Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(93)
The air around them began to heat like an oven, and she struggled to draw in breath.
And then, one by one, each dragon lord rose from his respective throne, starting with Lord Dragos, rising from the center diamond cathedra. “You may regard our eyes.” His voice resounded like crackling thunder ricocheting throughout the great hall, and Jordan’s knees literally knocked together beneath her luxuriant dress.
She lifted her eyes, and her stomach grew queasy.
The gods were in their amalgamated form—spectral prisms of light reflecting the hues of their primary stones—while their ferocious beasts shadowed them in silhouette. But no sooner than Jordan’s eyes had regaled—and accepted—the first merciful visage, their dragons advanced to the forefront: The ghostly beasts, behind the ancient lords—within them, all around them, and enveloping them—donned their scales, released their pointed ears, and revealed their razor-sharp teeth. And now, it was their human counterparts becoming dim, masculine reflections that faded into the background as dark-gray wisps of smoke began to waft from their elongated snouts.
Oh no, oh no, oh no!
Jordan’s legs gave way, and she staggered to the side.
Zane caught her by the waist and hauled her upright, steadying her body with his hands. “I’m right here—right behind you, dragyra. I’ve got you. I’m with you,” he whispered in her ear, but she could feel his strong arms trembling.
Zanaikeyros was afraid.
For the first time since she’d known him, the male was consumed with dread; and didn’t that just tell her everything he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say.
“Kneel with me, angel,” he murmured, and she literally gasped for breath.
“I can’t…I can’t…oh, God, Zane, I can’t.”
“Shh.” He stroked her hair and rubbed her arms. “We’re almost there, my love. Kneel.” He grasped her by both hands and drew her down to the dais floor, even as he fell to one knee before his lords. “Count backward from three to one, angel. Do it. Do it right now.”
Jordan felt like her throat was closing, and she struggled to croak out the words: “Three, two, one…”
“That’s exactly it,” he said. “That’s all. Three seconds, dragyra. Be strong.” And then, without warning or preamble, he placed his hands over hers, stroked each glove, and stretched out her arms, one at time, toward the secure, solid-steel rings. As he wrapped her fingers around the handholds, each hand in turn, she trembled like a captive bird, and tears of helplessness began to stream down her cheeks.
“Shh, baby, I know. Be brave for me, my love. Hold onto the rings, and don’t let go.” He tightened his hands along the small of her hips, feeling for her center of gravity, and then he shifted her body, a little to the left, and leaned heavily into her, pressing her torso forward, until she was crouched in a secure position.
She thought her bones might just rattle right out of her body, and she began to gasp for air—dear lord, was she hyperventilating?
“It’s okay,” Zane whispered again. “I’ve got you. Can you feel me? Concentrate on your breathing; listen for my heartbeat; let go of your thoughts. Don’t think at all, Jordan. Just tune into me.”
She tried desperately to do as he instructed, but her panic was getting the best of her, and then Lord Saphyrius ambled forward, away from his sapphire throne—apart from the other dragons—and his azure eyes began to glow in the pale light of the temple. He raised his giant serpentine head and fixed his gaze on Zanaikeyros. “My son.”
The dragyri lowered his head in homage. “Father.”
“We will hear your invocation now.”
“What’s happening? What’s going on? What’s going to happen next?” Jordan whimpered, although she already knew the answers.
Zane tightened his arms around her. “Be brave,” he whispered one last time, and then he cleared his throat, released his wings, and enfolded Jordan in their satin—crushing her beautiful dress—as he encased her body, one final time, in a cocoon made of silk.
In a timeless address to his primordial masters, he raised his voice, and his words echoed throughout the sanctuary, rising to the cathedral ceilings and beyond…
“Great dragon lords, from the world beyond;
fathers of mystery, keepers of time;
I bring to you this mortal soul.
Born of fire, bathed in light;
to guard by day and watch by night;
to live, and love, and breathe as one,
the fated of a dragon’s son—
be gentle with her soul.
Through sacred smoke and healing fire;
a flesh-and blood-renewing pyre;
I give my life, with one desire—
reanimate her soul.
Great dragon lords of the sacred stones;
from the Temple of Seven, from your honored thrones;
renew my dragyra, and bless the Sapphire Lair.”
Jordan wanted to get up and run.
She just couldn’t do this.
Heaven knew, she adored Zanaikeyros, but this was beyond reconciliation. She started to wriggle back and forth, to fight against the dragyri’s heavy presence, but he only leaned harder against her, clasped his hands over hers—over the infernal rings—and tightened his satiny wings all around her, until they felt like the vest of a straightjacket.