Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(36)

But she was determined to go through with it, just the same.

Somehow…someway…she had to change her fate. She had to get some help from the outside. And the only thing she could think of—the only person she knew would fight to the death to save her—was Dan Summers, her ex-lover. Yes, the one who had broken her heart.

But what if…just what if…she could somehow manage to get a message to Dan, an SOS of sorts? What if Dan could marshal the forces or come up with a plan…find a way to rescue her, return her to her life?

She had to try.

As she reached for a blue ink pen, scribbled on the pad to make sure it was working, and bit down on her lower lip in trepidation, she slowly began to organize her thoughts:

Dear Dan, I need your help—

She dropped the pen and shivered.

Good lord, if Zane found out—if he found the letter…

What would he do?

Would he lock her up in this room, refuse to let her go back through the portal?

Would he chain her to the lair…or the bed?

Her stomach turned over in shallow waves of nausea.

Or would he punish her somehow…actually hurt her…kill her?

No! she immediately reasoned. He wouldn’t.

He couldn’t!

His future was tied to hers; he needed her to produce an heir…another mercenary…a future servant for the dragon lords.

At least, that was what he had said, perhaps in softer terms.

Steadying her trembling hand, she reached for the pen once more, flipped the pad to a fresh, new page, and began to draft her letter:

Dear Dan,

I know I have insisted on maintaining silence between us, so this must come as a surprise, but I’m in trouble. Real trouble. And I desperately need your help…





Chapter Fifteen

Zanaikeyros Saphyrius checked his watch, just to be absolutely certain, as he traversed the outer platform of the temple, entered beneath a high, open-arched doorframe into the inner foyer, and slowly approached the sacred, cleansing fountain.

Yep, it was 6:50 PM, ten minutes before sunset, and honestly, after living in Dragons Domain for a thousand years, the internal clock was built into his DNA: Regardless of the seasons or the day, the sun always rose at 7 AM and always set at 7 PM in homage to the gods.

He ignored the eerie echo of his boots against the solid diamond floor of the foyer, even as he found himself captivated by the light reflecting through the magnificent, priceless platform; padded his way across the plush, multicolored ornamental rug situated beneath the sacred fountain; and dipped his hands in the lukewarm basin. Not unlike the Oracle Pool of pearlescent water that ran along the northern end of the inner sanctuary, the cleansing fountain contained living water, full of undulating currents—diamond, emerald, sapphire, amethyst, onyx, citrine, and topaz waves—all swirling in a luminescent pool of amalgamated power.

His hands hit the water, and he immediately felt the tug on his essence: his heat, his soul, his dragon’s inner fire.

The gods were feeding from his core.

Purifying his essence.

And registering his presence…long before he entered the actual sanctuary.

No one—absolutely no one—could ever sneak up on the gods. If one tried to enter the temple without first cleansing their hands, the handles on the doors would singe their unclean flesh, burn it to the bones. If they somehow managed to open the mammoth doors anyway, they would perish the moment their foot crossed the threshold into the sanctuary—they would simply drop dead.

The gods used the cleansing process to feed from, purify, and welcome their guests, and there was no getting around it.

Zane shook off the unsettling feeling that came over him as the lords drew from his essence: the shiver that ran up his spine as his temperature plummeted; the frost that collected along his fingertips as his heat was expunged; and the uncomfortable sensation of spiritual dispersion, the feeling of another being stirring within his soul. And then he simply withdrew his hands from the fountain, shook them out to dry, and took a deep, steadying breath as he approached the stone sanctuary doors, each one standing twenty feet high. Neither could be opened by a mere mortal.

“Eyes down.” He reminded himself of temple etiquette, preferring not to get scorched, and then he opened the door on the right and strolled into the inner sanctum.

Bright prisms of light immediately assailed his vision, but he was accustomed to the short transition, and the temporary effect it had on the eyes: The magnificent glass floor beneath him was crowned by a high coffered ceiling, which was gilded in multiple layers consisting of the seven jewels, each one refracting their light, their very essence, onto the highly absorbent floor. The effect was a stunning, blinding reflection.

In the center of the room, which was built to face the eastern wall of thrones, was a raised dais, set upon an octagon platform, made of gemstone tiles, and it was often the center of activity. At a glance, Zane noticed five of his genesis brothers—everyone but Ghost—already standing on the platform, facing the seven empty thrones; and as his eyes swept forward, a few yards in front of their feet, to the dual anchored handholds bolted to the ground—the bars Jordan would be expected to grasp as she kneeled before the Seven, awaiting the fires of rebirth—he shuddered deep inside.

Hell, that was one conversation he was not looking forward to having: telling Jordan about the conversion, the ceremony in the temple, exactly how the dragons would claim her for The Pantheon…