Zanaikeyros – Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons Book 1)

by Tessa Dawn

  Zane removed her from his shoulders, set her down in front of him, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest.

  “I just meant…” she muttered, feeling awkward.

  “I know what you meant, dragyra.” He tightened his hold around her, pressing his chest against her back and nuzzling her ear with affection. “It’s okay to be enraptured, angel.” He nipped the back of her earlobe with his teeth, then kissed the delicate flesh behind it. “And it’s okay to like what is happening…between us.”

  She shivered, still staring at the water.

  He placed both hands on her shoulders and massaged them as they both continued to watch the supernatural show, and then he slid his fingers into her hair, at the nape of her neck, and lifted it away from her shoulders. He bent his head and kissed her, right at the top of her spine—right below the edge of her hairline—and her knees grew unstable and weak.

  She drew in a sharp breath of air and wriggled nervously.

  He pulled back, splayed his fingers, and then placed them on her chest, just above her breasts, before sliding his hand upward to her throat, where he grasped it softly, then kneaded the taut, tense muscles.

  She shuddered. “Zane, I can’t.” The words were a soft, plaintive whisper.

  “Can’t what, dragyra?” he rasped, kissing her again in the exact same spot before trailing his lips down to her ear…down her neck…and along the curve of her shoulder. His hand slid lower, to her stomach, and rested on her lower belly.

  She felt dizzy, light-headed, and faint. “I can’t…I can’t…feel this,” she breathed heavily.

  “I see,” Zane whispered. He placed the fingertips of both hands on her shoulders, raked his fingernails along her skin—so gently that he gave her goose bumps—and then he slid both shoulder straps, the strings of her summer dress, slowly, down her arms.

  “Zane!” she protested, even as her neck arched and her head lulled backward. Holy hell, her chest was rising and falling from labored breathing—and anticipation.

  She needed to stop this before it went too far.

  And now.

  Zane planted a sensual, seductive kiss right where her neck met her shoulder, and Jordan knew she was done for. Her teeth chattered from the trepidation, but her body came alive.

  Apparently sensing both desires warring within her, Zane, being the predator he was, went in for the kill. He slid both hands along the curve of her bare shoulders, down her arms, and onto her waist—and then he slid them up to her breasts, felt the weight beneath them, and cupped them in the palms of his hands. He let out a deep, erotic, almost feral groan, and Jordan’s shudder became a tremor.

  Then just like that he scooped her up into his arms, laid her down in the sand, and blanketed her body with his.

  She gulped, staring up at him like a startled child.

  He studied her expression like a majestic hawk. “Do you fear me, dragyra?”

  She bit her bottom lip, even as she arched beneath him. “A little…yes.” She could barely speak.

  He nodded. “I want you, Jordan, and you want me, too.” He let his gaze sweep over her, appreciating her feminine curves from head to toe, ever so slowly, before meeting her eyes again. His sapphire-golden orbs were practically glowing with intensity: deepening, darkening, brimming with sensuality. His dragon purred, and Jordan shifted nervously beneath him.

  And then he kissed her.

  Softly at first: a slow, tender meeting of their lips.

  But then, more firmly, exploring the contours of her mouth: first, her upper lip—he tasted it, savored it…relished it. Then, her lower lip—he bit it softly and swirled his tongue along the delicate silhouette. And finally, the corners of her mouth—he explored each side in turn, lingering…discovering.

  Enjoying.

  And then the kiss became ardent, seeking—enticing—as he skillfully teased her senseless with his tongue.

  Good lord, the man was like molten lava, encasing her body in heat. He was passion, fire, and animal hunger, all wrapped up in one. Whether it was fear, or release—or arousal, restrained—Jordan would never know. She only knew that two unwitting tears began to roll down her cheeks.

  Zane was so completely in tune to her responses. “It’s okay, angel,” he whispered, kissing the first tear away. “I’ve got you, baby, and I won’t let you fall—trust me, trust this, trust your body.” He tasted the second tear on his tongue, and then he did something so unexpected, it captured—and awakened—her heart. He pulled back, braced his powerful body on his elbows, and simply stared into her eyes: He studied every feature on her face, every soft angle and curve, every detail, indentation, and plane. And he sighed with appreciation. “By all the gods, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I want to love you, Jordan: I want to please you, consume you, taste your soul.” He lowered his mouth to her neck, and she felt the subtle scrape of fangs along the length of her jugular. And heaven help her, because the single flame that burned between them, the one he had always described, ignited in an instant, and her body flooded with need.

  She wanted Zane to bite her.

  And he did.

  His fangs sank deep, and the momentary shock—the temporary sensation of pain—was quickly chased away with a swirl of his tongue. He made a seal above the puncture and began to draw her heat—and probably her blood—and she felt her skin grow cooler…

  Icy, frosty, and cold…

  As he fed.

  But then he withdrew his canines and coated the frost with heat, even as he healed the wound and reversed the leeching with a soft, beguiling flame.

  She shifted her hips beneath him, trying to restrain the impulse to writhe.

  He chuckled softly beneath his breath, and then he devoured her throat like the animal he was: kissing, tasting, nipping…claiming.

  Jordan slid her fingers into his gorgeous, silky hair, tightened her fist around a handful of tresses, and tugged him away from her neck. “Kiss me,” she demanded, and his entire upper body shook.

  He lowered his mouth to hers and took her to heaven with his lips, his teeth, and his tongue.

  His hands began to search her body—to tantalize, tease, and incite—and she found herself squirming beneath him, rising to meet his touch, offering her breasts, and raising her thighs to his hips.

  He tugged the front of her dress down to her waist and covered her nipples with a growl; and then his tongue created some sort of magic—she hadn’t even known was possible—as he tantalized her mounds. By the time he finished tasting, suckling, and flicking the peaks between his teeth, she was reaching for the top of his jeans.

  He didn’t hesitate to oblige her. “Shiiiiiit, mea dragyra.” He began to murmur in Dragonese…

  And she smiled.

  There was nothing clumsy about his execution as everything happened at once: He removed his pants, her dress, and her bikinis—and sidled between her hips, his enormous arousal, both hard and smooth, pressing against her entrance. “I need your permission, baby,” he grunted between his teeth. “Say yes, mea dragyra…for the sake of the gods…please…say yes.”

  Jordan hesitated, but only for an instant.

  He was larger than any male she had ever known, and she wasn’t sure if he’d fit.

  Yet his body was trembling with the need to enter hers, and his chest was heaving with desire. She knew she was wet; she knew she was ready; but she didn’t know what it meant.

  He rocked his pelvis against her peak in a slow, undulating motion, and she gave in. “Yes…yes…yes.”

  He thrust inside her, burying his sex to the hilt, and she braced against the sudden burn. “Relax, angel, your body was made for mine,” he coaxed, and she held her hips still as she stretched. Oh…lords of fire…he felt like solid steel encased in glorious satin: thick, throbbing, and perfect. She began to rock her hips, and he followed suit, pumping with even thrusts. As she slowly relaxed more and more, he let her dictate the intensity—their pace, their fervor
, their passion—until nothing existed in that glorious cove other than their two sweating bodies.

  As warm waves filled with dragon’s fire washed over their skin, pleasure washed over her body. Harder, faster, in and out, he moved like a seasoned lover, until just like the waves in the magnificent sea, their passion rose to a crescendo.

  Jordan’s head fell back, and her lips parted softly in a torturous, wordless cry as she dug her nails into Zane’s strong back and hurtled over the edge of ecstasy.

  He released his seed at the same exquisite moment, and his expression was beyond description: savage, masculine…beautiful.

  When, finally, the last, lingering tremors of their coupling had subsided, Zane reached up to stroke her cheek. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  She brushed her fingers over his and nodded.

  He kissed her once more—lovingly, tenderly—before rolling onto his back and drawing her body with him. “Stay with me forever, Jordan. Make this world your home. Not for the temple, not for the lords, not because you have to…but because you want to, you need to, because you desire what we can have. Give me the chance to love you.”

  Jordan rolled over on top of Zane’s chest and stared tenderly into his eyes.

  There was nothing—absolutely nothing—manipulative, insincere, or deceitful in his words. He was being honest, raw, and vulnerable. And that, above all else, vanquished her resistant heart. She didn’t know what the future would hold—heaven help her, she didn’t even know if she could go through with the conversion, but she did know that Zane Saphyrius was one in a million, and maybe—just maybe—what she feared the most would turn out to be her life’s greatest blessing.

  She laid her head on his chest and listened to the rhythm of his heart.

  It was beating in time with hers.

  f

  Salem Thorne scurried down from a jagged ledge on a rocky outcropping, still in beetle form. He was disgusted by the lovey-dovey, seductive nonsense he’d just witnessed on the beach; impressed as hell by the Dragons Fire in the sea; and more than just a little sexually frustrated by the entire night’s events—oh, how he’d wanted to shift into pagan form and stroke himself to the stimulus of Jordan’s perfect tits.

  But whatever.

  He could always do that later.

  Hell, maybe he’d make love to her corpse.

  Right now, the dewy-eyed couple was vulnerable, exposed, and unaware—lying like a couple of sun-bathing seals on an open beach; only, they were cloaked beneath the cover of darkness, moon-bathing beneath the stars.

  In other words, opportunity was knocking.

  And loudly.

  Salem needed to strike swiftly while the iron was hot.

  Hmm.

  Was that considered mixing one’s metaphors?

  Who gave a shit? he thought.

  Zane would never be more exposed…unprepared…or unsuspecting; and Jordan was spread out like a naked centerfold on top of him—she didn’t have a care in the world. Salem could scuttle across the beach, tunnel beneath the sands, and emerge in one lithe leap, taking his demon form…

  He could strike before they knew he was there.

  In fact, he could extract the dragyra’s heart from behind and shove it down Zanaikeyros’ throat…

  And wouldn’t that just be divine?

  His beetle made a high-pitched hissing sound, and he snickered deep inside: While it wouldn’t be quite the rapturous release the tramp had just given Zane, it would still be positively orgasmic.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  At the Diamond Lair, beneath the deep blue sky, Ghostaniaz Dragos wandered onto his private balcony. Built like a five-star, upscale condominium on the ocean’s shore, the structure offered each member of Lord Dragos’ clan their own modern living space—an entire floor of contemporary, luxurious living—which led out to a private terrace and sat directly above an identical verandah beneath it. The promenades were lavishly appointed with outdoor kitchenettes, comfortable seating areas, and narrow, winding swimming pools that looked as if they stretched out into the horizon and joined the peaceful dragon sky. Needless to say, Ghost spent as much time as he could outdoors, often trying to clear his head. Or quiet his dragon.

  This night, as he strolled to the edge of the balcony, he repeatedly sniffed the air.

  He couldn’t help it—something smelled wrong—something smelled foul.

  Something was not as it seemed.

  A deep, feral growl rumbled in his throat as he tried to lock onto the scent: to taste it, feel it, discern the disturbance. It was decidedly hard to place, and maybe that was because it was an alien, peculiar smell, even as it was oddly familiar.

  He wrinkled his nose and snarled.

  The chemicals in the pool wafted all around him, as did the various flora in the ocean below. But this—this stark, peculiar, internal fetor—it resonated, as if from his blood. And that didn’t make any sense: How could a smell be both outside in the air and also seeping from his pores?

  His inner beast stirred, immediately angry, and he threw back his head and grunted, allowing the monster to emerge more fully. Granted, it was always a gamble to provoke his beast—his dragon was so carnal and savage—once the creature took hold, it was impossible to determine where Ghost’s life began and the dragon’s life ended.

  But oh well—who gave a shit.

  Ghost was no stranger to madness.

  In fact, he preferred carnal savagery to sanity—he was what his father had made him.

  He stretched his arms and arched his back, commanding his serpent to take over—willing the dragon to track the peculiar scent and identify its curious origins.

  Ah…

  So…

  Yeah, that was it…

  At the judge’s estate on Tuesday night, Ghost’s beast, as always, had dined on his quarry—he had consumed the heart of a pagan. Though the meat had been rancid and the soul, profane, it hadn’t mattered one bit to the dragyri. His dragon had been mindless and feral.

  And now, whatever had been swirling around in Ghost’s polluted veins, blending with his native platelets, was also hovering in Dragons Domain. The shit was literally both: within and without. It was concurrently all around him and inside his body.

  Right now.

  Right here.

  But that didn’t make sense—unless there was a pagan in Dragons Domain.

  And that was simply impossible.

  They could never open the portal.

  He started to turn around, to go back inside, but his heathen wouldn’t let him.

  Instead, he crouched low to the ground, released his fangs and claws, and slowly lumbered forward, hopping to the top of the terrace. Then he growled, sniffed again, and bent his head to listen.

  And that’s when the rage exploded.

  Bounding over the ledge, he released his leathery, phantom-blue wings and headed in a familiar direction: toward the private cove, filled with white sandy beaches, where he was absolutely sure he would find a pagan.

  f

  Salem Thorne was a heartbeat away from succeeding in his perilous mission. Zane was half asleep, and Jordan was out of it, luxuriating in the dragyri’s closeness.

  He could hardly contain his anticipation.

  Just one more inch.

  Just one quick shift.

  And his demon would be right on top of them.

  He shook a handful of pebbled sand off his head, extended his antennae, and tunneled upward, commanding his demon to transition.

  The extended antennae gave way to crescent horns; the thorax became a skeleton; and his two front legs became long, powerful arms, extending into two clawed hands. He dug the heels of his hooves deep into the sand as he lunged forward at Jordan—he was hoping to tear her throat out with his teeth, even as he wrenched her heart from her pericardium—and skewered her back with his talons.

  The crushing blow to the back of his skull, from a fist that felt like a wrecking ball, sent Salem sailing through the air,
high above the amorous couple, and into an oncoming tide.

  What the devil!

  He twisted like a cat, springing to his feet, prepared to meet his assailant, only to find two dragyri males wading into the water: Zanaikeyros—who was naked and pissed—and another formidable male who looked feral. The second dragyri was impossible to place—his features were so savage and twisted that Salem couldn’t match his likeness to any of the portraits he had seen hanging in the pagan library. He only knew that the male’s irises were diamond, and that meant he was the progeny of the lair ruled by Dragos.

  He hissed at both dragyri, and the Dragyr roared, sounding like a pair of T. rex, and that’s when Zane hurled a bolt of red fire at Salem’s chest, and the second mercenary lunged at his throat. The blaze engulfed Salem’s torso, even as a pair of saber-sized fangs tore at his vulnerable jugular. Unholy hell, he could not go down this easily.

  Snatching the second male by the shoulders, even as the dragyri remained latched to Salem’s throat, Salem dipped beneath the water to extinguish the agonizing fire, and took the dragyri with him.

  Zane dove beneath the surface and struck Salem between the eyes, his orbital sockets collapsing.

  Shit, shit, and more shit!

  He was blind!

  Salem writhed and bucked, trying to dislodge the feral warrior from his throat and boot Zane further away. His right hoof made contact with Zane’s forehead and drove the dragyri backward. Swallowing an unwanted gulp of salty water, Salem went for the kill—he had to strike fast. He swiped and slashed and stabbed with his claws, filleting the feral dragyri’s flesh, even as he released his urine to infuse the water with acid.