by Tessa Dawn
A feral growl rose in Zane’s chest, and he had to keep it from escaping. He felt his fangs press against his gums and immediately constrained them. “He hurt you…” It was a simple but loaded statement.
“Deeply,” Jordan replied.
This time, it was Zane who tensed, but only for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, telling his beast to heel: We cannot kill the human…at least not this night. He banked his inner fire and extinguished the spark of rage.
And then Jordan croaked a timid question: “Why did you do it, Zane? Why did you spare Dan’s life…even knowing that the shadow would grow stronger, and you might get hurt. Why did you take that risk?”
Well, hell…
His dragon stirred again.
And a part of him wanted to lie, but he couldn’t. “There are some things,” he began, “that you will never fully comprehend, being human—not even when you’re made immortal. But trust me when I say to you that as a living dragyri, I wanted to eviscerate his heart. Every impulse in my body was humming with the need to destroy that man, and it cost me, far more deeply than you know, to restrain it. As it is, I will need to feed…very soon, to replenish what was lost.” He modulated his voice, afraid of sounding too barbaric. “But when you spoke to me in the bunker about your values, about your beliefs, how deeply you revere the human concept of justice, it struck me…who you are…why you are an attorney, and why that need runs so deep.”
Jordan started to sit up and turn around, but his arms prevented the movement. Instead, she tilted her head to the side, listening intently.
“Your life has been harsh and sometimes unfair, but you are, first and foremost, a survivor. In my observation, the injustice you prosecute is your own—your tragedy, your struggles, and your loss—and the need for a verdict that is just is your own need for a sense of balance…for a sense of fairness. If in the end, the guilty are punished and the innocent are set free, then there is hope that the scales can be balanced, that tragedy will not always be your lot. We all need something to believe in, Jordan, a way to make sense of our lives.” He sighed. “And I also caught a glimpse of Dan’s soul…before he joined the Cult. He grew up in a very rough neighborhood; he was no stranger to crime, but unlike you, he wasn’t, foremost, a survivor—he became a conman of sorts, a manipulator of people and facts. He learned how to get what he wanted by reading and influencing others. It is true that he chose the law in order to right the wrongs of his past, but his chief motivation was to be on the winning team…always on the winning side…and that’s what exposed his soul to the pagans. His desire to land on top. His ability to overlook whoever fell to the bottom.”
Jordan grew inscrutably still, inwardly and outwardly, and Zane didn’t have to read her thoughts to know what she was thinking—that’s what Dan had done with her, hiding the fact that he was married. He had found something “winning” to latch onto—something he had wanted more than his current life and marriage—and he had reached out to take it, consequences be damned.
“Angel of mine,” he continued. “I did what I did in that bunker for you, but also for me.” A cool breeze stirred all around them, creating a light, crystal mist over the hot tub, and Zane concealed a shiver of his own—he didn’t know if he could say the rest.
“How so?” she asked. And there was the lawyer again—always going straight to the heart of the matter.
Zane consulted the truth in his heart. “I did it because I wanted to give you something of true value. I did it because of the pain in your eyes. I did it because I wanted to please you; I wanted you to think more highly of me; and I wanted to win your trust. I did it, almost on an impulse, because I wanted you…to want me as well. And I had to betray everything I am—as a dragyri, as a warrior—in order to do it.”
Jordan cleared her throat. “You let Dan live because you wanted me to…like you?”
Zane started, taken aback by her bluntness.
That was not what he’d said—was it?
He chuckled, deep and low in his throat. “Baby, my lair-mates are going to pull my man card for this.”
She softened her voice. “Well, you don’t have a man card—you have a male card, so I guess your secret is safe.”
He smiled in retort, and then his tone turned deathly serious. “Jordan, I want you to know my true heart. I do. I allowed Dan to live because we are so very close to our date with the temple—and yes, because I already care deeply for you. You are the most stunning, intelligent, and desirable woman I have ever known, and I want you—by all the gods, I want you. But angel, don’t get it twisted.” He purposefully tempered his voice. “I am not Jaquar, and I intend to claim you by any means necessary.” He paused for the breadth of one heartbeat. “Yet and still, if you would only try… Just north of the Diamond Lair, there is a white sandy beach in a beautiful cove. At night, when the sun sets and the dragon moon rises, there’s fire in the water—the waves are like flames, undulating in the sea, in brilliant cascades of emerald, amethyst, and topaz…all the hues of the sacred stones. It will take your breath away, dragyra. Let me take you there, tomorrow night. Walk in the sands with me. Give me a chance to glimpse your heart.” Despite his determination not to push too far, he dropped his head and placed a tender kiss against the slope of her throat, just above her carotid artery—and his dragon stirred.
He needed to feed, and he would do it soon, perhaps later on in the week. What he would not do is ask for something so intimate, so personal and primordial…of Jordan.
Not right now.
She just wasn’t ready.
His fangs throbbed, and he nicked her skin, swirling his tongue over the small droplet of blood before cooling the abrasion with a thin blue flame. His beast growled, yet he kept his composure. “What say you, dragyra,” he nearly groaned. “Will you try with me? Will you go to the cove?”
He expected Jordan to bolt.
To jump from the lounger, hurtle the waist-high panel, and take off running along the deck, but as she often did, his dragyra surprised him.
She sat up slowly, turned around, and met his hungry gaze. “Your dragon is close to the surface, isn’t he—because of what I did, what I asked of you earlier?” She smiled faintly, and there wasn’t a star in the sky that could match her beauty. “Thank you, Zane. For hearing me in that bunker…for seeing me in that bunker…for saving Dan when you didn’t have to. Thank you for wanting me…to want you. It might be a place to start.” She reached out with a tentative hand and shyly cupped his cheek, brushing her elegant thumb against his strong, angular jaw. Then she leaned slowly forward and pressed a soft, chaste kiss on his mouth, quickly pulling away. “I will try, dragyri, although I can’t make any promises. I’m horrified, terrified, and beyond confused. But you tried for me, and I will try for you.” She paused, allowing her words to settle, and then she flashed a shy, girlish smile. “Do you mind if I text Macy—let her know that I’m still alive? She has to have seen the news by now.”
Chapter Thirty-one
The dark, inky beetle slinked into the shadows on the outdoor portico of the third floor of the Sapphire Lair, hunkering down behind an ornate iron post in the railing.
Zane’s words: As it is, I will need to feed…very soon, to replenish what was lost.
Well, thank the dark hosts, Salem thought. He was beginning to believe the dragyri would never leave his female’s side. There had not been one opportunity—not one—to get to Jordan Anderson since the two had come back through the portal.
And just what the hell was that!
Twelve pagans dead in the last five days: first, Rafael, Malandrix, and Alexian on Friday night. Then eight more shadow-walkers at the judge’s estate, not to mention the illustrious Traylyn Zerachi, slain by Zanaikeyros himself, with a bit of help from Lord Saphyrius.
Lord Hades was beside himself with fury, and Salem couldn’t blame him. This was not what he had envisioned for his beloved horde. Furthermore, he was so despondent at the loss of his familial puppets tha
t he had considered ordering Salem out of Dragons Domain, demanding that the demon come home before completing his nefarious mission: to destroy Zanaikeyros’ mate. Salem had objected, as respectfully as he could, swearing that he could get to her before Sunday, before she entered that temple. But now, he wasn’t sure.
Zane was sticking to her side like glue.
Yet and still, he had to feed, and he had to feed soon.
That meant he would have to leave Jordan’s side to hunt and corner his prey—he would have to go back through the portal, taking a member of the Sapphire Lair with him. Yes, Salem had paid careful attention to every spoken word—he knew everything going on in The Pantheon, including last Sunday’s decree that the Genesis Sons had to travel in pairs: Levi and Axe had discussed it.
Unfortunately, what he didn’t know was when Zanaikeyros would hunt. Would he go this night, while Jordan slept, or would he slip out in the morning? The Sapphire Lair was teeming with powerful Dragyr—every single male was home—and sleeping or not, he couldn’t risk an attack on Jordan against such powerful odds.
He had to corner her alone!
Scurrying down the iron post, then dropping to the second-floor deck, beneath Zane’s, Salem made his decision. There was no point in hanging out all night, playing the incessant what-if game. He would travel beyond the Diamond Lair while he still had time. He would scope out the northernmost region of Dragons Domain and try to find these white sandy beaches. He would need to shift into his natural demon form to cover so much ground—he would need to fly beneath the cover of darkness—and pray, all the while, that none of the dragon lords were out, in their primordial, bestial forms, soaring beneath the dragon moon.
If they were, then his goose was cooked.
They would scent him in an instant.
Still, he had to risk it.
And if luck—or the power of Lord Hades—was on his side, then by sundown tomorrow, he would be waiting for Jordan and Zane in their glorious private cove. And if Zane continued to hover about his female like a swarm of mosquitos over a murky pond, then perhaps Salem would be brave enough to take another risk: to strike at the couple while they were still together, knowing there wouldn’t be any backup.
It would only take one swipe…one lunge…to take down the mortal female.
f
Macy Wilson fumbled with her remote control, trying to find a better movie on cable: something sweet and romantic…and titillating.
Something that reminded her of Dr. Kyle Parker.
She giggled beneath the sheets of her bed, fluffing the pillow behind her.
The day had been both awful and wonderful, respectively: On one hand, there had been the terrible news from the courtroom—Jordan’s courtroom—about some insane terrorist or escaped prisoner who had taken the courtroom hostage, only to be disarmed by SWAT. The details kept changing, the story kept evolving, yet they insisted that no one had been hurt. Macy had been beside herself with worry. On the other hand, she had gotten a call from Dr. Parker, which had conversely lifted her spirits. He wanted to come by her apartment on Friday night and make her a candlelit dinner.
A candlelit dinner!
It was almost too good to be true.
Granted, she was more than just a little bit loopy from her post-op medications—her four-hour doses of Vicodin and Tylenol—but she would have been just as giddy if she’d been totally sober. And as for Jordan’s plight? Well, Macy had received a text, around 12:45 AM, saying everything was fine: Jordan was still taking a couple weeks off, as intended—she still needed some time to reboot and recharge, and she would get in touch with Macy off and on, but not that often—she just needed some time and some space…
She had apologized for not texting sooner—apparently, there had been a lot of confusion and commotion following the dust-up in the courtroom—but she had insisted that everything was fine. She was safe. And she had told Macy not to waste any energy being worried.
While it wasn’t exactly unicorns and roses, it was enough to allay Macy’s fears…
At least for the time being.
At least her BFF was safe.
Now, as she snuggled beneath her warm, cozy covers, luxuriating in the soft, downy sheets, she turned her full attention to Dr. Parker…and this coming Friday night. What would she wear? What would he be wearing? How should she style her hair…and do her makeup? Would the surgeon be wearing jeans or slacks? Would she get a glimpse at his arms or his chest?
Would he bring her a bottle of wine?
Oh, well, probably not, considering the Vicodin, but she would probably be done with it by then. In fact, Dr. Parker had said she’d be up and running in a couple of days, albeit at a slower pace, or he wouldn’t have asked her on a date so soon. It was a benefit of laparoscopic surgery—no large incisions or damaged layers to heal.
Both affirmations gave her enormous confidence.
As she toggled through the line-up of late-night movies, she settled on a chick flick that immediately caught her eye: Dancing with Doctor Right.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
Chapter Thirty-two
Wednesday night - twilight
Zane looked like a bronzed statue of the Greek god Adonis as he strolled across the white sandy beach in his faded blue jeans and no shirt. His hair was wet and mussed from sea-spray, having been splashed earlier as he stood on the edge of an outcropping; his skin was as fine as a baby’s, both golden and smooth; and the crystal-clear ocean reflected off his golden pupils like beams of starlight, twinkling in the sapphire-blue sky.
Despite herself, Jordan had to catch her breath—the male was positively magnificent.
And that was only half of the revelation.
Much to Jordan’s surprise—and dare she say, intrigue—Zane Saphyrius knew how to let his hair down. He actually knew how to laugh and to play.
Caught up in the magic and serenity of the beautiful cove, he had pointed out a school of brightly colored angelfish swimming on the edge of the outcropping; he had encouraged her to help him search for giant seashells, each one a brilliant rainbow color; and he had coaxed her out of her obscure, defensive shell in order to build a sand castle.
He hadn’t bombarded her with questions, and he hadn’t pressured her to talk.
He hadn’t invaded her personal space—well, at least not that much—and he hadn’t made her feel like a captive bird quaking in his primitive palm.
In fact, as the afternoon had progressed, and their hands had been busy—whether collecting shells, or molding sand into ramparts and towers—their conversation had begun to flow, almost in an easy nature: Zane had mentioned playing football on that same beach as a teenager—a dragyri playing football of all things!—and Jordan had confessed to being a tomboy at the same impressionable age. Zane had revealed that he’d tried to play the piano, but despite being the son of a god, he had failed at it miserably. Laughing at the thought of those large, rugged fingers plunking away at a piano, Jordan had admitted that she’d tried the flute, the clarinet, and even the trombone in grade school. For some mysterious reason, Zane could not stop laughing at the thought of Jordan wrestling with a six- to eight-pound instrument, her cheeks puffed out, her right arm extended—he’d said he would have paid good money to watch her try. And in an unexpected moment of levity, she had punched him in the arm.
She had actually initiated physical contact.
Now, as she stood on the edge of the shore, staring out at the ocean, waiting for the sun to go down, if she were totally honest, then she had to admit, she felt like a child on the Fourth of July, waiting to see the fireworks: eager, enthralled, and bubbling with anticipation.
How had he done it?
How had he made her forget her fears?
How had she become so absorbed in the moment?
He stood beside her, like the protective male he was, gazing out at the water, and then he confidently reached out, took her hand in his, and squeezed it.
She let him.<
br />
“Do you see how the waves are picking up?” he asked, that deep, sonorous voice playing like musical vibrations across her skin.
She nodded and stretched her neck to see further…
Off in the distance, about a hundred yards away, a string of aqua-blue waves were capping in a high, curved swell, the peaks dotted with ethereal white foam, and inside the deepest arc of the wave, a subtle prism was emerging: an underbelly of crystal, emerald, sapphire, amethyst, onyx, citrine, and topaz. As the colors grew more vivid, more stark, their molecular structure changed, and they began to dance in the air, forming rainbow-like gases. The gases expanded, upward, in combustible zones, and just like that, they turned to fire. Spectacular flames shot out of the waves: dancing in, without, and above the water.
Jordan gasped and squeezed Zane’s hand, barely realizing she was doing it. “Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed. “That’s impossible. That’s amazing. That’s spectacular!” She wanted to squeal like a child—she had never seen anything like it.
Zane smiled with masculine abandon, and pointed just beyond the striking swell. “Watch closely,” he told her. “Fix your eyes beyond the wall of flames.”
She sucked in air and her eyes grew wide, even as she rose to her tippy toes.
Zane laughed aloud, released her hand, and sidled up behind her. Then he wrapped both hands along the curve of her waist, hefted her up in the air, and set her on his brawny shoulders. “Keep watching,” he said.
As awkward as it felt to be lifted like a child and placed on a grown male’s shoulders, Jordan also felt a curious tingle running up and down her spine.
She liked it.
All of it.
The closeness, the contact, and his body beneath her.
The realization was surprising.
But before she could go into analytical mode, the most amazing thing began to happen: Just beyond the wall of undulating flames still cascading toward the shoreline, several powerful geysers began to shoot out of the water, creating magnificent lofty towers—prisms of light, explosions of fire, fountains of vibrant eruptions that fell back into the ocean like a waterfall—a fire fall—of color. She leaned forward, knowing Zane would never let her fall off his shoulders, and brought both hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my gosh, Zane.” She glanced down at him. “This is freakin’ amazing!” She looked back into the water. “Why do you ever do anything else? Why do you ever go anywhere else? If I lived here, I would never leave this spot. I would be here for every single sunset! Holy shit—I would give anything to have access to something like this. It’s…it’s totally beyond comprehension—there’s nothing like it on earth!” The moment the words left her mouth, she realized what she had said, and she stiffened.