Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(55)

Good girl, Macy, Salem said in his head.

Jordan eyed the pocketbook sideways, as if she was about to grab it and take it back, and Salem sent a subtle but undeniable fog into the room to distract her: It wasn’t anything visible, and it wasn’t strong enough to qualify as a compulsion—nothing like what he had just done with Macy, which was more personal—lest one of the Dragyr sense the errant energy they were also exposed to and respond.

Zane’s spine stiffened.

The second male glanced around the room.

And Jordan forgot about the purse.

So they had all felt something, but no one had made a move toward the bag.

Salem didn’t waste any time.

He crawled across the table, as slowly as he could, and creeped his way up Jordan’s purse, ducking quickly into the stiff front pocket.

Done and done.

“When will I see you again?” he heard Macy ask.

Jordan paused for a bit—maybe she was giving her friend a hug—and then her voice turned noticeably hollow. “I can’t say for sure, Mace. I still have jury selection on Tuesday, but I’m going to have to lie low for a while, just until the…threat…is sorted out.”

Macy groaned like she was pouting. “Whoever it is that’s after you? The reason for your bodyguards?”

Jordan chuckled insincerely, and Salem knew she was trying to appease her friend. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said. “I wouldn’t say that someone’s actually after me, just that I need to play it safe. It’s…it’s a threat, and we need to take it seriously. But honestly, I’m fine.”

Macy lowered her voice and murmured, “And so are they.” She was obviously referring to the Dragyr. “You lucky, lucky girl. I’ve never seen anything like them. Holy…shit.”

Jordan didn’t answer, so maybe she just shrugged, winked, or smiled—who knew? But it sounded like Macy leaned in closer. “Well, call me when you can. I have to tell you all about my doctor—Kyle Parker—the hottie that did my surgery. He also gave me those flowers.”

Macy probably glanced at the opulent bouquet because Jordan lowered her voice. “I saw them,” she whispered in collusion, “but I didn’t want to ask anything personal in front of the men.” Whatever signals or winks they exchanged, Macy didn’t press the issue of the flowers—thank the pagan king. “Just so you know,” she murmured, “he asked me out on a date—well, he asked if he could call. I think he’s got it bad…for me.” She giggled conspiratorially, and Jordan asked her something in return, but at that point, Salem was no longer listening.

He was burrowing into the farthest recesses of Jordan’s purse, the dark, lowest corner of the front pocket, and making himself as still as the night.

He would reawaken his senses soon…

From the Sapphire Lair in Dragons Domain.

Oh, great pagans of darkness, Lord Drakkar would be so pleased.





Chapter Twenty-two

Later that night, in Dragons Domain, Zane took Jordan on a walk beneath the waterfall. The tension between them had been ebbing and flowing all day, and he wanted to offer her a retreat, a way to relax and let go…a place where she might feel comfortable, or at least a little more at home.

Lords knew he was at his wits’ end.

The permeating roar of the water drowned out most of his thoughts as he led her along a narrow, rocky trail behind the falls, to a beautiful ledge where they could look out at the cliffs. Taking a seat on a smooth, naturally polished stone, he patted the shelf beside him. “Here,” he said softly, “sit.”

Jordan hesitated for a moment before taking the seat. She absently reached behind her neck, gathered her long, auburn hair into a cluster, and twisted it into a loose knot, apparently to avoid the splash.

“It’s beautiful, no?” he said.

She nodded. “It is.” And then she shivered.

“Are you cold?” He reached out to feel the top of her arm—he was capable of raising her temperature with his touch if needed.

“No,” she muttered. “I’m fine, just…” Her voice trailed off.

“Just what?” he asked.

Her body tensed. “Just still a little off balance.”

He nodded, demonstrating his understanding. Of course, she was a little off balance—who wouldn’t be? “About earlier, our conversation—”

“No,” she interrupted, holding up her hand to stop him. “There’s no need to revisit it. You said what you meant, and so did I.” She let her head fall back, stretching, as if she were releasing some tension in her neck, and then she folded her hands in her lap. “Tell me about the temple, Zane. It’s eating me alive. Not knowing, that is.”

Zane let out a slow, exhausted breath. So much for making things better, for getting his dragyra to relax. “We have time, Jordan,” he said in a muted tone. “Not a lot, but we have time.”

“We have six days,” she amended. “Don’t you think I ought to know before then?”

He sat quietly, pondering her words. Of course she had every right to know. That really wasn’t the issue. The problem was the scope of the matter, the ferocity of the dragon lords, the reality of what conversion meant.

“I’m not…” He swept his hand through his partially dampened hair and forced himself to start again. “I’m not sure how to tell you, how to describe it. I’ve never done this before.” He flashed a crooked grin and a hopeful glance. “You’re my first—and last—dragyra, you know.”