Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(41)
She arched her back slightly to ease away from the contact, and Zane absently rotated his thumb along the slope of her shoulder. “It’s a beautiful land, Jordan. The colors are brighter here, the sounds of nature are almost lyrical, and everything grows to perfection—it’s almost like a garden of Eden. I think you will come to love it.”
She practically writhed, rotating her shoulder to escape his touch.
He removed his hand and brushed the back of her cheek with the backs of his fingers, instead, just a soft, gentle slide of his hand. “Dragyra,” he whispered. “What can I do to assuage your fears?”
She stiffened. “You can stop touching me for starters.”
He grimaced. “No, I cannot. Your fear is drawing me in like a moth to a flame; your unease is distressing my dragon. He can hear your heartbeat racing in your chest; he can smell your terror drifting on the breeze; and he can sense your pulse, the way your blood rushes in your veins. And all of it…all of it…awakens his protective instincts. I can’t…not touch you.” He lowered his head, rested his chin in her hair, and inhaled her feminine scent. “Breathe for me, Jordan. Slowly, in and out. It will help us both.”
At that, she seemed to bristle. “That’s an excuse, Zanaikeyros.” Wow, she used his given name. “You’ve brought me here against my will, you’re invading my personal space, and you’re using the fact that you’re a dragon to do what you please.” To his utter surprise, she wriggled out beneath his touch, faced him head-on, and squared her shoulders in defiance, her eyes remaining locked on his. “If you’re going to do something—and make excuses to do it—then just get it over with and stop playing games.” Her jaw was rebellious, but her mouth was trembling.
Zane took a generous step back. “Just what do you think I’m going to do?”
It was a stupid question.
He knew what she feared.
It was written all over her face.
“Jordan,” he intoned in a deep, husky rasp, trying to conceal his frustration. “I am not going to harm you. And I am not going to force myself on you—not now, not tomorrow, not ever.”
She visibly sighed with relief. “You aren’t?”
“No.” His tone left no room for argument.
She looked away, staring at an unidentifiable point beyond his shoulder. “Then your dragon doesn’t want…he doesn’t feel…he doesn’t have the impulse to—”
Zane chuckled aloud. He couldn’t help it. “Oh, don’t get it twisted, pretty lady. My dragon is fully male, and you…” His voice grew hoarse with conviction. “You are an amazingly beautiful woman, Jordan Anderson. Every instinct in my body is…aware. But neither I, nor my dragon, is a rapist.” She literally turned a pale shade of green, and Zane thought she was about to hit the deck. “Angel,” he said soothingly, reaching forward to frame her face in his hands, “look at me.”
She glanced at his mouth, then his nose, then the side of his face, fidgeting in discomfort.
“Look at me.”
Her beautiful hazel eyes met his, and they were moist with the onset of tears.
“If you were standing on a street corner, and you saw a child about to step out in front of a car, what would your impulse be?”
She drew back and frowned. “To stop her…of course.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “but what would it feel like…in that moment? Would you think it over? Would you weigh the implications—where is her mother; where is her father; do I have the right to intervene?—or would you possibly gasp, feel a surge of adrenaline, and dive for the kid without thinking?”
Jordan shrugged. “I would grab the kid on an impulse.”
“Yes,” Zane said, “because it isn’t a thought—it’s an urge. And in that moment, it is all-pervasive.” He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks in the gentlest of caresses. “Your fear is like that car. Your heartbeat speeds it up. Your dread provokes a surge of adrenaline in my dragon. He doesn’t think. He doesn’t reason. He only knows he must act—place himself between the danger and his dragyra, and that’s why he reaches out. It is not something I can easily restrain. But the impulse to mate—the desire to take you in my arms and make you want me, make you need me, make you mine—that is more like a hunger. It gnaws at my gut, but it doesn’t demand immediate action.”
Jordan blanched.
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
She closed it and pursed her lips together, and then stood there—just stood there—frozen like a statue.
Zane smiled. “Jordan, I have the power to help you with my mind. I can slow your heartbeat for you, if you’ll let me. I can even control your breaths. Let me hold you, dragyra, just for a time. I know you are not ready to accept this new reality—and you certainly don’t understand it—but there is a single flame that burns in your heart…and mine. That means there is a spark between us, however concealed or dormant, because the gods put it there. It will awaken on its own if you’ll let it. Let me hold you, Jordan. And let tomorrow take care of itself.”
f
Jordan’s head was spinning.
Zanaikeyros was as smooth, polished, and hypnotic as he was terrifying, and she wondered if he wasn’t using his power…already.