Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(26)
“Stop!” She practically barked the word, so great was her terror, so strong was her desire to escape his ministrations. “Please…Zane…I need you to stop.”
He backed away, rose to his full, intimidating height, and strolled across the living room to the nearest chair, where he sat down gracefully, seemingly unperturbed. The chair looked miniscule beneath him. “You are a lawyer,” he said in a seamless change of subject. It was more of a statement than a question. “Tell me about your life, your job, your work, your immediate responsibilities and obligations.”
Jordan drew back in surprise at the new line of questioning. Her eyes shot briefly to his, but his stare was too intense, too intimate…too discerning, and she had to look away. It was like he was peering into her soul. “I have a job,” she croaked. “A job that I like…that I need.” She swallowed her fear and tried to sound more confident, more self-possessed. “A job that I’m good at, and it gives me purpose.” She had no idea why she had said that—why she had told him so much with those four little words—but she almost felt as if she had to justify her existence, explain her occupation, argue for her right to continue with her life as it was.
He smiled, albeit faintly, and his rugged, flawless features were so incredibly handsome that it almost stole her breath. “I don’t think you like it, but I do think you’re good at it.” His brow furrowed, and he narrowed his gaze, as if to emphasize his point. “And Jordan, you no longer need it. Your future, your well-being, your livelihood is secure. You will never want for anything again.”
She gasped. “I didn’t ask you to take care of me. I’ve never asked anyone to take care of me.” As her anger rose, her words became clipped. “And I don’t want…whatever this is. You have no right. No right.” This time, she met his stare head-on, raising her chin and locking her gaze with his in defiance.
He seemed to become even more serene, his dark, sculpted brows relaxing above his unusual, thoughtful eyes. He sighed, and his chest rose and fell in time with his breath. “Does a doe ask to be a mammal? Does a fish ask to swim in water? Does a bear choose to live in the woods?” He frowned. “No one asks, Jordan. It just is.” He sat forward in the chair, braced both elbows on his knees, and leaned in her direction, his eyes never straying from hers. “I didn’t ask to be born Dragyr; to be a Genesis Son of the gods, a male fated to one day find a dragyra that he must claim and make his own. Why was I born to The Pantheon and not to the Pagan Realm? Why were you born to a human family when you possess a dragyra soul?” He leaned back again in the chair, this time crossing one leg perpendicular over the other. “We can talk about these things until the sun rises and sets a dozen different times, and we will never know the reasons why; but—and you must hear me, Jordan, because as I’ve said before, this isn’t a game—our time, this time, may be more wisely spent exploring pertinent questions and answers. What does this mean? What do I want? What has to happen next? Right now, I am wanting to hear from you, to learn from you—to know who you are, what you desire, and how to make this…less difficult—but at the end of the day, I have pledged my fealty to the dragon lords, the seven gods of The Pantheon. And I am not going to let you die, nor am I going to relinquish my life in order to make this easier.”
His voice grew thick with conviction. “I’m sorry…because I know this is not what you wish to hear, but it is the truth. Yesterday, in the parking garage, when you tried to scream, I controlled your voice with my mind. And yes, I did the same tonight, in order to keep you on the couch, to stop you from escaping. How did I find you? I took your blood in the parking garage, and then I traced your DNA, much like a homing signal, like a GPS. As for my ethnicity—your ethnicity—it is as ancient as time itself. We are born of magic, power, and mystical elements—we are born of the substance of gods. And I am no freer than you are, Jordan, at least not when it comes to The Pantheon, but—”
He held up his hand to assuage her terror, almost as if he knew how badly he was freaking her out, how alarming each and every word he said had to be. “But the life that I live—the one you will live—can be far freer, far more beautiful than the one you have lived until now. Those things you value, your work or your friends, they don’t have to go away. We move in and out of the portal almost every day. Those things you have learned or mastered, the law and the arts; there is no reason you cannot continue to practice them both…to exercise your crafts on behalf of The Pantheon. There is much you need to learn—and we don’t have a lot of time—yet how we choose to spend it, how you choose to make use of it, is completely up to you.”
He glanced at the front door and frowned. “We cannot stay here, Jordan. I can only oblige you for a day, maybe two, perhaps until tomorrow…Sunday at the latest. It isn’t safe, dragyra. I have enemies that you cannot even imagine. And the gods; they have laws.” This time when he sighed, he sounded truly weary, completely drained by the entire ordeal. “Ask me anything, my angel, and I will answer with the truth. Take this time I give you, to listen and to learn—to teach me what you wish—before we have to go. When I first entered your apartment, when I materialized through the walls, I only had one goal: to place a strong compulsion in your mind to stay put so I could come back and retrieve you later. But the human male who was here—the one who is no more—changed everything. Now there is no way I will leave you alone…unprotected. And I am offering you this time, in your own world, in your own familiar surroundings. Use it as you see fit.”