Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(34)
“Reading my mind.”
“You’re projecting,” he whispered.
She sighed. “Stop it…please.”
He smiled. “I’ll try.”
The short exchange seemed to humor Nakai, and he chuckled softly. “Well, now that we’ve got that straight, back to the missive from the Seven?” He posed it as a light-hearted question, and Jordan felt like a heel, once again, for interrupting earlier. On the other hand, she sort of felt like slapping the dragyri for bringing it back up.
“I’m done,” she whispered, shrugging the subject off.
Nakai politely turned his attention back to Zane, started to speak in a strange, foreign language, and then immediately cut it off, switching back to English. “You’ve been summoned to the temple…at twilight…along with all the Genesis Sons. No idea what it’s about.”
Zane’s eyes shot immediately to Axe’s, and he raised his brows in a subtle question.
Axe shook his head. “No idea,” he repeated, punctuating the words with a shrug.
Hmm, Jordan thought. So were Zane and Axe closer than the rest? Did they have a special bond? Why had he looked to Axe for information? She knew she was overanalyzing everything—her mind churning a mile a minute—it was just what she did when she felt out of place.
Zane nodded slowly, then released Jordan’s waist and reached for all three of her bags. “I’ll check it out after I show Jordan to our room.”
Jordan felt her face flush, and she wasn’t exactly sure what she was feeling.
Embarrassed.
Angry.
Or humiliated.
He was going to show her to their room—like she was his.
She bit down against her lower teeth, raised her jaw, and drew back her shoulders in defiance. It was petty; it probably showed her insecurity; and it did nothing to elevate her status amongst these fearsome men—these fearsome males—but it was all she had at the moment.
Zane studied her features carefully and frowned. “Dragyra…” he whispered.
But that was all he said.
Ushering her forward by raising the duffels in the direction of the stairs, he nodded in the same direction and began to walk away.
Feeling lost, alone, and oddly tired, she followed him to the dual staircase.
What else could she do?
Chapter Fourteen
Six hours later
Since the Sapphire Lair was located within the highland region of Dragons Domain, on the western end of the province, Zane headed due east across the mountains on his way to the sacred temple. He was careful not to veer too far north, toward the Dragonian River or the Onyx Lair, lest he wander into the Garden of Grace, the final resting place of Dragyr souls: a cluster of seven white-clay mountains littered with gemstone statues, each one an eternal pillar erected from the soul of the dead.
He shuddered as he thought about the implications.
Considering the fact that he had just found his dragyra, the idea of the garden hit a little too close to home. If, for whatever reason, Zane failed to bring Jordan to the temple on the tenth day of their mating—to be consecrated by the dragon lords and reborn into the sacred pantheon—not only would she perish in her sleep that night, but Zane would find himself on that terminal mountain, a permanent fixture, erected as a pillar of sapphire stone.
He would find himself next to Jaquar…
Nothing would remain of his life but a perfect stone likeness, a sapphire sculpture raised in his eternal image. His amulet would be removed by Lord Saphyrius, and he would join all the souls that had perished before him, whether made by the gods, slain by an enemy, or born of a dragyra’s womb.
He brushed the back of his hand over his eyes, absently clutched his amulet, and turned his attention to the matter at hand: the summons he had received from the Seven, the reason he was heading to the temple.
Hells fire, it had been some time since he had gathered with his genesis brothers, and while he’d just as soon avoid the reunion, a part of him was always curious to see their faces, connect with their lives, and judge for himself how the males were evolving through time. After all, they had known each other for a thousand years.
As he climbed an especially steep incline, he thought of each Genesis Son in turn: First, there was Ghost, and gods bless the poor soul because he couldn’t help being the progeny of Lord Dragos, the darkest of the dragon lords. Since the time Ghost was consecrated, the male had been a fearsome, if not terrifying, force to be reckoned with, for sure. With irises the color of diamonds and pale, phantom-blue pupils, the male’s stare alone could send a heart into arrhythmia—it was like staring into the eyes of a Siberian husky, and the soul that leaked out beneath those ghostly peepers, well, it was dark, haunted, and angry.
Just one heartbeat away from brutality or madness.
And, frankly, who could blame him?
When Lord Dragos ordered the dragyri of the Diamond Lair to slay enemies on his behalf, he wasn’t satisfied with the mere consumption of blood, the natural act of draining a prey’s essence—consuming their fire and heat. He expected his soldiers to dine on their victims’ hearts. A dozen or so centuries of that, and yeah, crazed was the appropriate term, as well as the inevitable consequence.
And then there was Jagyr, made by Lord Ethyron, a Genesis Son of the Emerald Lair. He was a badass dragyri from the days of old, quick-tempered and hot-headed; but, thank goodness, he was quick to cool. Like Ghost, he had dark, almost-black hair, but he wore it in random, slicked-back layers and kept it rather long. His emerald eyes were offset by jet-black pupils, and he wasn’t crazy, per se. As the son of the second-most depraved dragon lord, he was just amped up, a bit too feral. He had a dark, crimson fire burning at his core, and a hair-trigger fuse attached to that flame.