Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(30)

During that time, Jordan and Zane had talked as best as they could, considering the circumstances. They had co-existed in silence when talking was too much—or too hard—and they had suffered through one and a half, long sleepless nights of him stirring restlessly on the couch, and her tossing wildly in her bed. And during that time, she had wished—more than once—that she could just jump out the window and make the nightmare end.

She had felt like a captive bird.

Both day and night.

Thirty-two hours, fifty-five minutes, and thirty seconds ensnared in the palm of his hand as they trudged through the history of the Dragyr, the culture and religion of The Pantheon, and Jordan’s own mundane human calendar, the imminent things she still had to do: Macy’s surgery on Monday, Jordan’s jury selection on Tuesday, what had to be addressed right away versus what could be moved.

For now—right now—all she could do was “go along to get along,” try to learn as much as she could about Zane and the Dragyr, do her best to appease the terrifying male, and try to figure this out with the hope that somehow—someway—an opportunity would present itself for her to escape. As it stood, Zane did not seem intent on harming her—if taking her to some creepy temple to give her to a bunch of ancient gods didn’t count as “harm”—so that was what she had to hold onto, what she had to keep reminding herself. So far, he had not tried to abuse her, physically or sexually, and he wasn’t carrying her off in chains.

At least that was something.

She watched as he pressed the button to the lobby and the elevator began to descend to the ground floor. Her head virtually swam with all the information Zane had shared with her over the past day and a half, all the bizarre but necessary questions she had asked, and all the frank yet terrifying answers he had supplied.

Zane had explained that he wasn’t a shifter, as incomprehensible as the concept had been to digest. He had told her that only the dragon lords could fly through the skies or traverse the lands as enormous primordial beasts: creatures with fully formed scales, spiked, leathery backs, and long, lance-like tails. The dragyri, themselves, were almost a separate race. They were vampiric in nature and imbued with the powers of their dragon lords—telekinesis, mastery of fire, mind control, superior speed and strength—and yes, they also needed to feed on the blood, essence, and heat of humans to reanimate their inner fires. But they didn’t turn into actual monsters, and they didn’t grow horns on their heads. They could, however, make use of scales for armor and wings to fly, so to Jordan’s way of thinking, it was a matter of degrees, a purely semantic argument.

And, honestly, that wasn’t the most troubling revelation: The sacred Temple of Seven had left her quaking in her metaphorical boots: Zane had tried his best to explain the history of the dragyra and the role the human females played in the domain, the fact that he had ten days from the date he met her to take her to this sanctuary, offer her to these gods, and perform some heathen consecration—some barbaric, ancient ritual—that would result in her rebirth.

Her rebirth.

What the hell did that mean?

She didn’t want to know—it was more than she could take.

All she’d truly understood, all she’d really been able to digest, was the fact that she would be changed, forever, somehow made immortal. And as for the sacred, driving purpose of it all? Well, that was even worse. Jordan’s purpose, at least as she’d understood it, was to bear Zanaikeyros Saphyrius a son; to provide the dragyri with an heir; to bestow upon the dragon lords another mercenary…a future servant for the domain.

It was primitive, savage, and insane.

Yet to Zane, it had all seemed so commonplace, so matter-of-fact.

The thought made Jordan’s knees begin to buckle beneath her, and she leaned against the elevator wall to keep from collapsing.

Zane immediately turned to regard her. “Are you feeling faint?” he asked.

She stared at the floor and shook her head. What was the point in telling the truth? It wouldn’t change a thing. “I’m fine,” she mumbled dryly. “So where is this portal? How far do we have to walk…or ride?” Hell, she didn’t know. Was she expected to fly with him, carried in his arms?

Zane shook his head and stared straight ahead at the elevator doors—he had already learned when to give her some space, if only with his body and his eyes. “We won’t have to go far,” he answered plainly. “Just to a private space.” He clutched the enigmatic amulet around his neck—the one, as she had learned, that gave him power and sustained his life—and cast a reverent glance at the jewel. “The portal is inside the gemstone; it’s not an actual place. As long as we are carrying your bags, and I’m touching you, I need only clutch this amulet, visualize the temple, and draw on the powers of Lord Saphyrius. The portal will open through him. The only restriction is—we must be outside, somewhere in nature, not in the confines of a building.”

Jordan winced. She couldn’t help it. The last thing she wanted was to arrive in the Dragons Domain in the presence of some ancient, bestial god.

“You won’t,” Zane offered, easily reading her thoughts. He swore he didn’t do it on purpose—read her mind, that is—it was just the fact that her emotions were so strong…so raw. According to Zane, Jordan projected words from her mind as clearly as if she were shouting. He would have to be psychically deaf not to hear her at times, but he swore he would work on dialing it down, muting it as best as he could. “The portal will take us wherever we envision—wherever I envision—when I call upon the stone.” He shrugged as if he knew the explanation was paltry. “It’s an acquired skill, not as easy as it sounds, but after so many centuries, it’s second nature by now.”