Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(8)

She absently glanced to the right, and her eyes locked with a stranger’s: a huge, imposing man ascending the otherwise empty stairway. She couldn’t help but notice that he was strikingly handsome—in a rugged, medieval sort of way—his hair was as dark as night; he was naturally tan; and there was something almost savage in his bearing. His ethnicity was odd…curious…indefinable…impossible for Jordan to place, and she shivered involuntarily, thinking immediately of the caller, the guy who had threatened her earlier, the one who had called her a witch.

She quickly dismissed the connection.

First, she would remember the likeness of a guy she had sent to prison, and second, she would never forget this particular man’s face.

Realizing she was staring, she nodded politely in greeting and planted another foot on another cement stair—and then she drew back in surprise.

He was practically gaping at her!

Staring straight through her.

His piercing sapphire-gold eyes were locked, like lasers, on hers.

As gazes went, it was both terrifying and ominous, as if he could see into her soul, as if he were seeking the same…

She licked her bottom lip in a nervous gesture, even as she consulted her common sense: Get a grip, Jordan. It’s just a curious glance, a fleeting intersection of eyes, the kind that happens a dozen times a day. She forced a good-natured smile and quickly glanced away, hoping to pacify his curiosity—to dismiss his attention—and to remind him of common courtesy.

As expected, the stranger followed suit.

He continued to take the stairs, two at a time, until he had passed her without incident, and then he suddenly stopped in midstride and spun around to face her.

She sensed it more than she saw it.

She could literally feel his domineering presence behind her, and despite her immediate impulse to run, she turned to face him, instead.

The stranger tilted his head to the side and emitted some strange, feral sound. It was almost like a snarl, and Jordan’s heart began to race. They locked eyes a second time, and she almost let out a yelp: He was glaring at her now, like she had stolen his firstborn child, his dark, sculpted brows creased into a frown.

She unwittingly took a step back, clutched the rail, once again, for stability, and stifled a terrified gasp. Determined to appear calm, she stuffed her free hand into her pocket, hunched her shoulders in some instinctive, submissive gesture, and slowly backed away, feeling carefully for each stair beneath her.

He took a casual step toward her, and she almost bolted.

He halted, almost as if he dared not frighten her any further, and then he did the oddest, most animalistic thing: He inhaled deeply, sniffed the air, and he groaned.

Whether it was a groan of annoyance, impatience, or anger, Jordan had no idea, but that was the final straw—she had no intention of sticking around to find out.

Releasing the rail, she spun around in a whirl, leaped the four remaining stairs—almost twisting her ankle—and took off running for her car, all the while digging frantically for her keys as she ran. She could hear the stranger’s footsteps behind her, and she cringed at the stupidity of her choice. Why hadn’t she screamed or tried to push past him? Headed back in the direction of the mall, to the safety of other people?

Rounding the corner of the parking garage, she eyed her forest-green, metallic BMW, only five spaces away, and rotated her key-fob in her hand, pressing the unlock button over and over, just to be sure it opened. She glanced over her shoulder to judge the distance between herself and the stranger, and gasped, her feet skidding to a sudden halt.

He wasn’t there.

Even though she could have sworn she’d heard his footsteps, just moments ago, the man was no longer behind her.

She pressed her hand to her heart and fought to catch her breath, feeling a curious mixture of both relief and embarrassment. She scanned the garage in all four directions, making sure she hadn’t overlooked his presence, that he wasn’t hiding behind a nearby post or a vehicle, and then she started once again for her car.

Angry tears filled her eyes as she finally reached her BMW, yanked on the door handle, and bent to climb inside.

“Stop.” An invisible hand snatched her by the arm, slammed her door shut behind her, and pressed her back against the driver’s-side panel. And then, just like that, the stranger was standing, once again, in front of her.

What the hell!?

She jolted in surprise, dropped her keys on the ground, and opened her mouth to scream; but the sound would not come out. Her eyes grew wide, and her heart constricted in her chest, beating so frantically that it pulsed in her ears. The dangerous, imposing male pressed both hands flush against the hood of her car, and caged her in like a trapped, helpless animal, framing her shoulders between two taut, muscular arms.

She dropped down, tried to duck beneath his right bicep, but it was all to no avail. He simply followed the movement of her body with his arms.

And then she foolishly tried to back up, to escape him with a twist, but once again, there was nowhere to go—the solid panel of her car was behind her. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she gasped for air. “Get away from me!” she finally bit out, shoving hard at his iron chest. Good lord, the man had to be six-foot-four, and his chest must have been made of iron, because he didn’t budge an inch. She clutched his wrists and tried to wrench his arms free from the hood of her vehicle. “Let me go!”