Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(78)
A single word.
“Who?” Jordan asked. She leaned in, toward him. “Zane, who is—who was—Jaquar?”
Zanaikeyros slowly exhaled. He brushed his hand through his hair and hung his head, trying to hide his eyes. “Jaquariaz Saphyrius,” he whispered, gradually raising his chin. “He was one of the original forty-nine hatchlings. We were born…we emerged…on the same day, at the same time: January 7, 1016. So, I guess we were a lot like twins.” His forehead creased into a frown, and the light in his eyes grew dim. “I don’t think we spent a day apart in seven hundred years. He was more than a brother to me—he was my closest friend.”
His nose twitched in anger, and his voice grew hoarse. “His dragyra could not be persuaded to enter the temple. She just didn’t want any part of this life. She was attached to her human identity and zealous about her religion—she saw Jaquar as some sort of evil spirit, and nothing could dissuade her.” Like a candle blown out in the night, the dim, lingering flicker in Zane’s pupils extinguished: a total eclipse of his soul. His voice was utterly hollow as he spoke his next words. “And that was a shame—for her—because Jaquariaz was, actually, the most honorable, genuine, and incorruptible male I’ve ever known. She missed out on a lifetime of happiness.”
Jordan let Zane’s words linger for several heartbeats. Finally, when she spoke, she treaded very carefully. “Jaquar is on the mountain?”
Zane nodded and looked away.
An animal in a nearby tree hooted, and it sounded very much like an owl, perhaps a little larger, more resonant…more mysterious. And in that moment, something struck Jordan deep in her soul, something she hadn’t been aware of before: It was as if the fog all around her suddenly lifted, and the sky grew unexpectedly clear—like a downpour of rain had suddenly abated, and the mist was instantly gone. For whatever reason, Jordan could see the entire horizon beyond her immediate view. She could see Zanaikeyros Saphyrius as he truly was, and she could see a crystal-clear portion of his ancient heart.
The Dragyr was a mercenary, to be sure.
He was as savage as he was handsome; as dominant as he was strong.
He was clear-headed, determined, and ruthless when he had to be.
But he was also eternally alone.
Zane had never had a mother to hold him, kiss him, or tuck him into bed. And he had never known a father in any real sense of the word. His maker was a dragon lord who demanded his obedience, rescued him when he was in trouble, but would just as soon punish him—harshly, brutally, and without mercy—if it came down to it. The dragyri had never had a sister or a brother, outside of Jaquar and his lair-mates.
And he had never had a wife…or kids.
He was a soldier for the Temple of Seven.
A hired gun…
A supernatural killer.
Who had always known war, and fire, and blood.
He hunted like a predator to feed his inner flame, to reanimate his essence, and the act was as impersonal as it was, ironically, intimate. He was a primordial, detached soul following his master’s orders and hoping to survive—for what? To live another day? Another century? Another millennium?
All of it…alone.
Despite all her inner turmoil—her personal angst and her dread—she would have had to be unfeeling—cold and entirely heartless—to not feel some compassion for this solitary male.
“I’m sorry, Zane.” She said it, and she meant it.
He nodded. “Yeah. So am I.”
She didn’t want to push the subject, dig any deeper into an open wound, but she had to know, to understand: “So, it’s true, then? A female can’t be forced to enter the temple?”
Zane met her seeking gaze, and his demeanor seemed much more calm. “It’s a matter of degrees,” he amended. “She has to enter the temple of her own volition—that is the decree. Whether that means her own decision, wish, or desire is up to debate. It is not unheard of for a gentler male to try to win his female’s heart…in only ten days…to insist upon obtaining her desire.” He leaned back in the smooth, rounded chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “But it is also not unheard of for a harder male, a more determined male, to take matters into his own ruthless hands: Friends, loved ones, and even children—nieces, nephews, and wards—have been held hostage and used as leverage. Threats have been made against entire villages and clans…potential retaliation from other members of the lair if the female does not acquiesce. At the end of the day, she has to walk across that threshold on her own. She doesn’t necessarily have to want it. Or to like it.”
Jordan gasped.
She glared at Zane as if he had just grown horns, hoping to find the truth in his eyes—which kind of male was he? The former, or the latter?
But what she saw in those golden pupils was a solid, unyielding wall, an impenetrable fortress built by a male who was just as afraid—and determined—as she was: a dragyri warrior who had lost his best friend to this cruel, unforgiving world that he hadn’t chosen, either.
She swallowed her distrust and tried to reach out…just a bit. “What do you want from me, Zane?” She practically held her breath, waiting for his answer, and for a moment, it looked like he could go either way: retreat into his hardened shell, or reach out and try to connect.
He stirred restlessly in his seat, still clinging to her hand, and then he made his decision. “I want you to try, Jordan,” he said earnestly. “I don’t know if love is possible in such a short time, although I have seen it happen. And I don’t know if there’s anything I can say or do to deepen the bond between us—in the limited time we have left. But I do know that if you keep resisting, hiding, running, there won’t be a chance for either of us. Your fate is unwanted—I get that—but is it a fate worse than death? Only you can decide. I want you to try to open your heart, try to open your mind, try to let me in, dragyra. See what might happen…between us.” He grasped her hand in his—took it back—and she was curiously relieved. “I just need you to try with me, Jordan.”