Eternal Sin

12

“Do we have a new plan, sir?”

Cruen didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge the guard beside him as they moved through the forest by way of the river. His strength was waning, and he had to fight to keep hold of his mental state. It had taken all his reserves to keep himself hidden from the Romans, particularly Lucian Roman, as they searched the river cabin.

But one thing was certain, confirmed by the brothers as they worked out their next move. Synjon had taken Petra from the Rain Forest and brought her home to Manhattan.

Back to New York City.

Cruen felt the frustration all the way inside his bones. This had been a pointless, fruitless trip. A waste of everything. And now the paven was on his home turf. Cruen knew he didn’t have the strength to deal with Synjon there. Not with just the one guard. And the more vampire flesh he brought into this problem, the higher the body count would be later.

But what choice did he have? The Order would be of no help to him now. He must flash home, gather his small army, and attack. If he didn’t, he wasn’t going to survive. Not in body or in mind. He could feel it. And he had to survive. For his work, his never-ending goal of bringing about the ultimate vampire. He had been so close. The power of the Devil, Abbadon, within his grasp. Now the male was dead by his daughter’s hand, and Cruen had been stripped of the mediocre amount of magic he’d had left.

No. He had no choice but to take on Synjon Wise anywhere he could get to him.

He heard a splash to his left, and then something darted out in front of him. His reaction time was slow, but his guard had already rounded the creature and had a blade to the young male’s neck in under a second.

Pale brown hair was pulled back in a tie, and dark green eyes found and held Cruen’s. The young male didn’t appear frightened by what he saw. On the contrary. He seemed quite eager.

“What do you want, shifter?” Cruen asked. “Why do you jump upon us as though you wish to attack?”

“I can’t believe it’s you,” the male rasped, his tone high and excited. “I thought I recognized you when you traveled the river earlier.”

A small thread of unease moved through Cruen’s already tired body.

The young male grinned. “Don’t you remember me?”

Cruen inspected the male. “No. What is this? What game do you play?”

“You took samples from my mother a long time ago.” The male waited for that to sink in, then continued. “I helped you, remember? I was very young. No more than three. You gave me a small dagger to play with.”

“Water shifter,” Cruen uttered, his mind darting backward, all the way to the first set of shifter samples he’d taken.

“That’s right,” said the young male happily. “What are you doing here?”

Cruen motioned for his guard to drop the blade and step back. “Looking for one of my kind.”

The male nodded sagely. “The vampire male. Petra’s.”

“You know about that?”

The male shrugged. “Everyone knows. But they’ve left.”

“Yes,” Cruen ground out. Clearly, it was time to go. There was no reason to remain here. Not to hike around aimlessly, or catch up on the past.

“But you don’t have to,” the male said as if hearing his thoughts. He stepped forward. “My family, my faction, would love to see you.”

“Would they?” Cruen said with disinterest.

The male nodded. “My faction is also interested in science. In fact”—he lowered his voice—“we believe we may have found a way to slow aging.”

“Interesting,” Cruen said without much enthusiasm. “But unless you’ve developed something that infuses the body with power, magic, or strength, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a rain check.”

Cruen motioned the guard to leave. The male had claimed he couldn’t flash inside the shifters’ forest, so they needed to return to the gathering stones. He started to walk away, but the young male called after him.

“We have something! Something like what you describe!”

Cruen stopped, turned around, his skin suddenly prickling with keen curiosity. “Go on.”

“It’s very new, and has a short shelf life, so to speak. But it has intense power.” The male lifted his dark brows. “Interested now?”

“I believe I am,” Cruen said. “Take me to see your family, shifter. A reunion is definitely in order.”

Synjon stepped out of the limousine, glanced around, and righted his cuffs.

The plans he’d made had taken only an hour, and though he didn’t want to barrel in and interrupt the party, he had this unstoppable need to see Petra.

No. That wasn’t right.

What he had was an unstoppable urge to know she and the balas were all right. He blamed it on instinct. Protecting his young and all that. Instinct was the best excuse he could come up with lately for the way he was acting, reacting. The alternative was simply inconceivable. Something about emotional attachment, falling in love, seeing a future.

The door made a quiet trilling sound as it opened. He hadn’t noticed that before. He moved inside the store, looking for life. Looking for her. When he found neither, he felt a sudden punch of concern compress his gut. What would he do if she’d been taken somehow? If her brothers or the Romans had come, to return her and the balas to the Rain Forest?

He moved deeper into the shop, heading toward the back, and was about to shout Petra’s name when he saw her emerge from a dressing room. Someone followed her, but Syn took absolutely no notice of the other being. His breath had left his body, and inside his chest something squeezed. Something he’d thought would never stir again.

Standing in the center of a veritable swimming pool of tissue-paper-lined bags was Petra. Her long, thick, straight dark hair framed her exquisite face, but it was her eyes that made his chest constrict once again. Lined with a thin smudge of coal, her ice-blue orbs popped with color and life, and when she looked up and caught him staring at her, she smiled.

Instinct, you ruddy bastard, he warned himself. Nothing more. Can’t be anything more. You don’t have it to give. You already gave it away to her father on that cold stone floor.

“You like?” she said, her voice uneven, as if she were a little nervous.

His gaze traveled the length of her. The dress she had on was nearly the same color as her eyes and hugged every inch of her extraordinary body, including her swell. She looked like a fucking princess. He’d never seen anything so beautiful, or so sexy, in his life.

“You’re a stunner, love,” he said, walking toward her.

Her smile widened. “Well, thank you.”

He’d spent an hour on their evening plans, and yet all he wanted to do now was take her home and remove that dress. Slowly. Kissing every inch of skin that was revealed to his hungry gaze.

“They said I needed to wear a cocktail dress for tonight?” She narrowed her eyes at him, but in a playful, sensual way that make his cock twitch.

Yes. Home, bed, naked, kisses, sounds good. And in that order, if you please.

“They even had shoes brought over from Barneys,” she continued. “What’s going on, Mr. Wise?”

Synjon first turned to the saleswoman, thanked her for her help, then addressed his driver, who had followed him in. “Take care of the bill, then put the bags in the car, please, Tom.”

“Very good, sir.”

Petra also thanked the saleswoman, who made a beeline for the register, and then she continued her quest for information. “Come on now,” she urged, meeting Syn halfway. “Tell me what you’re up to.”

“I suppose one could call it a gesture of goodwill.”

“And what would you call it?”

A date.

He took her hand, laced his fingers through hers. “You look fucking incredible,” he said, his eyes locking with hers. “Breathtaking.”

Her cheeks went pink at his compliment, but her expression grew uneasy. “Syn . . . I don’t know if this—”

“Come on,” he said before she had a chance to continue thinking. “I have a surprise for you.”

For most of her life, Petra had existed on flora and fauna, animals and sunsets, fresh, moist air and the entertainment of nights around a roaring fire, filled with laughter and tales of shifters gone long ago.

Tonight was a revelation.

A first.

And as she sat next to Synjon once again in the back of the limousine, she silently prayed it wouldn’t be her last. She loved her life in the forest, never wanted to give it up completely, but this—tonight . . . She was blown away. She was addicted. She had to have more.

“You’re quiet,” Syn remarked. “Everything all right?”

All right? She grinned and shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“There’s no dancing in the Rain Forest?” he asked.

She turned to look at him. “Not this kind. Not costumes and leaps and women dancing on their toes to the most beautiful music in the world.”

Clearly pleased with her assessment, Syn smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t enjoy it, Mr. Wise.” She was pretty sure her eyes were two limpid pools of dreamy female. “I’m transformed.”

He laughed. “Then we must do it again.” He reached down and removed her shoes.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Ease back on the seat, love.” He brought her feet to his lap and began to rub the soles. “Just a little massage.”

She sighed at the instant relief she felt and let her head fall to the side against the leather before she uttered a breathy “Why?”

“I heard that females in swell appreciate it.”

“Who did you hear that from?”

He glanced up, though his fingers continued to work the bottoms of her feet. “Alexander.”

She smiled. “Well, I guess he would know.” It was so odd to think that both she and her half sister were pregnant at the same time. And yet they hadn’t spent a moment alone together. She wondered if that would change anytime soon.

“If you enjoyed the ballet”—he raked his hand up her calf, massaging deep into her muscle, making her feel so good she wanted to groan—“there’s so much more I can show you, introduce you to. There’s the opera, Broadway. I believe Eels is playing at Webster Hall, and Swedish House Mafia’s over at Barclays. There’s also comedy, a few irritating Christmas shows I’d force myself to watch if it pleased you, and if you appreciate art, I know a Pureblood veana and her twin brother who have a show opening this Friday in Brooklyn.”

Between the massage and all the suggestions of what they could do together in the coming nights on the island of Manhattan, Petra felt her rational brain slipping away. “I’ve never been to an art gallery.”

His hand slid behind her knee, then slowly worked its way back down. Her sex clenched, wishing he would move that hand up between her legs instead.

“You’d like their work, I think. Whimsical but dark. Fairy tales gone wrong.”

She stared at him in the glow from the red taillights of cars up ahead and internally swooned. He was so gorgeous. Dark hair and eyes, heavy lips and sharp cheekbones, all wrapped up in a perfectly cut charcoal gray suit.

“I was thinking about buying a few pieces for the house. I have all those empty walls. I could use an opinion.”

“Syn.”

He looked over at her, his dark brows lowered over those magnetic, impossible-to-read eyes.

She wanted to stay in the bubble of tonight. The clothes, the compliments, the tutus, and how his hand had reached out and taken hers when the lights in the theater dimmed, then hadn’t released it until they went back on again. After all, she’d spent months, as she searched for her father, fantasizing about just this kind of attention from this exact person.

But it was all just that. Wasn’t it?

A fantasy?

“I don’t understand,” she said, her tone gentle as she eased her feet and legs from his grasp. “This—you and me—it was supposed to be all about blood and the balas.”

“Are you saying you’re not enjoying it?”

“I am enjoying it. That’s kind of the problem.”

His expression was utterly impassive as he said, “I don’t see a problem if you’re enjoying it.”

“That’s because these experiences, dates and . . . et cetera . . . well, they don’t mean anything to you.” The words felt like jagged glass in her mouth. “Except maybe as a precursor to sex.”

His jaw tightened.

She sighed. “Look, I don’t want to argue or make things uncomfortable, because frankly I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m staying here, with you—that the baby needs you. But I’m concerned.”

“About?”

Yes, Petra. About? Can you say it? Actually get the words out without your head exploding from embarrassment?

He was staring at her expectantly.

“Okay. Here’s what.” She put a hand to her belly. “We’ve already established that there’s a bond that’s been formed between you and Little Fangs here. I don’t think it’s a good idea to form one between you and me.”

His expression remained impervious. “Because of the bear shifter?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Because you have no feelings for me besides physical ones. That might’ve been okay in the past. A fun night and nothing more. But I’m about to become a mother. I’m trying to build a family.”

“With the bear shifter.”

“Jeez. Does it matter?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached down and retrieved her shoes, then slowly, sensually, placed them back on her feet like she was freaking Cinderella.

“Petra?”

She shivered at the sound of his voice. “Yes?”

His gaze lifted, dark eyes under dark, imposing brows. “You’re not going to name the balas Little Fangs, are you?” he asked as they pulled up in front of his building. “It’s bloody awful.”