Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(46)
“Then cook the shit yourself,” Jace snarled, eyeing the charcoal-colored dust now dotting the dragyri’s plate.
Jordan jerked back in her chair and gasped.
More raucous laughter echoed around the table before Zane cleared his throat and projected his voice. “Hey!” He had the room’s immediate attention. “Take it down a few notches—you’re scaring my dragyra.” He leveled his gaze at Jace before eyeing the entire room. “And watch your language…all of you.”
More laughter began to ensue, when all of a sudden, it was simply cut off.
Like someone had pressed mute on the nook’s remote.
All five males stirred in unison: scooting back their chairs, standing to their full, domineering heights, and stepping gracefully to the sides of their seats. Then they each fell to one knee, bowed their heads, and clutched their sacred amulets.
Jordan’s mouth dropped open.
Was this some sort of archaic, over-the-top, caveman apology?
Was it meant for her?
Surely not.
She absently glanced toward the head of the table, and she immediately knew what all the fuss was about.
Her heart nearly seized in her chest.
Standing like a giant prism of sapphire light, his presence utterly filling the room with kinetic energy, was the outline and ethos of a terrifying man, flanked by the silhouette of a ferocious dragon. And without being able to explain how she knew, Jordan was absolutely certain: The beast in the background—the mirrored soul hovering in, around, and atop the semi-human form—was only a fraction of its true, colossal size.
His power radiated outward.
The temperature in the room increased by several degrees.
And the light reflecting from the depth of the dragon’s core virtually undulated in waves, making curious, ambient sounds, like whales in the depths of the ocean, or ancient pterodactyls screeching in a prehistoric sky.
It wasn’t particularly loud.
It was eerie.
It was haunting.
It was petrifying.
And Jordan wanted to crawl through her chair, melt into the floor, and become one of the travertine tiles.
“Sons.” The fearsome lord spoke only one word, yet the power in his otherworldly voice rocked the rafters and shook the chandelier, causing the seven dimly lit globes within it to radiate sapphire light.
Jordan’s hands trembled uncontrollably.
She didn’t know what to do—should she kneel on the floor with the rest of the Dragyr; bow her head in homage to the fearsome god; or apologize for being in his lair? She had a sinking sensation that she was a heartbeat away from the end of her life, a mere twinkling from being scorched into dust…just like Nakai’s link of sausage.
“Father…” The dragyri males spoke the word in unison—did they choreograph this stuff? And why Father? Why not lord…or my god? Jordan shook her head—she thought Zane was the only biological son.
“Rise,” the dragon said.
And all five males stood up.
“How may we serve you, Lord Saphyrius?” Axe said next, and Jordan nearly quaked in her sandals.
She crossed her arms over her chest, hugged her midriff snugly, and stared down at her lap—she honestly didn’t know what else to do.
“The dragyra,” the dragon lord said. “I wish to meet my daughter.”
Oh, no-no-no, she thought as she swayed in her chair.
Zane reached out to steady her back with the palm of his hand, and then he placed his fingers beneath her elbow and nudged her gently upward, directing her to stand. She couldn’t do it, not on her own volition, and he had to give her a tug.
“Jordan Briana Anderson”—how did Zane know her middle name?—“I present you to Lord Saphyrius, third deity of the sacred Temple of Seven, ruler of Dragons Domain, creator of the dragon sun, the dragon moon, and the Dragyr race, and keeper of the sacred sapphire. God of my pantheon, father of my heart—and my blood—and master of the Sapphire Lair. Honor him with your silence.”
Holy shit…
She gulped.
Then she curled her lips inward and bit down with her teeth, determined not to make a sound. The fearsome lord—and his shadow-dragon—began to draw nearer; and like light switching from one source to the next—one candle extinguishing, another igniting—the outline of Lord Saphyrius, the “man,” faded into the background, while the silhouette of the dragon grew stronger…more detailed.
More ominous.
The dragon drew back like an ocean wave retreating from a sandy shoreline, and then his neck craned forward in a creepy, meandering motion. His massive head, festooned with haunting, almond-shaped eyes, traversed the expanse of the table and came to rest, eye to eye, with Jordan. Her knees knocked together, but she was too hypnotized, too beguiled, too terrified to even blink.
The dragon’s scaly nose wrinkled as he sniffed her, and his eyes grew disturbingly narrow, blazing with sapphire flames in their depths, as he appeared to search her soul, much like Zane had done the first night she had met him.
Don’t flinch; don’t flinch; don’t flinch, she told herself, but despite her best efforts at self-control, Jordan drew back her head and cast her gaze to the side, unable to meet his eyes.
Lord Saphyrius regarded her circumspectly, for what felt like a thousand years, and then he simply meandered backward—recalling his dragon and reclaiming his mostly human form—and nodded his regal head. “Welcome to the Sapphire Lair, my daughter”—he practically purred the words—“I am pleased that you are home.”