Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(63)
He had a chance to alter the state of their domain, a chance to destroy one of their cherished Genesis Sons.
He sharpened his long, pointed nail on the side of the parapet and stared at the thick, murky haze that permeated the underworld’s sky. Now that Salem Thorne was safely sequestered away, ensconced in Dragons Domain, Lord Drakkar Hades needed to alter his plan—there was no point in using Dr. Kyle Parker and his newfound love interest, Macy Wilson, to try to get to Zane when Salem could strike directly at Jordan himself. The ancient demon had already transmitted his plan, and Drakkar had quickly agreed—“By any means necessary,” he had told his wicked servant. “Take the female down at your first opportunity.”
As for Salem’s previous work, the thorough and effective compulsion he had placed in Kyle Parker’s mind, Drakkar had no intentions of pulling it back: One never knew how things might turn out; it was always prudent to have a plan B. If for some ungodly reason Salem failed to get to Jordan, then at least the backup avenue was still in place; and besides, Lord Hades was known to have a plan C—or in this case, a D—up his sleeve from time to time. Things he didn’t share with his counselor…
He sighed, feeling a bit of melancholy and monotony right now—things never moved as quickly as he hoped. Still, all was on schedule, plans were unfolding, and he had lived for fourteen billion years—he could certainly exercise a modicum of patience for a few more days…see what panned out.
Chapter Twenty-five
District Courtroom ~ 1:00 PM
Zane sat in the back of the courtroom in a hard wooden pew, trying to get comfortable on the stiff, unforgiving wood. There were a dozen or so spectators scattered about the audience, including Zane’s lair-mate Leviathon, since Axe had been busy and unable to come. Both Zane and Levi had been approached by the bailiff the moment they had walked through the doors, and asked to remove their shades—apparently, sunglasses and hats weren’t allowed in the courtroom.
On first impulse, Zane had bristled—the hell they aren’t—and considered searing a quick compulsion into the bailiff’s mind, but on second thought, he had taken off the sunglasses, because all the other spectators would notice them, too—and then he would have to control them all. As it stood, both he and Levi had to throw up a soft, energetic barricade in place of the glasses, shield their eyes with a mental distortion—like a faint, hazy fog—so if other humans glanced in their direction, they would only get a dim impression of their otherworldly peepers.
Those damn sapphire irises that stood out like bright red paint on a pure white canvas.
So far, the morning had been mostly uneventful. Jordan and her partner, along with the defendant’s defense attorneys—three middle-aged white males with cheap blue suits—had taken turns questioning potential jurors and letting the judge know if they were acceptable or not.
While slow and monotonous, the process had also been somewhat fascinating, at least in so far as it revealed more about Jordan’s mind, her analytical abilities, and her legal skill. She was tough, and she was smart. In almost every instance, when Zane could read the human’s soul, delve into their mind, and retrieve their true motivation, Jordan also hit the nail on the head. She knew who they were, what they were really about, and any preconceptions about the defendant in the case.
Only Jordan did it from experience. She read their body language, listened to their speech, saw beneath their facades. There was one guy, however, a forty-something dad Jordan had missed: He had a misogynist bent the size of Texas, which made him biased against the People’s case, against the pretty female attorney, but he hid it beneath a soft, self-effacing demeanor.
Still, all and all, she was incredibly skilled at her craft.
“How do you feel about minority-owned businesses? Do you have any preconceptions or internal biases?” A defense attorney was questioning potential juror number fifty-two when all of a sudden, the air in the courtroom turned…frosty.
Zane swiveled his head to the side and met Levi’s corresponding stare—so his lair-mate had felt it too, a shift in the energy that wasn’t based on actual temperature or a sudden change in the climate, but a feeling of malaise.
What the hell? Zane thought.
He sat forward in the pew, all five senses seeking outward, on hyper-alert.
And that’s when the mayhem ensued: The courtroom audience gasped, Jordan spun around at her table, and the bailiff crowded the judge as the main doors to the courtroom, along with the back door to the judge’s chambers, swung open with a clattering bang.
An entry team of five amped-up, brawny men, each carrying his own submachine gun—three strapped with concussion grenades—stormed into the courtroom: two from the main doorway; two from the judge’s chambers; and one from the jury-room door. At the same time, a tall black male and his short Asian partner both took positions on opposite sides of the wall, each pointing deadly sniper rifles right at the courtroom audience.
“Everyone get down!” the point-man for the team of five shouted, as two other tactical watchdogs, those who had entered through the main courtroom doors, rushed down the center aisle, dashed past the courtroom bar, and headed straight for the plaintiff’s table—coming way too close to Jordan.
Zane shot up in his seat, primed for a fight and ready to deflect anything that came his way, even as both snipers adjusted their rifles and aimed their barrels in his direction. A bright beam of glowing red light illuminated over his chest, even as a second beam—that he could feel, not see—appeared over the space between his eyes. His top lip twitched, his fangs descended, and he began to snarl…