Eternal Sin

17

Petra woke to the scent of blood and instantly curled around it, her fangs descending. No doubt she was still dreaming, but it was the kind of dream she appreciated. Syn’s blood, Syn’s thick, masculine wrist. Her fingers pressed into the skin of his arm just as her fangs rested on top of the pinprick holes that had already been prepared for her. She made a keening sound, then thrust herself deep into his vein.

The moment the blood entered her mouth, she came awake. With a gulp and a sputter, she opened her eyes and pulled her fangs from Syn’s wrist.

“Oh, my gods, I’m so sorry.” She looked up, dazed and confused. Syn was propped up on a pillow beside her. She looked down at his wrist, then back up at him. “What are you doing here?”

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

“Calling out for what?” Or for whom? she thought with a groggy sense of embarrassment.

“Me, love.”

Her chest deflated. Great. Fabulous. Humiliating. It wasn’t enough that she made her desire, her need for him known in the waking hours. Now she was begging for it while she slept.

“And my wrist. And my neck.” His mouth twitched as he watched her cheeks grow hot. “And my blood.”

She made a groaning sound that was meant to convey how completely mortifying this was. But Syn just chuckled.

“Drink, veana.”

“I think I’m becoming an addict,” she muttered.

“Just as long as you keep coming to me for your fix.”

His dark eyes moved over her face. Why does he have to say shit like that? Petra wondered. It made her want him more than she already did. It made her want things, hope for things that were impossible when it came to this male.

Gods, this is going to end badly.

“I’m bloodying your sheets, veana,” he said.

With a slight growl, she dropped her head and sank her fangs in him again. Instantly the blood flowed. Hot and sweet and plentiful, into her mouth. Each drop she consumed was better than the last. As she sucked like the greedy wench she was, took his life force into her own, she wondered how she would survive without this when she left.

How she would survive without him.

Above her, she heard him groan, hiss, and she realized she’d gone a little deeper into his vein than she normally did. But that was how she was when she fed from him. Every millimeter tasted better, sweeter. Like liquid gold.

Finally, after several minutes of intense feeding, her belly was full, and she lifted her head and stared at the twin bite marks. With a quick inhale, she blew on them, slowly back and forth until they closed. Then she looked up. In the milky shadows of the moonlight streaming in behind her, she saw the strain on Synjon Wise’s gorgeous face.

Her brows knit together as her gaze moved over him, assessing. His eyes were narrowed and dilated to black. His skin looked paler than usual, his cheekbones were more pronounced, and his lips held a bluish tinge.

“Are you eating?” Her eyes rose to meet his.

“I ate the meal of a lifetime.” A quick fire lit his black eyes. “Just a few hours ago.”

Her cheeks flushed, and her skin tightened over her bones. At the piano. Yes, she remembered too. So did her body. Especially the muscles between her legs.

“Don’t concern yourself with me, veana,” he said. “I can take care of myself, remember?”

“Yes, but you’re not.”

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

“Why?”

“Why what, love?”

She sighed. “Don’t be obtuse. Why aren’t you feeding from someone like you said you would?”

“Haven’t had the chance.” He eased his wrist from her grip and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed.

She spoke to his broad back. “You had a party here. Plenty of veins to choose from.”

“None that were available.”

“Bullshit. Hey.” She touched his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Why does it matter? Eh? Love.” His tone was back to being unaffected, and she shivered. “All you need to be concerned about is feeding the balas.”

She snatched her hand away. Cursed softly. “I wish that was the case. Gods. I want to not care about you or your health or your eating habits, because frankly, you didn’t give a shit about me when—”

“Don’t.”

“And I would love to put your ridiculously handsome, yet overly pale face out of my head, because you put mine out of yours.”

“Stop it, Petra. I mean it.”

Fuck him. Really. She moved around him, crawled onto his lap, grabbed his face. “And I really want to pretend that the reason you won’t take blood from another female has everything to do with me because, love, I want you to want only me. Desperately and forever. Until I leave you for another guy. No. Even after that. I want you to want me even when I’m in his arms, moving under his body—”

“Fuck.” Syn crushed his mouth against hers, then ripped back. “I told you to shut your bloody mouth, veana.”

“Even when he’s rocking our balas in his arms at night.”

Syn stared at her, his nostrils flared, his fangs fully extended. “Fuck you, Petra.”

“I thought you’d never ask, Syn.”

“I’m not asking.” His arms went around her and he took her mouth so hard she was pretty sure she was going to have a bruise in the morning.

Petra moaned into his kiss, following him as he changed the angle, the suction, and uttered words and threats at her she couldn’t make out. She didn’t care. Let him be pissed. It was something. It was emotion. And if he didn’t care, if the things she’d just said to him meant nothing, he wouldn’t be reacting this fiercely.

His hands raked up and down her back, gripping her one moment, releasing her the next. Her breasts were swelling, her nipples pressed hard against the lace fabric of her tank, and below her waist, between her legs, she was soaking wet.

Then suddenly he pulled away. His gaze searched her face like he wanted something from her, something out of her. Words, action . . . she didn’t know what. But he was breathing heavy, too heavy. And behind his eyes, she saw something impossible break.

“You’re crying,” she whispered.

His eyes widened and his lip curled. “Never.”

She reached up and brushed her index finger over his lashes. It was a lone tear, and it quivered on the tip of her finger. She showed it to him. “What’s this, then?”

He stared at it and his brows slammed together. “Impossible.”

“Syn . . .”

He lifted her and put her back on the bed. Every inch of him was tense as he walked toward the door.

“Syn!” she called again.

But he didn’t answer her. He left the room. Left her feeling turned on, cold, and like a complete and total bitch for shoving his new and unexplained emotions in his face.

Power felt so good inside him. It belonged there. Running through his veins, making his blood expand. The only problem was it didn’t last long enough.

Cruen eyed the small group of water shifters. “Tell me what you want for this.” He held up the gray flesh. “What is your currency?”

“We want your help,” said the young shifter who’d brought him to the secret waterfall in the first place.

“What kind of help?” Cruen asked imperiously. Truthfully, he would pay almost anything for the magic surge in power, but he didn’t want the shifters to know that. He didn’t want them to know just how desperate he was.

“What you took from us,” said the male. “The DNA?”

“Yes,” Cruen said warily.

“You mixed it with your own blood, right?”

Where were these water beasts going with their questions? “I conducted many experiments. Some were successful. Some were not.”

“We want your DNA. Vampire DNA.”

Cruen couldn’t quell the immediate expression of disgust. “Why?”

“We’d like to experiment too.” The boy glanced around at the small party gathered. “We’d like to see what kind of creatures we can grow from our DNA and yours. There are so many of us who lack power and strength. Our animals are weak by nature, which in turn makes us weak as shifters. We want what the lions have, the bears. We want that strength and the ability to fight our enemies and protect our own.”

The boy, who may not have been a boy at all but a small, weak shifter adult, eyed him seriously. “This would be our secret, of course. The faction leaders would not approve.”

Cruen stared long and hard at the male. He understood the shifters’ desire to be more than what they were, but he wasn’t sure he approved. They were the equivalent of an Impure in his mind, and he would not hand over pure blood or anything to make them stronger and more powerful. And yet these creatures had the magic flesh—

“We’ve heard about a hybrid who’s here in the Rain Forest,” said an older female to the boy’s left. “A water shifter like us—”

“Helo,” Cruen supplied readily.

“Is that his name?”

“He isn’t exactly like you.” No. He wasn’t. Cruen hesitated. Perhaps . . . yes, perhaps that would satisfy. Giving up Pureblood vampire DNA went against everything he stood for. But mutore . . . “I could get you the water beast’s DNA. In fact, I might be able to bring him to you.”

As all the other water shifters started talking at once, the young male’s eyes widened. “Yes, that would do well. He is part vampire. But would he come? Would he keep what we’re trying to do a secret?”

“I’m not sure.” Cruen waited for their faces to fall from disappointment and then added, “But with the right amount of flesh paid to me, I can make sure that after you’re done with him, he doesn’t have the ability to reveal anything to anyone ever again.”

The desire to feel nothing had been viciously stolen by the overpowering desire to feel everything.

With her.

His hands spread wide on the glass, Syn stood at the doors leading to the terrace and stared out at the New York City skyline. It was ungodly late and snow was falling on the terrace floor in heavy flakes. What had he done? Stealing her away from the Rain Forest and her family? Thinking he could take care of her and the balas? Didn’t he get it that existing was the only thing available to him? He hadn’t been saved from the sun, from following Juliet, to have another chance at life and happiness.

He swiped at the condensation building on the glass. All he deserved was the chance to make things right, pay his toll for failing Juliet. And that toll was the complete and total destruction of Cruen.

“I’m sorry.”

His hand stilled on the glass. He hadn’t heard Petra come up behind him. Shite, he was really losing it.

“Syn.” She paused. Then, “Look at me.”

Looking at her seemed to be the bloody problem. Why couldn’t he just stand here and admire the snow and the view?

“Please,” she said, her tone softly impassioned.

Releasing a heavy breath, he turned, leaned back against the cold glass, and then, when he got a good look at her, wished he hadn’t. Bollocks! Did she have to glow in the goddamn light of the snowflakes behind him? Did her eyes have to be so fucking blue and beautiful and haunting? Did her skin have to scream for his touch, his mouth?

“Okay.” She looked everywhere but in his eyes. “I’m going to be real honest here. And I hope you will be too.”

Honest? Did she really want that from him? Did she even know what that meant when it came to the two of them?

His gaze moved all over her. Black silk and lace against ripe white skin and breasts that insisted on overflowing their confines every chance they got. His hands twitched at his sides. They wanted to be on her, inside her. Along with his cock, which was filling with blood this very second.

Fuck. What was happening to him? And how could he stop it? Curb it? Destroy it?

Or was that impossible now? Was it truly his destiny to want what he could never have?

Never have unless he gave up the very thing that kept him breathing.

“I’m angry at you.”

His eyes snapped up, and this time her eyes met his.

“I’m angry at you for not caring. Because . . . well”—she shook her head—“because I care. About you. I haven’t stopped, you know. And no matter how this rolls along, how insanely attracted we are to each other, it can’t end well. Right? I mean, your need to kill my father is kind of a deal breaker for me. He’s clearly not a good father or even a decent male. And maybe he should be contained in that vampire jail situation.” Her eyes implored him. “But I can’t sit by and watch or accept his death by your hand. You’ve got to understand that.”

“I do.” It was why he’d allowed his emotions to be stripped in the first place.

She chewed her lip. “But you don’t care?”

Gods, she just didn’t get this, get him. “Of course I don’t care.” He growled slightly. “Petra. He murdered my female. Do you understand that? Right in front of my fucking eyes.” He pushed away from the glass. “He destroyed a being. It’s what he does. Hurts and kills and destroys to get what he wants. Now, that doesn’t take away from the fact that he fathered you. I’m grateful.” His gaze moved over her, over her belly, back to her eyes. “Shit, I’m grateful to him for that. But it doesn’t cancel out what he is—what he continues to do.”

She just stared at him, shaking slightly. “I know.”

He looked at her, hard. “He killed my life,” he said again. “What would you have me do?”

It took her a moment to answer. “Start a new one?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

Her eyes widened. Tears filled them. She turned and started toward her room. His chest tightened and he called after her.

“But I do know I want you! Only you!”

She stopped, her hand reaching out for the wall.

Fuck, this is misery. “And I know I can’t bear to take another female’s blood.”

She stayed where she was, still giving him her back.

“The idea makes me feel bloody sick to my gut. Yes, Petra. Yes, love. I said ‘feel.’” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know what the bloody hell is going on. I should feel nothing. But with you, with the balas, I am something impossible.” He pulled in a deep breath. Released it. “Turn around, love.”

She didn’t move.

“Please. Remember that word? You used it on me not more than five minutes ago.”

Her head hung forward for a second. Then she sighed and turned back to face him.

He shook his head when he saw her expression. It was sadness, the sweetest, sexiest thing he’d ever seen, and he wanted to flash to her and cover her mouth, pull moans from her sighs of frustration.

“I never stopped wanting you,” he said, knowing that the words coming out of his mouth were surely damning him. But who the bloody hell cared now? Either way, he didn’t stand much of a chance in the happy-endings department. “Never stopped thinking about you. Cursing you. You tell me what we’re supposed to do now. I did my very best to keep this from happening.”

Her hands went to her belly.

“There’s a war raging inside me, love. Wanting you, wanting to destroy him. I can’t let go of either one and survive.”

Silence filled the space between them as they just stared at each other. Syn was sure she was going to turn around at any moment and go back to her room. She should. She really should. But then her gaze flickered past him and narrowed.

“What’s that?” she asked.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw what she was talking about, and laughed softly. “Further proof that I’m losing the battle.”

Completely captivated, she left the safety of the far wall and walked past him into the living room. He followed her with his eyes, watched as she ran her hand over the top of the small piano.

“Where did you get it?” Her head came up and her eyes locked with his.

“I saw it in a shop window.”

“You put it next to yours.”

“Of course I did.”

Tears filled her eyes and she ran at him, threw herself into his arms. “You’re killing me.”

He pulled her against him. “Right back at you, love.”

Her hands were on his chest, her belly was tucked into him the way he liked it, and her eyes were searching his own. “Take me to bed.”

He grinned. “Fuck you?”

She grinned back. “Please.”

His nostrils flared, and he shook his head ever so slightly. “I don’t know if I have the strength to keep my fangs to myself, love.”

She sighed with what sounded impossibly like relief. “Good.” Then she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bedroom.