Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(54)

She seemed to have trouble breathing, and once again, she smoothed her hair. “I’d like that,” she whispered, hardly able to conceal her delight.

He stepped forward, removed the beetle from her palm, and placed it back on the stem; and then he took her hand in his and squeezed it, in a slow, gentle caress. “You’ll be hearing from me soon,” he said softly. “Very soon.” And then he gestured toward her chart. “As you know, everything went well with your surgery; you should be a hundred percent in no time, and the tumor should not return. So I think that aspect of our relationship is over.” He gestured toward the flower arrangement, bent forward to tap the head of the beetle, and winked. “But here’s to new beginnings.”

Macy couldn’t speak.

She was positively dumbstruck.

And that was just fine with Dr. Parker—no point in pushing it too far. He gave her a professional nod and sauntered out of the room.

Mission accomplished.

f

Salem Thorne waited and waited…and waited.

For Jordan Anderson to enter Macy’s room.

Dr. Parker had already done his part, and now it was up to Salem to find a way into the dragyra’s purse.

When the human female finally made an appearance, the beetle was positively stunned: She walked in with two dragyri mercenaries, and one was a Genesis Son! His father’s scent was all over him, seeping from his pores, practically oozing from his DNA.

So this was Zanaikeyros Saphyrius, the sapphire dragon’s offspring.

It was remarkable to see him in person, and for a moment, Salem had to collect his wits—every impulse in his demon heart wanted to shift, right then and there, take on the immortal dragyri, and slaughter him in Macy’s room.

He could hardly contain the desire to attack.

But—and it was a very important but—he couldn’t be that foolish.

He needed to remain steady…and calm. He needed to bide his time: A son of a dragon was not an easy creature to destroy, and the fact that Zanaikeyros had a second warrior with him made the odds nearly slim to none. The three of them would wreak havoc in the human hospital, draw a host of unwanted attention, and in the end, Salem Thorne would be mincemeat, a ground-up patty of demon sludge. The dual Dragyr were too formidable to approach…just yet.

So he observed the trio instead.

He crawled down the stem in the flower arrangement, perhaps a centimeter or two, careful to remain undetected, and he watched as the human female hugged her friend and asked a host of irritating questions: How are you? How do you feel? What did the doctor say about the tumor?

Blah, blah, blah.

Did anybody care?

He made careful note of the tension in the dragyra’s shoulders and the metaphorical elephant in the middle of the room: There was something almost palpable coursing back and forth between Jordan, the conquest, and Zane, the conqueror, something Salem couldn’t quite place.

Anger?

Distrust?

Pent-up carnal energy?

What was going on between those two?

If defensiveness and possession were a cologne, then Zanaikeyros Saphyrius had drenched himself in half a bottle earlier that morning. Alternatively, if fear, apprehension, and edginess were a perfume, then Jordan Anderson was wearing the entire flask.

Yet…

There was something else in the air.

Something pervasive and undeniable.

Pheromones?

Erotic tension?

An undeniable attraction between the two!

They were drawn to each other like moths to a flame, no doubt as a result of their fated hearts, and the spark beneath the flame was highly combustible, ready to flare at the slightest provocation.

Hmm.

How very interesting.

So Jordan thought she hated Zane and was resisting all his advances, even as her soul was seeking his. And Zane was responding like an instinctual animal, the primal beast that he was—he was marking her, dominating their interaction, and corralling her like a hunter.

No matter.

The love story was their personal problem.

Defeating the enemy, spying on the same, and getting a foothold inside Dragons Domain was Salem’s primary—and only—goal.

Jordan took a seat on the side of Macy’s bed, forcing her friend to scoot over, and Salem saw his chance: He knew his body was beginning to glow, and he tried to tamp it down as he sent impulse after impulse directly into Macy’s brain, targeting the firing neurons: Get Jordan’s purse. Set it next to your flowers. Turn the front pocket facing the ruby pendant. Do it quickly. Do it now.

“Oh, my gosh, is that a new purse?” Macy asked Jordan.

Yes! Salem thought.

Jordan glanced at her handbag, and once again, a strange, unidentifiable energy sparked between the female and Zane. “No,” Jordan said, shrugging one shoulder. “You’ve seen this bag a thousand times.”

Macy crinkled her brow. “No I haven’t!” she insisted. “I swear that’s new. It’s gorgeous. Let me see it.”

Jordan giggled at Macy’s enthusiasm, and handed her the purse. “Same ole bag,” she said as Macy held it up and admired the attractive, soft leather. She played with a zipper or two, appeared to count the pockets, and then turned up her lip in a frown. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “Hmm. It just looked different to me for some reason.” And then she set it down on the bedside table, with the lower leather pocket open and facing the pin.