Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(92)

Jordan stared at the doorway and blanched. She swallowed several times, almost convulsively, and her teeth began to chatter. She looked at Zane; then she looked inside the sanctuary; then she looked back at the open foyer behind them.

He held his breath.

She exhaled loudly, then shook out her hands, seeking to dispel some tension. “I’m trying,” she muttered in desperation.

“I know you are, dragyra.”

What else could he say?

She lifted her right foot, extended it toward the doorway, then quickly pulled it back. “Zane, I’m so sorry.”

The air left his body.

“I just…I just can’t…”

He closed his eyes and shuddered, refusing to feel the knife in his heart—of course she couldn’t do it…it was too much to ask.

She tugged on a lone, loose spiral of her auburn hair, looking anxious, frustrated, and totally lost. “I just can’t…remember…what day you were born.” She yanked on her hair again. “Isn’t that silly? What a crazy thought. We’re about to be married—or consecrated—and I don’t even know your birthday.”

Zane closed his eyes and modulated his voice. “January 7, 1016.”

She nodded. “Oh, yeah, that’s right—you’re a Capricorn.”

He shrank back, opened his eyes, and stared at her blankly. Dear gods of The Pantheon, she was losing her mind. “Yep,” he answered dumbly, “and so are you—January fifteenth, right?”

She started to chuckle, and then her laughter turned to tears. “We are so going to butt heads sometimes. You know that, right?”

He nodded, feeling desperate.

“Zanaikeyros?” She spoke his name with deliberation, pronouncing every syllable distinctly, and he raised his brows. “Catch me, okay?” With that, she took five brazen steps forward, strolled across the threshold, and entered the sanctuary, collapsing the moment her footfalls stopped.

He caught her in his arms and held her like he was trapped under water, and she was his last, dying breath. “Angel,” he rasped into her ear. Then he bit out a barely audible curse beneath his breath. Unable to restrain the sudden flood of emotion, he choked back a flurry of tears. “Thank you, Jordan.” There were no other words…

She clung to him with equal fervor. “I promised you, Zane. And I meant what I said. I could never let that happen.”

He held her even tighter; took a series of long, deep breaths; then slowly pulled away, collecting his wits. “Holy Pantheon,” he breathed. “Okay. Back to plan A, right? One step at a time.”

She grasped for his hands and nodded. “I’m really losing my shit,” she whispered.

“I know, angel.” He couldn’t help but chuckle, softly. “Just stay with me a little longer.” He pointed toward the raised octagon dais in the center of the room, and then quickly stepped in front of her to block the foreboding, ominous stage from her view before she stared too long. “That’s about thirty steps away. Hold onto my arm, and we’ll count them down.”

Jordan clung to his bicep, stared down at the ground, and walked with him in tandem, slowly counting aloud.

Thirty.

Twenty-nine.

Twenty-eight…

f

Jordan knew better than to think, or to look, or to observe.

She knew better than to let herself feel anything more than the terror that was already rising like an ocean wave at high tide, sweeping away her reason. So she stared at the cluster of diamonds on the toes of her shoes until they reached the dais; then she stared at Zane’s arm as they climbed the same. She didn’t glance upward at the high coffered ceiling to see the gilded layers of jewels; she didn’t try to behold the pearlescent pool of living waters; and she didn’t take a gander at the supposedly magnificent glass floor, which Zane had warned would blind her temporarily from all the refracted light.

And she sure as hell didn’t look forward at the seven ornamental thrones.

The way she saw it, she would have a lifetime to admire the temple, if she could somehow get through the rebirth.

Oh God, the rebirth…

No, no, no-no-no-no!

She couldn’t go there.

One step…one choice…one moment at a time.

When the floors began to sway and the walls began to undulate—when the seven dragon lords took their respective thrones—plan A, plan B, and even plan C instantly flew out the window, and Jordan spun around to bolt. Screw it! There was no way she could do this.

Zane sidled up behind her and caught her by the waist, and by the firmness of his grasp, she knew what she was too terrified to articulate:

By any means necessary.

Isn’t that what he had said?

He was loving, he was supportive, and he was doing his level best—but they had come too far to turn back, and he wasn’t letting her go.

Not now.

Not ever.

She felt it in his touch.

And then she saw the two tethered loops bolted to the floor—oh, God; Zane’s body had been blocking them—those were the handholds she was supposed to grasp when she kneeled before the fire. “No, Zane. No! No-no-no!” She backpedaled into his chest.

“Avert your eyes, dragyra,” he whispered into her ear. “Be brave, my angel. I’ve got you.”