—she was that on edge.

  Zane chuckled to himself…

  Good thing they didn’t have mosquitos in Dragons Domain.

  “Now then,” he spoke into her ear. “Your ex-lover…Dan. The man you reached out to. Why, Jordan? Why did you choose him?”

  She shivered again, and he brushed his hands over her arms, knowing the chill wasn’t caused by the night—hell, the water was 102 degrees.

  She gradually settled down. “It wasn’t what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m not thinking anything,” he said. “At least, I’m not prejudging. Why did you seek his assistance above all others?”

  She grew quiet for a moment. “Logistics.”

  He smiled.

  “First, he was the only person I knew with that many connections and resources…the only one I thought could pull it off. And, beyond that, he was the only person I was certain I could reach with a letter, since I didn’t have any other means of communicating.” She paused. “Or so I thought.” There wasn’t any anger in her voice, just candid acknowledgment.

  Zane nodded, knowing she could feel the subtle shift in his chin—then he took the opportunity to nuzzle her beautiful hair. “I believe you. I do. So you no longer desire this male—you no longer share his love?”

  If her body had grown any stiffer, she would have floated away as a block of wood. He sent a gentle pulse of serenity streaming into her torso, using the tips of his fingers—it wasn’t really cheating; he just wanted to help her out.

  She sighed. “I stopped desiring Dan when I found out he was married. It took a little longer to fall out of love.”

  A feral growl rose in Zane’s chest, and he had to keep it from escaping. He felt his fangs press against his gums and immediately constrained them. “He hurt you…” It was a simple but loaded statement.