Eternal Sin

10

Synjon knew as he led her through the penthouse that what he’d just proposed, what he’d just done by stealing her away and offering her his home and his blood, was practically begging for trouble.

The one and only goal he’d had was to bring Cruen here, and instead he’d brought the paven’s daughter.

Forget emotions. Clearly he was without intelligence as well.

When he reached the door of the spare bedroom, he stayed where he was and let her pass. “You should find everything you need here, except of course for clothing and personal things. But we’ll get that tonight, yes?”

She stared at the large, modern bed in the center of the room, with its steel frame and pale gray linens, then turned to look at him. “We’re going back to the Rain Forest?”

He didn’t like the shimmer of eagerness, of hopefulness, in her blue eyes. “No. We can get it all here in Manhattan.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want you buying me anything.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, love,” he replied, laughing at the absurdity, “I have more money than I could spend in a thousand lifetimes. Don’t put a meaning on it that’s not there. I took you from your closet—you’ll need another.”

“You’re going to get me a closet, eh?”

“You know what I mean.” His gaze moved over her. “We’ll go shopping tonight.”

That shimmer of hopefulness changed to a glint of wickedness. “I thought you had guests coming.”

Guests.

Right.

He was expecting the usual suspects at midnight. And one special friend, if the paven had news to share. His gaze moved about the room. It looked so sparse. Cold, even. He hadn’t noticed it before. Shite, he’d been in here only once or twice since he moved in. Would such a dim, modern room displease her? Make her uncomfortable? Make her miss the rustic warmth of her home in the Rain Forest?

He would have to fix that.

That, and other things.

“No guests tonight, I think,” he said. “And what color do you fancy?”

She stared at him, looking as confused by his behavior as he was. “You mean, what’s my favorite color?”

“Yes.”

“Green. I like green.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat, nodded in the direction of the bed. “Call your family. They’ll be worried.”

Her eyes were as wide as plates and her lips were parted as if she couldn’t figure out what to say. She glanced over her shoulder at the phone, then back at him. “I don’t understand you.”

Join the bloody club, veana. He didn’t know what had gotten into him, what was spurring this sudden need to make her comfortable, make her feel at home. He just knew he couldn’t fight it.

“Get some rest, Petra.” He turned around to leave.

“So, what? You’re not afraid I’ll have them come and get me?” she called after him.

Synjon’s lips twitched. Saying anything more about favorite colors—now that was a legitimate fear. But keeping Petra and the balas by his side? Not so much.

“Just let me know when you’re hungry, love,” he called before closing the door and heading for his study.

“Now they’re both gone!”

After finding the caves empty, Phane and Dani had flown the party back to the lion shifter’s land. While the Romans searched the river cabin, Phane, Helo, Dillon, and Wen returned to the family home.

“The bastard took her somewhere,” Dani said, bursting through the front door. “I know it.”

“Why would he do that?” Phane asked, following her. “He’s only wanted to get away from her.”

“I don’t know.” She charged into the first bedroom, nose lifted, eyes narrowed. “Who can explain asshole?”

Phane heard Helo chuckle from the room next door.

Once the house was searched, they all met up in the living area. Everyone except Wen. The older female had told them she was going to contact the faction leaders, let them know the situation. But Phane wondered if she truly just needed a moment alone. She’d looked stricken after leaving the caves.

Hands on her hips, Dani surveyed them all expectantly. “Well? What’re we going to do? Where are we going to look first?”

“We should split up,” Helo said. “Take different sections of the forest.”

Once again, the door opened and both the Romans and Petra’s brothers entered the house.

“Nothing at the river cabin,” Nicholas said. “But Lucian stayed behind just in case they show up.”

Dani nodded. “Good.” She turned to Sasha and Val. “What about you two?”

“We’re going to search on foot,” Sasha said. “Ask every shifter we come across if they’ve seen either one of them.”

“I’ll take the sky,” Dani said. She glanced at Phane. “I could use some help up there. You interested?”

Phane’s hawk stirred. “Very interested.”

“I need to buy time with the Order,” Dillon said. “Cruen’s disappeared. He wasn’t in the caves with us. I lost track of him. That’s not going to go over well. Especially if he’s back, standing before Feeyan and telling her that two Purebloods are missing on shifter land.”

“We’ll help with ground cover,” Alex said, “then flash into Manhattan when it gets dark. Check out the penthouse.”

Dani smirked. “He wouldn’t take her there. Not to his den of—”

“Wait!”

Wen came into the room. She looked disheveled, wide-eyed, but the fear in her expression had dimmed somewhat. “She’s not here, not in the Rain Forest. She’s with him. He took her—”

“Unfuckingbelievable!” Dani called out. She headed for the door. “I’m out of here. I’m going to kick some douchy vampire ass!”

“No, Dani,” Wen said, going after her. “Stop. She doesn’t want us to come.”

With a low growl, Dani turned to face Petra’s mother. “Wen, that’s the douchy vampire talking, not Pets.”

The older female shook her head. “I heard the truth in her voice. She’s agreed to stay with him.”

Dani shook her head. “No.”

“I know my daughter.”

Dani stared hard at the female. “Goddamn it.” She turned away, then back. “Why? Why would she be so freaking stupid? He’s a jerk. He’s a whore. He’s a—”

“He’s got the blood,” Phane said simply.

The female whirled on him, her eyes narrowed. She sidled up to him, her finger pointed in his face. The heat coming off of her was so damn intense, Phane nearly reached out to grab her. But Dillon’s words stopped him.

“This changes everything, you know?” The jaguar shifter sighed as she headed for the door. “God, I hate this job.”

“Yes,” Dani called after her, turning away from Phane. “Go appease the vampire Order. But what about us? What about the shifters? One of ours has been taken now. From shifter land to bloodsucker territory. Maybe we’re the ones who’ll have to infiltrate to get her back.”

“She’s not yours,” Phane said, watching her, admiring the passion in her. Her ferocity, her loyalty, made his hawk scratch and stir. “She’s not shifter.”

“This is none of your business,” she warned him. “My best friend is out there, pregnant and with a male who doesn’t truly care for her. I don’t know why she’s agreeing to this—if it’s really about blood or something far more problematic—but I’m sure as hell going to find out.”

Petra woke feeling groggy, emotional, and hungry. She lay on top of the covers in the bed she had agreed to sleep in every night until the balas arrived.

She blinked and rolled to her other side. The room was dimly lit, but she could make out the dark gray walls, stark white molding, expensive leather chairs, antique dresser, and the door to her own private bath, well enough. She’d already been in the bathroom. Massive stone shower, white towels everywhere, and a whirlpool tub. It was like a fancy hotel. Not that she’d been in all that many fancy hotels during the months in New York, when she was looking for Cruen, but the one she had been in reminded her an awful lot of this one.

A wave of melancholy moved over her and she moaned against it, then took a deep breath into her lungs.

She didn’t want that back. The intense, overwhelming wave of feeling. The pain. The tears she couldn’t control no matter how hard she tried. She looked over at the closed door. Where was he? Her sexy prick of a blood donor. His bedroom? The living room? If she called to him, how fast would he be at her side?

She moaned again. Not from the emotional waves crashing through her this time, but from the foolishness of her thoughts. If she dared to attach romance or sensuality or connection to this agreement, she was basically inviting him to hurt her again. What she needed to keep in the forefront of her mind at all times was that he didn’t want her in the way she deserved to be wanted.

It was as simple as that.

She sat up and swung her legs off the bed, wondered what time it was as she padded across the room and opened the door. There wasn’t a clock in her room, and with all the shading to keep the sunlight out, not to mention the time difference, she was a bit turned around.

Silence greeted her as she headed down the hall and entered the living area. She couldn’t help but look around at all the beautiful, yet starkly cold furnishings. Even with the warm light of three or four table lamps, the emotionless space felt dead. The walls, though painted a rich cocoa, were bare, except for one near the kitchen. On it were six gigantic slabs of pointed metal. They look like fangs, she thought.

She moved toward it, feeling both intrigued and intimidated by its audacity. Why this piece? she wondered, following it past the kitchen and down another hallway. When all the other walls lay bare, why such a blatant scream of ferocity? Looking closely, she saw that the final shard of metal was the color of caramel and longer than the others. She reached out to touch it, then hissed as her skin met the surface.

“Not what you’d expect, is it?” Synjon said, coming up behind her.

Instantly, her body reacted to his nearness: fangs down, skin going tight, breath hitching in her lungs. Damn it. This was not a good start to her plan for keeping herself detached.

“It’s hot,” she said, touching the metal again.

“Yes.”

“I thought it’d be cold. Metal is supposed to be cold.”

He chuckled softly. “It’s a lesson in quick judgment. A cautionary moral.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover?” she said.

“Exactly.”

She turned around to face him, bracing herself for the heat of his stare, the strength of his presence. But he was no longer behind her. For a second, she wondered if he’d been there at all. Then he called out to her from another room, “Hungry, love?”

She followed his voice, past the hot caramel metal and down a dark hallway. Warm yellow light grew brighter and wider, and she seemed to step inside it, or through it, into a shockingly spacious bedroom suite.

Oh, gods, this was bad.

Petra desperately wanted to take in every inch, every color, fabric, chair, lamp, fireplace, and headboard, but her gaze refused to part with the six-foot-three-inch hard-bodied male who stood in the very center of it all.

Clearly he’d just come from the shower. His black hair was wet and slicked back from his sharp-angled face, making his dark eyes and heavy mouth pop. A white towel was wrapped loosely around his hips, and a few remaining droplets of water glistened on his broad chest and ripped abdominals. It was probably the worst thing for a female trying to pretend she wasn’t hungry for more than blood to see.

She swallowed the saliva that was pooling in her mouth. Pressed back on the tips of her fangs with her tongue as they started to descend.

His eyes flashed with heat. “Do I have time to throw on some clothes?”

“No.” The word was out of her mouth before she could bite it back.

He grinned. Then brought his wrist to his mouth and bit down.

Just the action made her moan, made her knees soften, made her insides turn to liquid.

His eyes lifted to meet hers. “Apologies, love. Maybe you would’ve liked to bite.”

In that moment, it was as if Petra were two beings: the emotionally injured female who wanted so desperately to be cared for and loved but knew she’d never find it here, and the hunter, the vampire, the starved veana in swell who wanted to drink the blood of this male until he begged her to stop.

“Lie down,” she said, her tone almost foreign to her own ears.

Dark brows lifted over darker eyes.

“On the bed,” she continued. “Back to the sheets.”

Syn’s nostrils flared. “Is this feeding time or something else?”

“This is why I’m here,” she said, moving toward him, stalking him like prey. “The only reason I’m here.”

When she stood before him, she took his wrist, cradled it in her hands. She brought it to her mouth and lapped at the blood. One slow stroke with her tongue across his skin. She heard his sharp intake of breath. Oh, gods, the taste was heavenly.

“And I must lie down why?” he asked in a guttural voice.

She looked up and grinned. “I don’t want you to get dizzy.”

“Dizzy?” He chuckled, low and sensually. “Crikey, veana. You underestimate my stamina if you think one feed from my wrist will render me heady.”

Her grin widened. “I’m not just going to feed from your wrist.”

His smile evaporated.

She pushed him back on the bed, upsetting his towel. He didn’t seem to notice—his eyes were locked on her. But Petra noticed. Her gaze flickered to the heavy muscle between his legs. It was surrounded by dark hair, pulsing with thick veins and standing straight up like steel, only the head still covered by the white cotton. Her fangs dropped low and she crawled onto the bed after him. Blood dripped from his wrist and she wanted it.

Gods help her, she wanted everything he had on display.

In her mouth, inside her sex.

She shook her head, tried to think clearly through her fog of feral desire. But it was useless. Hunger ruled every part of her. Only feeding would satiate her now.

She knelt beside him, took his wrist once again and thrust her fangs deep into his vein. She heard him curse, then moan, then curse again. Blood rushed into her mouth, cascaded like the most delectable waterfall down her throat. She gripped him tightly, suckled his skin, pulled and gorged like he was her lifeline, and goddamn it, maybe he was. Maybe that was exactly what he was.

As the hot metallic liquid moved down her throat, catching every inch of her insides, heating them, cooling them, her outside tingled with arousal. She remembered when he’d drunk from her in the tree house. This was the same. The sensuality, the need to be close, the desire to feel him inside her as she thrust her fangs deep.

Was this how it was going to be every time she needed blood? Would she be able to curb this desire? Would she be able to remember who this male was? What he was? And gods, what he was not?

Feeling his vein close, Petra pulled her fangs out and lifted her head. She licked at his wound and watched it heal instantly. It never ceased to amaze her how the power of a Pureblood veana could heal a male.

She lifted her head, found him watching her. His eyes were nearly black, and his own fangs were resting sharply against his lower lip.

“Dizzy yet?” she asked him.

“Not from the blood loss, love,” he uttered darkly.

Her hunger barely satiated, Petra dropped his wrist and leaned in close. She wanted his neck. She loved that vein. The blood from that vein was always the sweetest.

Before she struck, she caught his gaze. It was threaded with desire. But unemotional desire. Detached lust.

She hated it.

And yet her fangs and her belly and the balas all pushed her onward. They didn’t need this male to have emotion or care. They just needed his blood.

“This won’t last, veana,” he whispered suddenly.

Her lips parted, fangs completely descended, she nodded. “I know. Until the balas is born—”

“No. That’s not what I mean. I mean I won’t last. Feeding you.” A soft growl rumbled in his throat. “I need to feed too, or I’ll be an empty husk of shite in a few days.”

Petra shivered at his words. Not with repulsion or irritation or dread, but with awareness. As if her body were separate from her mind. As if it knew on a very basic level what it was meant to do with a male vampire who requested blood.

She’d felt the beginnings of it in the tree house so many months ago.

Now it was a driving force.

“I could take animal blood,” he said. “But you’re vampire. How does animal blood sound to you?”

She must’ve made a face because he laughed and said, “Yes. Exactly. I will need a female’s blood, Petra.”

Her entire lower half went tight and tingly. How was it that just his words, a suggestion, a request, could send her body up in flames? It was so dangerous, how ready and willing her body was to give this male what he wanted. What he required.

“Yes, Synjon,” she said, her breasts tightening at the very thought of his fangs inside her again. “After I take my fill, you can—”

He exploded. “Bloody hell! Never!” He jerked away from her, his eyes going completely black.

“What? You just said . . .”

“I’m not drinking from you.”

It was ice water on a blazing fire, quick and painful. The heat inside her drained out, and she flashed him her fangs. “Something wrong with my blood, paven?”

He didn’t answer.

“Are you kidding me with this?” she hissed. “I’m sitting here, offering myself—”

“There are females available for the task,” he interrupted. “You wouldn’t be right—”

She reached out and slapped him across the face. Hard. Then gasped at her action—her reaction. Stunned, shaking her head, nostrils flaring, she started to scramble off the bed.

“Oh, my gods,” she muttered, embarrassed, sickened. “I’m so sorry.”

“Goddamn it, Petra.” In one easy movement, Syn picked her up and placed her on top of him, her legs straddling his hips.

She refused to look at him. She was such an idiot. She got her feet under her and tried to get away again, but he held her backside firmly in his hands.

“Listen to me, veana. I cannot feed from you.”

Oh, my gods, this was torture. “I know, okay? You’ve already made that clear. So why are you keeping me here?” She struggled to get free again, but his grip was like steel. “I’m done.”

“No, you’re not. You want the vein in my neck, and bloody hell, I want you to take it.”

For the first time since he’d placed her on top of him, Petra realized that she wasn’t just straddling his hips—her sex was resting on his cock. His hard, nearly uncovered cock.

Heat surged into her lower half, and she squeezed the muscles in her pussy. She couldn’t help herself. It was such a goddamn tease. She wanted him inside her. Deep. Like he’d been before. Like she remembered. All the way to her womb. Until she lost her breath.

“Take it, Petra,” he commanded, his fingers gripping her tightly.

Her eyes found his and held.

“Drain me.”

She bit her lip. “So you can go find that female to feed from?” she whispered. Christ, she sounded like a meek little mouse, not like a Pureblood vampire with razor-sharp fangs and impossible strength.

Synjon’s eyes filled with heat, and he sat up quickly, catching her when she jerked backward. When they were face-to-face, he gripped her ass in his palms. “I cannot feed from you,” he said through gritted teeth, “because it would take from the balas.”

Her head tilted to one side as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”

“I won’t steal blood from the balas.”

She stared at him. His eyes were so intelligent, hard, filled with passion, and she realized just what he was saying. And what it meant. He did truly care about her child. The idea equally worried and enchanted her, and before she knew what she was doing, she buried her hands in his hair, pulled his head back, and bit his neck. Hard.

“Fuck,” he groaned, gripping her, his fingers pressing into her lower back.

Blood poured into Petra’s mouth, and she drank greedily. Gods, if she could just have his cock inside her while she fed. If he could pump slowly in and out as the blood ran down her throat.

But she couldn’t have that.

He cared about the balas, not about her.

His hands raked down her hips and cupped her ass, drawing a moan from her throat in between swallows. His cock pressed against the seam of her covered pussy, begging for access. And while she continued to drink, she ground herself against him until they were both breathing hard.

“Petra,” he uttered in the sexiest voice she’d ever heard.

Her belly more than full, she eased her fangs out of his vein, then licked the wound until it closed. When she lifted her head and locked eyes with the paven who’d just fed her, she nearly gasped. It wasn’t the Synjon she’d known in the past few days. This one with his curled lip and glowing eyes was still ultrasexual and sharp as a polished blade, but his expression also revealed vulnerability.

Vulnerability that he was attempting to mask.

But Petra could see it was there.

What did it mean? How was it possible? His emotions were gone. Vulnerability was the very root of emotion, wasn’t it?

And then, as if the expression behind his eyes weren’t enough, he brought his hand between her legs and touched her. Lightly, gently, he ran his fingers up and down the seam of the jeans covering her pussy. She stared at him, knowing he felt just how hot and wet she was.

It was too much. The power he had, the desperation she felt. In that moment, with his hands on her body and his eyes claiming her soul, she knew she’d do whatever he asked of her. Anything. Anything to continue to feel this way.

She pushed away from him, scrambled off the bed, and ran out of the room. Her body was on fire, her breasts ached, and juices ran from her cunt like honey from a jar. She knew she was acting irrationally, but she had to get away from him before she melted into a puddle.

She hurried down the hallway, through the living area and into her bedroom. Breathing heavily, her cheeks flaming from his blood, she slammed the door behind her and went into the bathroom. Thank gods it had a lock. She leaned forward and cranked on the water in the shower, then dropped back against the door and slipped her hand into the waistband of her jeans.

She didn’t know if he’d followed her. She didn’t care. All that mattered in that moment was coming, and coming hard. She pushed past her underwear, wished she could rip it off, and found her wet slit.

“Ahhh,” she whispered, turning her head so her cheek rested against the cool wood. “Gods, yes.”

She sent her other hand too, and while one opened her lips wide, the other circled her swollen clit. What she wouldn’t give for Syn’s long, rock-hard cock inside her right now.

Just the thought had her moaning, juices running down her thighs. She stopped the circle movement and started working the ridge of her clit, up and down until her mind went blank.

She heard something on the other side of the door. A knock or a scratch. She couldn’t tell. She didn’t care.

“Getting wet, Petra?”

His voice. That sexy growl carried, even over the onslaught of the shower water hitting the tiles.

“I scent you,” he called. “Through the wood. Fuck, I followed you down the bloody hall like a dog in heat.”

She pulled herself wider, flicked her clit so lightly she groaned with irritation at herself. What was she doing? Prolonging it? Drawing it out as he talked her through her climax?

“I would’ve gladly taken care of that problem, love. All you had to do was ask.”

Panting, she pressed down on her clit.

“Are your eyes closed, veana?”

Moaning, she slipped the fingers that were holding her sex open deep into her pussy.

“Do you see me on my knees before you?” he called. “Do you see my fangs descend? Do you see them bracket your swollen clit as I lick you? My strokes so quick, you lose your breath . . .”

Light flashed on the backs of Petra’s eyelids and she cried out.

“Do you see my tongue sliding all the way down the ridge of your clit? Do you feel it thrusting up inside your cunt, fucking your drenched pussy until you come? All the way down my dry throat.”

Impaled on her fingers, her thumb pressing hard on her clit, Petra screamed. She didn’t mean to. But the feeling, the shock to her system, the words, his voice, it all sent her rocketing out of her body and into the heavens. Convulsing, moaning, she pressed back against the door and just let the waves of climax roll over her.