Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(37)
Her consecration by fire.
He strolled confidently toward the dais, pushing the thoughts out of his mind—he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
As Zane joined his brothers on the platform, the pearlescent pool on the northern end of the sanctuary shimmered with renewed vitality. The seven gemstone pillars along the western wall—each one mirroring an opposite jeweled throne in the east—practically thrummed with rising energy. And the seven empty thrones, each one constructed from its ruling lord’s essential gemstone, radiated light and heat.
“What’s up,” he barked to all five Genesis Sons. “Where’s Ghost?”
Jagyr, Blaise, Brass, and Ty all grunted in reply; whereas, Nuri angled his head and bit out a curse in Dragonese. “He’d better get his ass here soon,” he snarled.
Before any of the Genesis could reply, the doors to the sanctuary flew open, and in strolled Ghostaniaz, his raven-black hair mussed in several places, despite the shorter length; his phantom-blue pupils, stark with intensity against his pale, diamond irises; and his heavily muscled arms flexing beneath the sleeveless black tee he was wearing. Heavy boots pounded the tile as he made a beeline for the center dais.
“Miss me?” he growled in that deep, caustic voice, taking his rightful place across from the center diamond throne—the throne of the first dragon lord, Lord Dragos.
Taking the warrior’s hint, the other Genesis shuffled into place, until each was standing opposite their ruling lord’s throne, facing an opulent gemstone cathedra that matched their governing lair.
“Cutting it pretty close, aren’t you?” Jagyr snarled, the amped-up male being true to form.
Ghost didn’t balk. He just cut those cold, brutal eyes at Jagyr, turned up his lip, and brushed some lint off his tee. “What the hell is this about?” he asked, speaking to no one in particular.
Ty, the peacemaker, shrugged his shoulders and exchanged a glance with Brass, another male who was easy enough to get along with. “No idea. You?”
Brass shook his head. “Might have something to do with Zane.”
Zane stiffened at the mention of his name. “Me? What makes you figure?”
Brass furrowed his brows, as if thinking it over. “You found your dragyra, right?” He posed it as a question, but he already knew.
Guess news traveled fast…
Zane nodded. There was no point in trying to keep it a secret. Everything that happened in the Dragons Domain affected all of the Dragyr—his genesis brothers had a right to know. “I did,” he said succinctly. “Friday night.”
At this, Nuri’s harsh but chiseled mouth curved up into a sly, mischievous smile. “What’s her name?”
“Jordan,” Zane supplied, not liking the quirk in Nuri’s top lip—it was too insinuating.
The jokester licked his lips. “Pretty?”
Zane snarled reflexively. “Off limits,” he replied.
Nuri laughed out loud. “Ah, then she is pretty…very pretty.”
“She’s smart,” Zane countered. “Very smart.” Of course she was pretty—stunning, actually—but Nuri didn’t need to know that.
Sensing that Zane’s dragon was rising, Nuri immediately backed off. He was all about the pranks and jokes—though it was never a good idea to cross him—but at his core, he was also loyal and decent. Respect was the name of the game when seven dragyri males gathered together. “Well, I’m glad that you finally found her,” he said in an even tone of voice. “A thousand years is a long time to wait.”
The comment did not fall on deaf ears.
Other than Tiberius, better known as Ty, none of the Genesis had met their fated yet, and it was a sore subject among the aboriginal crew. The Dragyr were high-strung by nature; they needed a calming influence to counterbalance their primitive natures, and loneliness was a whole other issue—there was something to be said about having a mate.
Before anyone could comment, the partition behind the seven thrones began to sway, to undulate from the kinetic power of the dragons stirring behind it—
The lords were about to take their thrones.
As was custom in the temple, Zane and the other Genesis immediately bowed their heads, dropped to one knee, and clutched their amulets in their right hands. They would remain in that position until their lords released them.
Consequently, Zane felt—more than he saw—the presence of the dragons as they took their respective seats, in the order of their rank, settling from the center outward. He knew by experience that they would be in amalgamated form—they would not appear as giant beasts with scales, pointed ears, and jaws filled with wicked teeth, but as bright prisms of light reflecting the hues of their primary stones, their bodies outlined as human, yet translucent and ethereal to the touch. In short, they would appear as a combination of the two species: clearly dragon in nature and silhouette, but human enough to perch on their thrones.
The suspense of their entrance having subsided, the sanctuary grew deathly quiet, and Zane knew the lords were in their rightful places…watching…waiting…observing the males.
The Genesis didn’t move a muscle.
“Sons.” Lord Dragos spoke first, as was proper, and the dark, malevolent cast of his voice echoed through the hall and reverberated in the rafters.
The males genuflected in reply, their heads dipping lower in obeisance.