Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(71)

Next, a sudden rise in cortisol—Jordan’s fear was notably spiking.

And last, the faintness hint of sulfur permeating the air—this could only mean one thing: the burgeoning presence of a demon or a shade…maybe both.

Stop it! Jordan shouted. You’re scaring me, Dan!

It’s for protection…trust me.

Zane had heard all he needed to hear: The well-groomed attorney was cutting himself with a knife—on purpose—to evoke protection from the Pagan Horde. He was opening himself up to intercession—and gods damn his ignorant recklessness—he was trying to mark Jordan as well.

Zane wanted to scorch the guard at the back door, smash through the first-story wall, and tunnel right through the floor, into that bunker, without waiting for any backup, but he couldn’t do it just yet…

Not yet.

Dan’s actions had altered the dynamics for everyone, and they could have extremely dire consequences.

He shoved hard at Jordan’s mind, inserting an imperious compulsion: Dragyra, back away! Do not let him paint you. And then he turned his telepathic attention on the brothers of his lair: Axe, Levi, Jace—check in! Nakai, are you standing next to the bunker?

What’s up? Nakai replied immediately, and Zane could feel the presence of the other three, tuned in to the urgent connection.

Five minutes until sundown, that’s what’s up, but I don’t think we can wait. Dan, the human Jordan is with, is a card-carrying member of the Cult of Hades; he worships Lord Drakkar. What’s worse? He just carved up his body in that bunker, and he’s trying to paint Jordan, too.

Son of a bitch, Axe snarled.

Exactly, Zane said. He’s inviting the pagans to the party. He paused to catch his breath. He also said something that set my teeth on edge—‘there are thousands of us, Jordan, tens of thousands. Judges like Theodore Moran.’

Isn’t this Judge Theodore’s estate? Nakai asked, ever the logical one.

You got it, Zane replied, biting down on his tongue, even as his dragon began to stir and smoke wafted freely from his nostrils.

Then we must assume Judge Theodore’s home is filled with occultist, channeling objects, Nakai added, things that make it easier for the pagans to appear. I’m sorry, Zane, I didn’t pay any attention to the furniture or art.

Doesn’t matter, Zane snorted. What’s sticking in my craw is this: Why did the human send the SWAT team home and replace them with a private team?

Levi dipped into that ever-present reservoir of calm, and spoke in a placid voice: Because he wanted backup of a different sort, the kind that shares his philosophy.

He wanted other members of the cult, Axe barked.

Safe to assume that, Zane said. I’m definitely getting a strong odor of sulfur coming from the bunker; what about you, Nakai?

Me, too, he answered. From both the bunker and around this outside guard.

Same here, Jace said.

Same, said Axe.

Now that you mention it…Levi chimed in. Okay, he said, turning back to strategy, so we might be dealing with both pagans and humans before the night is over. Zane, you stick with the plan—get Jordan out. That’s it. That’s all. The rest of us, we’ll handle our business.

Should we call for another lair? Jace asked.

Hell no! Axe snarled. It’s been too long, as it is, since my beast was allowed to roam free. I say, stoke the demon fires…and let’s play.

f

The sun disappeared beneath the western horizon, yielding to the night, as Zane crept up to the back porch, sidled up to the guard, and snatched him by the back of the head, grasping a fistful of hair and shimmering into full view. As anticipated, the six-foot-six hulk of a man jolted at the sudden appearance of the dragyri, slid his pointer finger onto the trigger-pull of his AK-47, and pressed the muzzle into the center of Zane’s stomach.

He never had a chance to get off a shot.

The dragyri extended his claws along the back of the sentinel’s scalp, grasped all the flesh at the nape of his neck—presumably where his Cult of Hades tattoo would be stamped—and ripped the flesh from his head, disconnecting him from the pagan underworld.

The guard shouted in agony, even as Zane slid his bloody hand along the front of the man’s throat, grasped his trachea, and squeezed, dropping him to the ground. As he snapped the assault rifle in two, then stepped over the unconscious body, he hoped the guy would not bleed out, die before he had a chance to change his wicked ways—maybe give Catholicism a try—but that wasn’t Zane’s concern.

Jordan was.

He busted through the solid back door, hightailed it into the house, and sprinted down the outer hallway on his way to the inner theater…to the top of the bunker staircase. As he ran, he could hear his brothers taking down their prey: the ear-piercing blast of Axe’s HK45 going bang! into a human skull—the guard must have been pure evil; the barely discernable hum of Jace’s Katar slicing its way through someone’s flesh—who knew if he was silencing the human for good, or just taking him out temporarily; and the harsh, flesh-on-flesh blows coming from Levi’s fists as the dragyri pummeled his quarry, preferring to fight with his powerful hands, unless and until something else was necessary.

And then the stench of sulfur began to rain down in the mansion like a torrent of wind and hail, permeating every nook and cranny and closet. The shadow-walkers were ascending from the underworld.