Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(57)
She simply began to sob into his chest, like a child coming apart, her streaming tears blending seamlessly into the cold, drenching water.
Zane didn’t try to stop her.
She needed to let it out.
She needed to release all that terror and angst, and he had been unforgivably remiss to underestimate the depth of her pain. Of her horror. Dear gods of The Pantheon, he had almost lost her.
“I swear to you, Jordan,” he breathed huskily in her ear, even as he retracted his wings, “I will be there with you…every step of the way…every second of the rebirth. And I will shield you from all that I can. The worst of it will only last for a moment. Angel,” he beseeched her, “I’m terrified, too. I will be the one who is burned by the fire; I will be the one who feels all the pain, all the heat, whose body is scorched and blistered. I will be the one who endures all thirty seconds…for you…for us. And I swear on the sacred stone of my maker that I will not fail you in that task. I will shield you, Jordan. On my honor as a dragyri, I swear it.”
She continued to cry for what seemed like an eternity, her body too limp to hold itself up, and then she slowly found her footing and pulled away.
There was no way—no way—he was letting her go. He grasped both wrists in an iron clasp and searched her eyes for proof of lucidity.
She cleared her throat with a hollow sound. “How bad will it get, Zane, for me?”
He searched his heart for the truest answer. “By the time that moment comes, the final three seconds before…expiration: It will pass so quickly it will hardly be felt or remembered.”
She shook her head and tried again. “How bad?”
“You will feel it, love, for just that instant.”
She nodded faintly, as if coming to terms with the truth. “And the rest? The other fifty-seven seconds?”
Zane sighed in relief. This, at least, he could tell her without cringing. “I have been told by other dragyra that the first twenty-seven seconds are uncomfortable and frightening. It is not unusual for a female to panic—it’s loud, it’s powerful, it’s consuming. But not because of any pain. The next three seconds, when the fire is the hottest, when some of it breaks through, it is as I have told you, but it passes very quickly. And then, when the healing begins, during the last thirty seconds, it’s supposed to feel like a cooling balm, one of the most pleasurable sensations you have ever felt—soothing, empowering, invigorating.” He chuckled, albeit weak and insincerely. “Believe it or not, I have been told that the ecstasy, the euphoria of those last thirty seconds is so intense, so divine, that if it were a drug, we could sell it at a premium. The temporary…discomfort…is worth the sacrifice just to experience the indescribable high.” His voice thickened with the intensity of his conviction. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Jordan. That is what I’ve been told, and there has never been an exception.”
She peeked at him through tear-drenched lashes, and her beautiful eyes looked pained, but alert. And then her eyebrows furrowed. “Does the healing fire, the last thirty seconds, restore you, too? Or will you continue to suffer?”
Zane drew back in surprise, his mouth growing suddenly dry. “I…I’ll be fine, angel.” He tried again. “The silver-blue fire will heal me, too—I will not continue to suffer.” He was stunned that she had even considered his suffering.
She nodded slowly, and then she sighed. “So, basically, I really shouldn’t tick you off between now and then, should I?”
He knew it was her feeble attempt at a joke, a way to try to ease the tension, albeit dismal, but it wasn’t funny—not in the least. “Don’t even think like that,” he admonished her. “There is nothing—absolutely nothing—you could ever say or do that would make me withdraw my protection from you. I would be less than a male, less than a dragyri—I would be unworthy to draw another breath…” His voice trailed off, and he had to take a moment to subdue his inner fire. “I will shield you, angel. Of that you can be sure. I am not a virgin to the ways of the gods, to the Temple of Seven, or to the scourge of fire. I have served and protected The Pantheon for a thousand years. And now…I also serve you.”
This time, it was Jordan who drew back in surprise, her soft hazel eyes growing dark with intensity: Had something he said finally broken through?
Zanaikeyros held his breath.
She stared at him acutely, like she was scrutinizing his face, like she had never laid eyes on him before. Her gaze swept over his brow, then down the straight ridge of his nose, and back and forth across the high, rugged angles and deep, furrowed planes of his cheekbones. And then she studied his mouth—was she searching for a hint of bestial fangs, or somehow measuring his sincerity?
Her mouth parted in the barest hint of a cautious smile, and Zane’s heart slammed in his chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered faintly. “That I jumped into the falls, and that you have to endure so much agony…on my behalf. I know this is awful for you, too.”
Her words were plainly…staggering.
Heartfelt.
Compassionate.
And so unexpected.
In the midst of her terror and forced captivity, she had stopped to think of him.
Zane cupped her face with exquisite gentleness, staring into her eyes. “I said it earlier, and I meant it then: I would move heaven and earth for you, Jordan. As much as you are mine, I am yours. We are truly in this together, and I won’t let you down.”