Zanaikeyros: Son of Dragons

by Tessa Dawn

  The doctor nodded, and nodded…and nodded.

  And then just like that, the strangers were gone.

  Macy sank into her seat and blinked her eyes, several times in a row. What the hell was going on here? She stared at her kitchen table, at the lasagna and the spilled red wine staining the ivory cloth, and she frowned. “Dr. Parker?” What was her surgeon doing in Macy’s apartment?

  He was standing there like a deer caught in someone’s headlights, holding his trembling right arm, and his hand was missing!

  Holy hell…

  But yeah, that was right—he had lost it in a hunting accident, just the other day.

  Hadn’t she heard that somewhere?

  But then why wasn’t it wrapped in bandages?

  Why wasn’t he still in the hospital?

  Her mind went blank, and the questions simply…vanished.

  As cruel as it seemed, Macy didn’t care.

  Dr. Parker shuffled toward the table and began collecting several stacks of cash. Again, that seemed really odd, but Macy wasn’t concerned. “Would you like a bag?” she asked.

  Dr. Parker nodded blankly. “Yes, um, I think I would.”

  Macy rose from her seat to go fetch one. “Well, thank you for the house call,” she found herself saying, “but honestly, I think you should be home in bed, taking care of yourself.”

  Dr. Parker cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said, the word coming out as a croak. “Yes,” he tried again, more firmly. “I believe I will do just that. Um, don’t forget to get your door fixed.”

  Macy stared past the living room to the front foyer and frowned. Angling her head to the side, she harrumphed. “Yeah. I’ll call someone right now.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Saturday ~ The Garden of Grace

  Jordan stood solemnly before the beautiful but haunting marker—the sapphire statue of a powerful, breathtaking male—the final likeness of Jaquar Saphyrius.

  Wait, that wasn’t true.

  It wasn’t Jaquar’s likeness; it was all that remained of his soul.

  And as the dragon sun shone brilliantly down on the white clay mountains, reflecting light off the sacred ravine where Jaquar’s final sculpture had been erected, words eluded her—what in heaven’s name could she say?

  She glanced askance at Zane, who looked both reverent and tortured, and she reached out to take his hand. The gesture was easy now. Not only had they made love Wednesday night, but they had been intimate three more times since then. They had talked; they had shared stories about their pasts—childhood dreams, adolescent heartaches, and adult mishaps—and they had slept in each other’s arms.

  The choice to visit the Garden of Grace had been Jordan’s—she’d needed to see the final resting place of the Dragyr for herself. She’d needed to understand the full implications of failing to enter the temple. She’d needed to know—honestly, unceremoniously, and viscerally—what would become of Zane if she didn’t have the courage to go through with the consecration. And the dragyri had agreed to take her, reluctantly, but he had agreed.

  Now, as she stood beside the strong, powerful Genesis Son of the Sapphire Lair, witnessing his inner turmoil—and his ultimate vulnerability—her heart sank in her chest, and she found it hard to breathe. She squeezed his hand, knowing that whatever she was feeling, his experience, in this moment, was worse. “Are you okay, dragyri?” she asked, turning to face him more directly.

  He bit down on his lower lip. “This is not a place I care to hang out.”

  The words fell like a mallet striking stone, echoing through the mountains. Indeed, this was not a place he would want to hang out—not now, and certainly not forever.

  Jordan shivered and tugged on his hand, backing away from the statue…

  From Zane’s best friend.

  There was no need to linger—the outing had produced the desired effect.

  “Come,” she said, “let’s go stand over there.” She pointed at a brilliant cluster of bloodred and white osiria bushes that Zane had said, earlier, were always in bloom, and meandered in that direction.

  He trailed beside her in silence, and when they stopped to talk some more, Jordan noticed that his eyes were not only distant; they were glassy with moisture, filled with all the tears he would never cry.

  She released his hand and reached up to cup his cheek. “I’ve made a decision,” she whispered.

  His eyes met hers, but he didn’t speak.

  She looked away—it was just too sensitive a subject to face head-on. She was doing the best that she could. “I will not…I cannot…leave you to this fate, Zane.” She fought back some tears of her own. “Dying in my sleep, that’s one thing. Knowing that you…” She glanced over her shoulder at the sapphire statue—the one they had just walked away from—and shook her head with regret. “Last night, you saved my best friend from a horrible doctor—and from a tremendous amount of heartache—I just wish that I could’ve saved yours. That someone, somehow, could’ve rescued Jaquar.” She quickly changed the subject, knowing that it was way too delicate. “But it’s not just that. It’s everything, Zane. Everything you’ve said and done since the day that I met you—it’s everything you are.” She placed her hand over her heart and tried to steady her voice. “It’s everything I know…and feel…in here. I’m terrified, Zane. I’m so totally and unbelievably scared that I don’t even know how to breathe—I would honestly rather die than have to manage this much fear, but I can’t…I won’t…I will not let Lord Saphyrius remove your amulet. Not ever. I promise.”

  Zane cupped her face in his hands, caressed her cheeks with his thumbs, and searched her eyes for…something.

  Maybe confidence.

  Maybe sincerity.

  He wouldn’t find either one—

  She was balancing on a wire.

  “Promise me,” she continued, “that you will always be here, that you will take good care of my heart…that you will never hurt me like Dan did. Promise me that you’ll give me the time and the space that I need to adjust to your world—and that you won’t abandon me, like my parents, like my nana. I know it wasn’t their fault, but I don’t want to be left alone…not ever again.” Her legs were trembling from the brutally honest confession.

  “Oh, dragyra,” Zane breathed tenderly, his eyes suddenly filled with wonder. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye, and he glanced away, trying to conceal his raw emotion. “I have waited a lifetime to know you, to have you, to be with you, Jordan, and I will never let you fall. I will never break your heart or betray you—it isn’t in my DNA. Don’t you understand: I was born loving you, angel. I have loved you all my life.”

  She grasped his wrists and held them, much too tightly, as her tears began to fall. She couldn’t return the declaration—she couldn’t speak those words—just yet.

  Not now.

  Not here.

  Not until she was absolutely sure.

  But there wasn’t a question in her mind that a powerful bond—yes, perhaps even a powerful love—was rapidly growing between them.

  She drew inward, encapsulating her mounting feelings—she didn’t want to fall apart. “Zane,” she whispered softly, needing to talk brass tacks. “What I need from you right now is to go over the ceremony…the consecration…every single detail.” She tried to stiffen her shoulders, but she knew they were visibly shaking. “I don’t want to leave anything to chance. I know that Misty told me everything I need to know, but I want to hear it from you: everything we have to do, every place we have to stand—or kneel—what to expect from the gods. I need you to walk me through the consecration, step by terrifying step. Do you think you can do that?”

  He bent his neck, allowing his forehead to rest against hers. “If that is what you need, dragyra, then of course, I can give you that. It’s the least that I can do. We can even rehearse each element—go through the motions—if it doesn’t terrify you too much. It’s up to you. Let me know as we proceed…how to make it easier. If you need to ba
ck off, if you want to continue. Let me know what you need, okay?”

  Jordan nodded, but her knees felt faint.

  Dear God in heaven, was she really going to do this?

  Was she really going to walk into that temple—tomorrow—and face the seven dragon lords?

  Was she really going to submit to rebirth…by fire?

  “I…I…” The words wouldn’t come. She was too consumed with terror. “Just hold me, Zane.” She was about to come apart.

  As his arms enfolded her back, his wings expanded, seamlessly, and he wrapped her up in a warm satin cocoon, cradling her against his chest. “I’ve got you, angel. Just breathe. Just breathe. I promise you—I will never let you go.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Sunday ~ Temple of Seven

  When Misty Collins-Topenzi, Tiberius’ mate, dropped Jordan off at the temple steps—exactly at 7 PM—Zane’s heart lodged in his throat.

  She was positively stunning.

  A vision from beyond.

  Her hair was swept up into a loose chignon and plaited with a string of sapphires. Her neck was adorned with an intricate, braided choker, sparkling with all seven sacred jewels; and her gown looked like something out of fairy-tale tome: layers of satin embroidered with silk threads; dozens of sapphire-charmeuse roses, each flower encircled by a translucent chiffon bow; and a bodice so adorned in beadwork and lace that it appeared timeless, even ancient. Jordan looked like a princess, and there was nothing excessive about her enchanted ensemble: It was elegant, regal, and graceful.

  Just like the woman who wore it.

  But then, there were her eyes: glazed over with shock, absent of joy, and stark with reflection of terror in their depths.

  Zane stepped forward and took her gloved hand, even as Misty whispered something in her ear, hugged her from behind, and quickly retreated…not looking back. “Look at me, dragyra,” he commanded softly.

  Her eyes darted to his.

  “That’s it. Look right at me and listen.” He squeezed her hand in an unyielding grip. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step—no one is asking you to embrace the entire journey in this particular moment. I am only asking for a single step: the next, solitary step. That’s all you have to do. That’s all you have to take: one step at a time, dragyra—it is all the bravery that’s required. From this second forward, we do what we practiced. We take…just… one… more… step…together.”

  Jordan nodded frantically, and Zane knew she was at her wits’ end. If he pushed her in any way—if he made her think, or feel, or go too deep inside—her valor would be lost. He needed to lead her, exactly as he was doing, one courageous step at a time.

  And so they walked up the temple stairs—slowly, and together—one marble stair at a time; traversed the outer platform; and entered into the foyer, beneath the high, arched doorframe, where they approached the sacred, cleansing fountain.

  The echo of Jordan’s elegant shoes against the diamond foyer floor was unnerving to his dragyra, and he had to stop, yet again, to calm her nerves. “You’re doing great,” he reassured her. “We’re already to the fountain. Look at me, dragyra—tell me what comes next.”

  She blinked through tear-stained lashes and her lips began to quiver. “We have to go inside—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “You’re getting too far ahead of yourself. “What are you going to look at?”

  She sniffed and bit down on her lower lip. “I’m going to look at you.”

  “That’s right,” he whispered. “And what is the next single step?”

  She looked down at her opulent shoes and stared at the light-reflecting deck, pointing six inches in front of them toward the edge of the ornamental rug, the one that sat beneath the fountain. “I need to walk to the rug.”

  His heart lifted. “That’s right, angel. You need to take another step. Lift your foot…now move it forward…now place it back down, right here.” He bent to kiss her on the temple. “You’re doing amazing, Jordan. Stay with my voice. Look only at me.”

  She wrung her hands together, and her shoulders tensed. “Okay,” she breathed quietly. “Okay.”

  “One more?” he asked, systematically taking her to the fountain, where he placed her hands in his and dipped both sets into the water. As the undulating current began to swirl around their fingers, and the lords began to draw from their heat, he nuzzled her ear with his nose. “Be at ease, angel. That’s just your body losing a little of its warmth—it’ll pass quickly. Just breathe.”

  She took a slow, deep breath and waited as Zane blew the frost from her fingers and heated them up with radiant smoke. By all the gods, this woman was a miracle—she was already halfway there. Drying their hands on a satin cloth—he wasn’t about to ask her to shake them out—he led her forward, one step at a time, until they reached the massive sanctuary doors.

  And that’s when his own courage waned.

  That was when he remembered Jaquar, and he felt the weight of his amulet bearing down on his chest: Jordan had to enter the temple of her own volition, and for a moment, he just wasn’t sure…

  He released her hand, pried open the heavy stone doors, and stood to the side, waiting for his dragyra to cross the threshold…to enter the Temple of Seven.

  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.