Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(65)

Chapter Twenty-six Once they had made it out of the courtroom, Jordan did not need any encouragement to keep up with the men. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, dove into the service elevator, right next to Dan, and descended along with the tactical crew of five to the basement floor of the plaza. The doors immediately opened into a parking garage, where a dark blue van was waiting.

The engine was already running.

The side door was already open.

And the driver’s seat was already manned.

Jordan didn’t hesitate. She scrambled into the hollowed-out vehicle—Dan was right on her heels—and scooted along the floor to make room for the tactical crew members. “Where are we going?” she panted, watching anxiously as the last of the five slammed the door shut.

“An empty, gated estate, about five miles away,” Dan huffed, as clearly winded as Jordan. “It belongs to a federal judge who’s received a lot of death threats—he has a bunker in his basement, and it’s a virtual vault.”

Jordan nodded, still catching her breath.

In a matter of minutes, they were speeding out of the garage, with the tires screeching behind them. They headed north, away from the courthouse, and turned in to a narrow back alley.

Jordan pulled her knees to her chest, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and tried to clear her mind. She was grateful that there weren’t any windows in the back of the van—she could only peer through the front windshield—otherwise, she would constantly watch for Zane.

As the realization of what had just happened—what she had just done—slowly sank in, she felt like she might be sick.

Holy Saint Barbara, protect me from harm…

What had she set into motion?

What had she done to Zane?

The dragyri would never be defeated by the likes of Jordan, Dan, and a handful of human warriors—he would never be outmaneuvered by their pitiful, inferior tactics. Holy hell, both Zane and Levi had simply vanished in the middle of the fray—simply rendered themselves invisible in the middle of the gallery—but not before Zane’s eyes had begun to glow, and his fangs had extended into sharp, bestial points. Not before those sapphire eyes had registered rage and madness…and absolute determination.

God save them all, Zane’s dragon was pissed!

And what must he think of her now?

Her teeth began to chatter, and she started to rock back and forth on the floor of the van, appreciating the fact that she was finally losing it: For the first time, since all of this had happened, Jordan was this close to flipping her lid, relinquishing her sanity for good. And it wasn’t just the fear—the terror of it all. It was the deep, gnawing, inexplicable guilt, an emotion that was mounting—and spreading—like a radiating pain, traveling outward through her torso from the center of her chest.

Either that, or she was about to have a heart attack.

Damn, it felt like someone had just impaled her with a spike.

As she placed her hand over her heart, trying to measure the erratic beats, the van pulled out of the alley, crossed three lanes of traffic, and darted onto the on-ramp of the freeway. She let go of her heart and held onto a metal ring sticking up through a torn piece of carpet, dissecting the vehicle’s floor.

And the nausea swelled.

It roiled in her stomach.

As wave after wave of vertigo assailed her.

She could only describe the feeling—the rising illness—as being in shock, but not the kind of shock that left the mind empty and blank, or the senses unaware. If anything, this was the opposite condition: Her mind was anything but empty, and her senses were acutely on board—registering the fact that she had just lost something…left something…incredibly important behind.

Something wholly fundamental to her well-being.

For lack of a better explanation, Jordan felt like a wolf who had been caught in a snare for days: desperate, hungry, and dying inside. In her panic and her angst, she had chewed through her leg to escape—she had severed a part of her body in a reckless grasp for her freedom—and only now was she beginning to feel the pain.

None of it made any sense.

She didn’t care what happened to Zane—did she?

And all that cryptic talk about death and dying—that had just been hyperbole, right?

Zane would be fine without her, perhaps a little lonely, but fine.

So then why was this…sensation…so great?

Physical, spiritual, almost existential.

And completely unexpected.

“Jordan. Jordan!” Dan’s voice was growing harsh with urgency. “Snap out of it, Anderson!”

She blinked three times. “W… w…what?” she asked. Had he been speaking to her for a while?

“What the hell is going on?” he practically shouted, brandishing her letter in his hand. “Who was that guy, and what’s been happening? Jordan, you need to start talking, and fast! I don’t know what we’re up against. I don’t know how to protect you, other than to take you to this bunker. You need to help me out—because this letter? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Jordan nodded her head and licked her lips, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Every head in the van had turned in her direction, and every ear had just perked up. Shit. Just shit. She hadn’t thought this through, and she certainly hadn’t thought about sharing any part of her ordeal with anyone other than Dan.