Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(9)

He leaned into her, pressed his forehead to hers, and his dark, silken hair fell forward, shrouding them in an intimate midnight curtain. “Shh,” he whispered softly. And then he pressed a finger to his lips to demonstrate the command as he slowly shook his head. “Be at ease.”

Be at ease?

Did he just say, Be at ease?

As if!

What the heck was that supposed to mean, anyway?

Jordan suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to scream—she had tried to scream—but it was like the scream was trapped in her throat. It simply would not come out. Her eyes clouded with angry tears, and she scanned the parking garage for a Good Samaritan, praying someone—anyone—would come her way. The mall didn’t close until midnight, and there was still a scattering of parked cars—they couldn’t all belong to employees.

She choked back a sob and forced herself to meet the stranger’s penetrating sapphire gaze. Dear God, he was frightening, and not even in a criminal way—his demeanor went so far beyond that. He was like fog rising off the sea, or that large spiderweb, unseen in the corner: mythical, ethereal, and a part of the shadows themselves.

And suddenly she knew…

This was what she had feared all day, the cause of that deep, uneasy stirring in her belly, not some two-bit criminal who wanted to pay her back for a perceived, wrongful conviction, not the caller who had threatened to burn her like a witch, but this man, the one standing directly in front of her.

She summoned every ounce of courage she possessed, suddenly realizing it was vitally important that she get away.

Now.

“Who are you?” she whispered. “And why are you doing this?”

He reached out to grasp her by the jaw, and she instinctively slapped at his wrist. “Don’t touch me!”

His fingers were like an iron vise, welded to her chin, permanent and unmovable. His shoulders stiffened, and he encircled both of her wrists with his other hand, locking them in a flesh-and-blood handcuff. “Do not fight me, angel,” he drawled, as if he fully expected her to comply.

Oh shit, she thought, as her knees grew weak. She hoped she hadn’t just ticked him off.

It was already clear he was crazy.

Jordan tugged at her hands, trying to wrench them free, but they wouldn’t budge; and he refused to release her.

“What is your name?” he asked.

She nearly swayed in place.

Was he serious?

“Anna,” she finally croaked out, hoping to talk her way out of the terrifying situation.

He frowned. “Your name is not Anna. Try again.”

She swallowed hard and stared over his shoulder, her eyes still scanning the garage, her soul still praying that someone might come and save her. “Look, I don’t know what you want, but trust me, you don’t want to do this.”

“I want you to look into my eyes,” he said, his voice dropping in both pitch and timbre so that it sounded like a haunting chime of bells.

She gaped at him in disbelief, even as she locked her gaze with his.

He released her wrists and clutched at a deep blue object that was hanging around his neck, some sort of gemstone attached to the end of a leather cord, like an amulet. And then, all of a sudden, the object began to glow, and she thought she smelled burning flesh. He winced in pain and released it, muttering beneath his breath: “Dear gods of The Pantheon…” His expression flashed with the strangest hint of…recognition?…and then he placed his hand in her hair; caressed a lock of her thick auburn curls; and slowly let the strands slide through his fingers. His eyes practically glowed with a reflection of ownership in their depths as he reached out to trace her bottom lip with his thumb. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Jordan visibly trembled, all the while wishing she had the courage to bite off his thumb.

Yet and still, she couldn’t scream.

She. Couldn’t. Scream.

As it stood, all she could do was stand there and gawk…and tremble…as her palms began to sweat. By all that was holy, he was the most strikingly handsome man she had ever seen, and the most frightening creature she had ever encountered. His deep sapphire eyes, with their pale pupils of gold, practically smoldered with ferocity; his harsh masculine features belied a barely leashed lethality; and his unseen aura radiated all around him in a dozen tangible waves, projecting dominance, power, and possession. For lack of a better description, he didn’t seem altogether human—why weren’t his irises white?

She shivered, trying once again to find her voice.

Why couldn’t she scream?

Jordan Anderson was a strong, educated woman. Hell, she was a prosecuting attorney, and she had spent years arguing with scumbag lawyers, reading the riot act to bad guys, and besting other, much more experienced counselors in court. She knew how to handle herself in a tight situation, but it was as if her will was no longer her own, as if this man—this being—had captured her voice and locked it away in a vault, allowing her words, but refusing to let her scream.

She knew it didn’t make any sense, but what other explanation was there?

Swallowing her fear, she tried to summon her reason and collect her wits. She tried to think like a lawyer. “Look,” she said, in as firm a tone as she could muster, “I don’t know what’s happening here, who you are, or what you think you want with me, but you have to know that I’m a criminal attorney, an officer of the district court; and that means what you’re doing right now is a felony.” She quickly shook her head and held up her hand to appease him. “But it’s okay…so far…nothing has happened that can’t be reversed. You can still walk away. You can still let me go. This can still end in your favor. If you would just take a few steps back, I would be happy to forget this ever happened. I’m sure we can come to an understanding.” She tried to soften her eyes as well as her voice. “What do you say?”