Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(25)
Zane nodded. “I’m sorry about your grandmother.” A faraway look flashed through his sapphire eyes, but only for a moment, and then he briskly changed the subject. “Daughters of The Pantheon are almost always alone in the world until they find their dragyri.” He softened his voice. “The room across the hall from your master, the spare bedroom, it’s full of paintings: easels, canvasses, and oils. You’re an artist?”
Jordan wrinkled her nose. She didn’t know if she would go that far—it was more of a hobby. “Yeah, sometimes.”
His golden pupils lit with interest. “The waterfall—how old is it?” He quickly held up his hand before she could answer. “How many times have you painted it?”
Jordan shrugged, not understanding his line of questioning. “It… I…” She shook her head in frustration. “What difference does that make? I like landscapes, especially water. What does that have to do with anything?”
Zane reached into the collar of his boot and slid two fingers inside the lining, opening a hidden flap that was sealed with Velcro. He retrieved a compact silver cell phone and raised one shoulder in a casual what can I say? gesture. “We don’t have much use for these where I come from—we pretty much communicate with our minds—but when in Rome, or on the other side of the portal, we do as the locals do.” He let his explanation linger while he opened the phone, swiped a couple of bars, and scrolled through a screen full of pictures. When, at last, he came to a landscape, he selected a photo, expanded the image, and rotated the phone so she could see it more clearly.
It was a gorgeous photograph of a magnificent waterfall, at least sixty feet in height, flowing out of a grand, enormous canyon, and fringed by autumn-colored trees; and every single detail in the picture—from the rugged, towering rocks behind the falls, to the V-shaped crevice at the water’s peak, to the serene sapphire sky that arced above the ravine—was an exact, errorless match to Jordan’s oil painting, a landscape she had painted at least a dozen times.
An unwitting tear escaped her eye, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “Where is that?”
Zane glanced at the picture and sighed. “It’s the waterfall behind the Sapphire Lair. My home. The home of the dragyri warriors, those consecrated to Lord Saphyrius. Your home, Jordan.”
Jordan shook her head insistently. “No. No!” She tried to backpedal away from him on the couch, only to realize she had nowhere to go. She was as far away as the cushions would allow. She crossed her arms in front of her, instead, creating a worthless barrier.
Zane’s eyes missed nothing. He noticed her defensive posture, but he still pressed on. “I am the son of dragons, Jordan.” He repeated the claim, so matter-of-factly, and then he held out his arm, turned it over, and coated his flesh in scales: hard, reptilian, immaculately layered scales. He rose from his squat on the floor, took three generous steps back, and stretched both arms to the sides, like an eagle about to take flight. With a punch and a pop, a pair of satin dark-brown wings shot forth from his back and fluttered gracefully behind him. He closed his eyes for the space of two heartbeats, and when he reopened them, they were glowing crimson red.
“Enough!” Jordan shouted, now trembling from head to toe. “That’s enough!”
Zane dropped his arms to his sides, relaxed his brawny shoulders, and the wings retracted—they simply disappeared. He pumped his fist, and the scales vanished. He blinked three times, and his eyes once again became sapphire and gold.
“Angel,” he murmured tenderly, “this is not a game. And I am not a madman. Nor am I a human. Listen to your heart.” He took those same three steps forward, swiftly closing the distance between them, and knelt again in front of the couch. “You saw the waterfall and the fire in your blood, and you recognized my words. You already knew them.” He reached out to brush his thumb against her cheek, and then he cupped her jaw in his hand. “I know you’re terrified, but listen to your soul, dragyra. What is it telling you? About yourself? About me?”
He leaned toward her, and God have mercy, for a moment, she was absolutely convinced he was going to try to kiss her. His mouth hovered perilously close above hers as he whispered: “What did you dream of as a girl?”
And then he did it.
He kissed her.
Softly.
Gently.
Just a feather-light touch: his thick bottom lip grazing hers, his firm top lip pressing tenderly.
“What have you wished for all your life?” He nuzzled her neck with his cheek and whispered in her ear: “What freedom? What justice? What security? Are you more at home on the beach or in the mountains? Are you afraid of heights, or do you seek them out?” He glanced over his shoulders, toward the stunning row of floor-to-ceiling windows, ignoring the presence of the closed pastel curtains. “How much do you pay each month to live on the top floor of this building, for the amazing view, just to glimpse the purple sunsets? Why do you need that…so much?” He pulled back, just a small increment, and searched her eyes.
Jordan reached up to tuck a thick spiral of auburn hair behind her ear—it was a nervous gesture, and her hand was trembling.
Zane took her hand, held it in his, and applied gentle pressure until her fingers stopped quivering. “You are no longer alone, my angel.” He spoke each word with deliberation, and then he traced the pad of his forefinger along the contour of her upper lip. “Jordan…”