Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(59)
But in time—and oh, there would come a time—he would have an opportunity to make his move…
He chuckled inside, thinking about his dumb, demon luck, how Jordan Anderson had just given him the eventual solution. Of course he couldn’t confront—and defeat—a powerful, immortal dragyri, and of course, he had no intentions of alerting—and confronting—the gods.
But then he didn’t have to, did he?
Not in order to take Zane out.
All he had to do was confront—and destroy—one helpless human female.
Taking out Jordan would have the same effect, as Lord Saphyrius would be forced to remove Zane’s amulet.
If Salem could only exercise patience, continue to follow Zane and Jordan around, he would only need a second, an instant, to strike—one opportune moment to shift into demon form and seize the female’s heart. She would be no match for his cunning. Her death would be instant. And Zane…well, his goose would be cooked. And that, as they say, would be that.
Point. Set. And match.
Salem Thorne slinked further into the shadows, sickened by the ongoing display of intimacy before him, the ludicrous vulnerability taking place beneath the falls. Enjoy it while you can, Zanaikeyros, he thought. This piteous moment of endearment will soon be your last.
Chapter Twenty-three
Later that night, as Jordan got dressed for bed in Zane’s modern, luxurious bathroom, she thought about the letter she had written to Dan—the letter she would pass to him through Judge Stanley’s clerk tomorrow—and she thought about that kiss.
That sweet, sensuous, skillful kiss.
That primal, perfect, pleasurable…kiss.
The steam from her recent shower filled the space with warmth, and she sighed: Truly, Zane Saphyrius had a raging, deeply rooted fire burning just beneath the surface, and not because he was an immortal dragyri—but because his passion was intrinsic, his hunger was essential, and his primal desire was so deeply ingrained.
Jordan had felt that kiss all the way down to her toes, and it still made her weak in the knees, over three hours later.
She stepped into her nightgown, pulled it up to her shoulders, and then rubbed the palm of her hand in a circle over the massive antique-framed mirror in order to clear the fog. She took a step back, regarded her reflection, and cringed: Her eyes looked markedly tired—the orbits beneath her lower lashes seemed hollow, plus her lids seemed heavy—and her overall complexion was as pale as the dragon moon. She stared into her weary, elusive gaze and tried to search her soul: What should she do?
What should she do?
Should she tear up the letter she had written to Dan and just try—somehow, someway—to accept her fate, or should she fight for all she was worth? Time was running out—she might not have another opportunity—and she honestly didn’t know which course of action made the most sense. On one hand, if she chose to fight on and resist, the odds were against her—she would be placing Dan, and anyone he recruited, in grave danger, exposing them to a deadly predator; and she would never forgive herself if someone got hurt.
Or worse…
But on the other hand, she had always done it alone: struggled alone, triumphed alone, survived alone. And she wasn’t quite ready to give that up. She wasn’t ready to be a dragon’s consort—or whatever the term for it was.
She took a slow, deep breath and tried to recall the letter, word for word, in her mind:
Dear Dan,
I know I have insisted on maintaining silence between us, so this must come as a surprise, but I’m in trouble. Real trouble. And I desperately need your help…
Unfortunately, you will need to trust me implicitly in order to figure this out. I can only hope that you still have faith in me, that you remember my sanity—know I’ve never been crazy—and you still care enough to act swiftly, definitely, and on my behalf. Since there’s no easy way to say this, I will just jump in with the truth: Last week, I was confronted by a man who is very powerful and connected. Without getting into too many details, he took me from my apartment, brought me into his world, and I have been “with” him ever since. He has no intentions of letting me go, and I have no clear avenue of escape. Yes, he has allowed me to show up at work and other places, but he is always close at hand, watching me…guarding me. Making sure I don’t escape.
God, this sounds crazy, even to me, but it’s true.
And here’s the thing: You cannot confront this guy on your own; there’s no way you will win. Believe me—nothing is as it seems. He has the power to obliterate you and everyone around you in the space of a heartbeat. (Think about confronting a trained assassin who possesses a hidden gun, or a bomb. Think about the entire room, or building, being wired to detonate if he goes down. Then think about all the people around you, who look like they’re not involved, being there as his backup. THEN TIMES THAT BY TEN. And that is what you are up against. What I am up against.) Anything less than a full-scale intervention—quick, targeted, and efficient—will fail. And if you are foolish enough to dismiss my warning, or to shrug off my analogy as overly dramatic, then you will die. And so will many others.
I chose to contact you, rather than someone else, because you are the only person I know who a) might believe me, and b) might be capable of putting a tactical team together to get me out of this mess. Dan, do not confront him. Do not go for the arrest. Just. Get. ME. Out. And remove me to a safe, protected location…without looking back.