Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(11)
Jordan inched back until her legs scraped against the car. She opened her mouth to speak…or cry…but, once again, nothing came out. He was absolutely, certifiably insane, and she had no idea what this maniac was planning to do next. Finally, when she felt like she could at least croak out a sound, she tried to plead with him for mercy. “Zane…” Her voice was a mere whisper of her terror. “Please, just let me go. I’m not lying, playing any games, or trying to trick you, not anymore. I’m just…I’m begging you: Please, let me go.”
“Oh, angel…” He bowed his head and his eyes flashed with something akin to deep regret in them. “I cannot do what you ask. Who can reverse what the gods have decreed?” He stepped forward and leaned in—pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead—and sighed. “Go home, Jordan. We will meet again soon.”
And with that, he simply vanished from her sight.
f
Zane stood in the garage for a few moments longer—invisible—watching as Jordan climbed into her car, quickly engaged the locks, and rested her head against the steering wheel, trying desperately to breathe.
So this was her.
The woman the dragon lords had chosen for him upon his inception.
The one who would share his life and one day bear his son.
She was beautiful and smart—that was for sure—and he was still shocked by the fact that he couldn’t enthrall her, that he couldn’t compel her to do his will, with nothing but his voice. She had a very strong mind, to be certain.
He sighed, thinking of the challenge before him.
None of that mattered, really.
In ten days, he would present Jordan Anderson to the seven dragon lords, and she would kneel in the sacred temple before The Pantheon, offering herself for consecration…to be reborn…
To become Zane’s eternal mate.
And it was his job to make sure that it happened.
He hated the way the whole thing had played out, but there was little he could do to change it. Normally, he would have just taken her back to The Pantheon and dealt with the consequences there, taken some time to acclimate her to her new surroundings, but he still had a job to do for Lord Ethyron.
And he had to get it done before midnight.
Chapter Five
Zane strolled brazenly into the backyard of the two remaining gang members.
They were lounging on the front porch, listening to music, throwing up gang signs to the dark, pulsing beats, and passing a forty-ounce of what looked like Old English back and forth between their limited crew. The moment they saw him approach, the smaller of the two, a poorly dressed teenager with some sort of upside-down symbol shaved into the side of his head, pushed off his perch against the railing and sauntered to the top of the stairs.
“Yo, fool! Wassup with that shit!” he barked, trying to make his voice sound hard. “How you gonna stroll into someone else’s yard like you own the place—you high or somethin’?” He reached across his waist with a bent wrist, allowing his hand to hover over the butt of a pistol, protruding from his pants. The gesture was clearly meant as a warning.
“Nah,” his partner said, rising lazily from his deep sprawl in a rickety chair. “I think your boy just has a death wish.” The second banger was massive. He looked like some kind of gladiator with huge, steroid-enhanced biceps and two prominent gold teeth, right in the front of his grill.
“For real,” the first guy groused. He took several paces forward and strolled languidly on purpose, his body swaying in an exaggerated side-to-side swagger. “Wassup then, bruh?”
Zane rolled his eyes, but he held his tongue. He had no time for this inane banter. In a matter of moments, both of these idiots would be dead. He walked straight up to the first gangster, laughing as the miscreant drew his pistol and angled it sideways, in the most nonsensical way to point at a target, at least if you wanted to hit it.
Before the banger could even register that Zane had moved, Zane slapped the gun out of his hand, sending it flying across the yard; placed both hands on the sides of his jaw; and snapped his neck like a twig, leaving him lying at his feet as he turned toward the other gangster.
“Oh, shit!” the golden boy exclaimed, instantly swelling up with adrenaline. He drew an automatic weapon from the back of his waistband and held it forward, upright. This human wasn’t playing around. He intended to hit his target.
As he got off ten successive rounds, Zane held up his hand to catch the bullets. When the spent shells were scattered along the ground, he growled and lunged at his opponent.
“What the hell are you?” the gangster shouted, sounding curiously like a girl in his panic.
“Your mama,” Zane growled, and then he hurled a bolt of fire from the tips of his fingers, instantly melting the gun along with the gladiator’s hand, and he grasped at his throat with fully elongated fangs. Just as he was about to sink his teeth deep into the gangster’s flesh, something landed on his back, and son of a dragon, the impact felt like he had been hit by an oncoming train.
Zane released his prey and grunted in surprise. He arched his back, dropped into a squat, and spun around in an attempt to dislodge this new assailant. The dark, murky attacker dropped at his feet, his reptilian features gleaming in the moonlight as he landed between Zane and the injured human. Zane stepped away and sniffed the air. The strong scent of sulfur permeated everything, and the night grew ten shades darker. As if that weren’t enough, there were two more silhouettes rapidly advancing toward the porch: two hulking creatures slinking in the grass, eager to join their comrade.