Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(49)
Okay, Macy surmised: So why are you lying to me, Jordan? And what are you leaving out? But now was not the time, or the place, to confront her. “So is that why you haven’t returned any of my calls?” she asked, trying desperately to keep her eyes fixed on Jordan.
It wasn’t an easy task…
Jordan winced, and the look of apology that flashed through her eyes was truly painful to witness. “Oh my God, Macy. I am so, so sorry.” She dropped her head in shame. “And I told you I would be there if you needed me. To call me anytime…”
“Hey,” Macy said, pitching her voice in a no-nonsense tone. “If you’ve been in trouble…in danger…then no worries, Jordan. It’s okay. Seriously. I’m just glad you’re safe.” She raised her eyebrows in question. What the heck was going on?
Jordan shook her head. “I’ll tell you more about it later. Honestly, I will. Right now, I just want to hear more about you. How are you feeling? How are you doing? I see you’ve already got your IV—did it hurt going in?” She made an unpleasant face, scrunching up her nose. “I know how much you hate needles.” And then she quickly changed the subject. “Are you ready for the surgery—to be rid of the unwanted cargo?” She winked, clearly trying to cheer Macy up.
Macy hesitated to answer.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to change the subject so quickly, and Jordan was clearly nervous—all over the map, in fact—changing subjects way too rapidly. But Mutt and Jeff, as Jordan had so affectionately called them, were looking distinctly out of place, their large, intimidating bodies filling up the tiny cubicle; their deep, even breaths sucking all the oxygen out of the room; and their curious, covert sunglasses making them look like high-strung spies.
She needed to calm this crew.
Restore some normalcy to the room if she could.
“Well,” she said, with an airy breath, “you look beautiful as always.” Her eyes swept over Jordan’s summer dress. “Breezy, stylish, and ready for the day.”
The dark-haired male glanced at Jordan, and despite the concealing shades, Macy shivered inside. That look. That heat. That obvious…possession. There was nothing professional—or strictly protective—in that glance.
What. The. Hell. Was. Going. On?
She smiled and patted the side of the bed. “Come. Sit beside me.” She giggled. “Hold my hand.” She wished she could tell her bestie all about the fine Doctor Parker, but the conversation would have to wait. “Maybe we can watch some TV until it’s time for my sleepy meds.”
Jordan nodded, seeming relieved by the offer. She strolled across the room, took a seat on the edge of the bed, and grasped Macy’s hand, gripping it far too tight for the situation.
Hmm.
As the bodyguards found two chairs and dragged them toward the back of the space, Macy began to feel more and more on edge.
She couldn’t pinpoint the reason or identify the origin—her best friend being in danger, notwithstanding—but there was just something almost fatalistic in the room.
A sense of looming dread—or impending doom.
That feeling people get when the hairs on the back of the neck stand up because they sense they’re in mortal danger. For lack of a better comparison: the recognition of prey in the presence of a predator.
Macy squeezed Jordan’s hand in return.
It was no longer clear who was comforting whom.
f
Jordan felt like a total jerk.
Other than a short text here and there, on Saturday, saying “how are you” and “I’m okay,” she hadn’t been there for Macy over the weekend, and now, she was making matters worse.
What had she been thinking?
Or course, she also knew the drill—what Zane would do eventually.
At some point, before the day was over, probably in Macy’s recovery room, he would make some feeble excuse to saunter to the side of her bed, place his hand on the top of her forehead—or remove his shades to reveal his otherworldly, hypnotic eyes—and implant whatever impressions, memories, or story that he chose: Macy would wake up from her surgery forgetting that she had ever seen the Dragyr: Zane and Axe. She would buy—hook, line, and sinker—the story that Jordan had taken a couple weeks off to reboot and recharge, beginning Wednesday, after her jury selection on Tuesday. And then, slowly, over time, Zane would help Jordan explain things to Macy, leaving out anything that was too hard to digest, replacing truth with fantasy when necessary, and filling in the holes with things that Macy would automatically believe—because Zane had told her to believe them.
What kind of friendship was that?
Was it even fair to continue, going forward?
Jordan sighed, feeling the full weight of her fate upon her shoulders, understanding, yet again, just how dire her circumstances were, how desperately she needed to find an out-clause.
Licking her bottom lip, she thought about her cell phone, tucked safely away in her purse, and prayed that there had been a strong Wi-Fi signal in the hospital parking lot before the three of them had entered the building. She had scripted a text to Dan before they’d left the lair—earlier, while she was still in the bathroom—and she had subsequently placed it on “auto send, then delete” just to be safe.
In other words, as long as her cell was working properly, the message would go through the moment the device came in contact with a signal, and then the text would be promptly erased.