He was just rounding the corner of Forty-fourth Street when something caught his eye in a brightly lit window of one of the shops. He slowed and went to check it out. The toy store was closed, but the front window was lit and dressed for the holidays. A large toddler-size bear sat on a small leather bench in front of a child-size Steinway, its fuzzy paws placed on the keyboard to look as though it was playing.
Petra’s incomplete query rolled through his mind. What would the balas inherit from him? His face? His sharpness? His hatred of his grandfather?
His gaze moved over the well-made instrument.
Would the balas have his abilities at the piano?
That unwelcome, though now strikingly familiar something pinged inside him. His desires had expanded beyond the simple two of physical release and unemotionally executed vengeance. Now they included a female he should never touch again, and the growing life inside her, which might very well sport his eyes.
He pulled out his cell phone, barked a quick order to the male on the other end of the line, then leaned back against the shop door and waited.
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—”