Eternal Beauty: Mark of the Vampire (A Penguin Special from Signet Eclipse) (5 page)

She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but the impulsive move couldn’t be stopped. She reached out and touched his face, his cheek. The skin was warm and rough under her fingers. She knew she should pull away, but she didn’t.

She lifted her gaze to his and whispered, “I don’t think it’s so bad.”

Synjon Wise’s brows drew together, and his eyes darkened with wariness. “You are a strange
veana
, Petra,” he said as he eased back away from her, and away from her touch.

Seven

He’d told her all about morpho and Meta, he’d told her about the
credentis
, he’d talked of his years in the military—and finally he’d told her his age.

“One hundred and eighty?” she exclaimed.

Synjon nodded. Across the small dining table, candles burning down to low flames, Petra sat with her arms folded on the table, her head jutting forward as if she was afraid she’d miss something. Her black hair spilled over her arms and her pale blue eyes glinted with feverish interest.

“How long can you live?” she asked.

“
We
,” he corrected, “can live forever.” He shrugged, amending, “If the blood continues to flow and we . . .”

She inched forward in her seat. “What?”

The events of a week ago pushed once again through his mind, and his unbeating heart. “Remain out of the sun. Though females can survive it, the sun is a morphed male’s enemy.”

Her eyes softened. “Is it your only enemy?”

“No.” Cruen’s face flashed inside his head, made his blood burn in his veins. There were many enemies within their breed.

“The woman,” she began, “the one you carried so gently, the one you so desperately wanted to give your life for—”

“Do not speak of her,” Synjon warned coolly.

“She was a vampire?”

“Yes,” he ground out.

She bit her lip. “How did she die?”

A low growl rumbled in Syn’s chest and his eyes narrowed on the
veana
before him. “I told you not to speak of her.”

“I know,” she said quickly, her eyes not meeting his. “I’m sorry. This is hard, I understand, but I have to know. It wasn’t the sun? You said the sun can’t hurt females.”

The anger that surged through him in that moment concerned him. It felt reckless, and was fusing with his painful hunger—urging him to reach across the table and bite the
veana
. For her blood and her silence.

“It is time for your end of the bargain, Petra,” he growled.

His fiercely uttered words seemed to snap her out of the one-track-questions race she’d been on for the past hour. “My blood?”

Was he wrong or did he actually see a flash of interest, of excitement, cross her wide-eyed gaze? “Yes,” he answered. “I need your blood. You have no idea how much. But first, I need your breath.”

* * *

“Am I doing this right?”

“Stop talking. We’ll know in a moment.”

They were seated on the floor, Petra on her knees. She had lit more candles, wanted to make sure she saw everything, was aware of everything. She was really nervous, wondering what she was doing, and if she could somehow screw it up. The idea sounded insane; blowing one’s breath on another to heal them. Could she truly have the kind of power he was suggesting? Or was this some kind of attempt at manipulation or embarrassment before the real deal commenced?

The drinking of her blood.

“I can feel your timidity, Petra.” He opened his eyes. They were the color of wet bark and they implored her. “For this to work, you must be confident.”

“That’s the problem,” she said. “Confidence about something I’ve never done before, can’t imagine will work, and—”

“Stop talking.”

“Fine,” she grumbled.

“Just focus. You have this power. I swear it to you.”

“That would be great if I actually trusted you.”

He reached out and gripped her shoulders. “Bloody hell,
Veana
. I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m asking you to trust yourself.”

She stilled. Her breath catching in her lungs, she looked at him. His ravaged skin, his intense gaze, his mouth . . . Gods, how had this happened? How had she been the one near the caves that day, seen him carry the female? Why was she the one to pull him from the blistering sun? This male with no heartbeat. Who claimed he was a vampire, who swore she was one too. She took a deep breath. Was it the truth?

Was it her truth?

And if so, when did it kick in?

“Petra.”

His voice, his command, pulled her back into the moment. If she did this and it worked, she would have her answer, wouldn’t she?
What the hell?

“Okay.” She closed her eyes and for a moment just drew on her belief in herself and her strength. Then she pursed her lips and released her breath.

She heard nothing but her exhale.

“Again,” he said tightly.

Her blood rushing in her veins, she focused deeper, her mind connecting with her will. She inhaled and blew her warm breath against his face. This time, Synjon said nothing. This time, after ten seconds or so, he sighed. Actually sighed. No pain accompanied the sound. Just an easy sigh of relief.

She dared to open one eye, see if in truth her breath had actually done anything at all. Through the strange field of view, she saw that his right cheek was . . . Her muscles tensed, she opened her other eye.

“Amazing,” she breathed.

He touched his face. One small section, the section that had felt her breath, was completely healed. His eyes flipped up and he grinned. “Yes, you are, Love.”

She just stared at him, shock barreling through her. How was it possible? If he was right about this—- If this was true, then . . .

“Continue,
Veana
,” he demanded, cutting through her thoughts with an almost playful growl.

Her eyes cut to his and she gave him a slow grin. “Please.”

“I don’t say please.”

“I’m not surprised. You have very poor manners.”

“Continue,
Veana
,” he said, then muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like, “Please.”

Brimming with sudden and intense confidence, she cupped her ear. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

His lip curled with annoyance. “Just do it already.”

She didn’t move.

“You like truth, facts about our species, yes?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yes.”

“Well, then, here is another. Healing a
paven
, a Pureblood male, is a
veana’
s pleasure.”

She thought about this for a moment, then shrugged. “Pleasure or no, I’m sure these
veanas
would require the barest of manners. A please and a thank you.” She lifted her chin. “It’s common courtesy, Mr. Wise.”

Synjon looked away, trying to keep his temper under control. Even with the burns on his face, he was a formidable male, ruggedly handsome, sexually interesting. Petra had never truly thought of a male that way. Kind, yes. Strong, yes. Reliable, intelligent, honest, handsome—yes.

But sexually interesting, no.

When he turned back to face her, his eyes blazed with heat. He crooked his finger at her until she leaned back toward him. Then he followed suit until they were just a few inches apart. His lips parted and Petra’s gaze dropped.

“Please,” he whispered. “Blow me,
Veana
.”

The words meant nothing to her in that moment, but the sensual purr in his throat was crystal clear, and it reached inside her chest, grabbed the muscle that refused to beat and for just one brush of a second set it aflame with life.

She swallowed hard and pretended she wasn’t affected.

Then, she gave him a very pleased, innocent smile. “See. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

For a moment, he looked confused, then a slow wash of understanding, and of self-disgust moved over his face. His nostrils flared and he nearly snarled at her. “Close your eyes, resume your work. Let’s get this done.”

Petra was no fool. She knew exactly where his mind had gone. He’d forgotten for a moment about the female. He’d allowed himself to relax, to play. She wouldn’t try to reason with him. It was not her business. Right now, she needed to complete their bargain.

With infinitely more confidence, and eyes open and watchful, Petra inhaled again and blew. Everything moved more quickly this time. As his skin changed and healed, Petra switched to another section until his entire face was free of burns and blisters. It was truly awesome, this power she possessed. She didn’t know what to think of it, how to proceed, but the truth was, her world had just opened up.

Her eyes pinned to his face, she finished her work, used her healing breath on his neck.

“Mr. Wise?”

Her voice drew his attention and he opened his eyes. Petra nearly gasped. The bark-brown color of his irises now glowed with rich, sensual gold. She couldn’t turn away, her skin prickled and hummed. She’d never seen anything like it, like him.

She cleared her throat and pushed out her query. “Is the pain gone?”

His gaze moved over her face, and she wondered if he was deciding how to answer.

“The burns, I mean,” she amended, almost nervously. “I know the pain of losing—”

“Petra—”

“If you wanted to talk about it, you could, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Petra, please.” His lips thinned. “And again, I’m saying please. What happened out there near the caves is my own. It will never be discussed here.”

“Okay, but sometimes it helps.”

“
That
is an innocent’s perspective.”

“And that is a cynic’s response.”

He sighed, his teeth clenched as he glanced past her to the windows. “Bloody hell. I never thought I’d be pleased to see the impending emergence of the sun.” He turned back to face her. “Since we can’t seem to finish this . . . whatever it is—”

“Bargain,” she finished for him.

“I’m going to need somewhere to hold out.”

She stood up. “Come on. The bathroom is the darkest and most shaded room in the treehouse.”

She’d never seen anyone look so insulted. She started to laugh. “What?”

His nostrils flared. “I am to nod off in the toilet?”

“It’s a very nice bathroom,” she assured him, not able to control her grin. “I designed it myself.”

“I could try to flash before the sun comes up.” He growled. “But I think I’m too fecking weak to risk it.” He got to his feet and followed her. “I will remain in your loo if I must,
Veana
, but I won’t wait all day for blood. I want you now.”

She whirled around inside the arch of the bathroom door, her skin humming with his words. “Perhaps you would like to rephrase that, Mr. Wise.”

He came to stand before her, his gaze taking full command of hers. Petra saw hunger and curiosity burning there, but it was the strain of grief that truly tugged at the muscles in her chest. He was thinking of her. The female he’d brought to the rainforest. Did he feel guilty for being with Petra now, standing here before her, wanting her blood, and maybe something more?

And if he did, Petra thought, her eyes searching his for answers, for a mutual understanding of this attraction she felt, would that guilt send him away the minute he had what he wanted?

She mentally shook her head. Wasn’t that exactly what should happen? Wasn’t that what she wanted as well?

The knock at the front door stunned them both, and they jerked their heads toward it.

Synjon dropped into a predatory, fighting stance, a low growl sounding in his throat.

Petra made an attempt to shove him into the bathroom. “Get in there.” But it was like trying to move a boulder.

His eyes flashed with fierce, hungry heat. The kind that usually led to fists connecting with faces. “Are you sure you don’t want me to answer the door for you?”

The knocking grew louder and more insistent.

Petra glanced at the door, then back at him. She hissed, “You want blood, Mr. Wise?”

He sniffed at the thinly veiled threat. “All right. I’ll disappear into the loo. But it would be a grave mistake to forget about me.”

Petra didn’t answer him, just closed the bathroom door the very second he stepped back.

Forget him
?

Was he kidding? How could she forget him? She was actually going to let this male bite her again, let him remove, drink, and consume blood from her body. As she headed for the front door and whatever stood behind it, a strange and unexpected rush of heat overtook the nerves inside of her. If she wasn’t mistaken, though her mind cringed at the idea of feeding her blood to the dangerously handsome Synjon Wise, her body was more than just able and ready.

It was willing.

Eight

This was bullocks.

Synjon stood in the very same spot he’d occupied when the
veana
had left him ten minutes ago. Inches from the bloody door. But now, he leaned against it, listening as Doctor Forgive and Fuck Me refused to get a clue and leave. If this kept on, Synjon wasn’t sure he could follow through on his promise to remain hidden. Though his face and neck were healed, his gut ached with hunger. If he didn’t feed soon, he would start to grow feral.

His head dropped against the wood as he heard the
veana
speak again.

“Thank you for the food, Brodan, but I’m pretty well stocked.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Petra.”

“For what?”

His voice drew nearer to the bathroom, his footfall heavy. “I don’t know how he got away.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should’ve stayed at the clinic, watched him until he woke up. I thought I could go home for a few hours, shower, change clothes—”

Petra interrupted. “Seriously, Brodan. It was impossible to predict.”

Yes, seriously, Brodan
, Synjon thought with irritation.
Give it a
rest already, you stupid gatecrashing git.

“I don’t like you being here on your own,” the doctor said.

“I’m always here by myself. Nothing new, nothing to worry about.”

“Not while that thing is on the loose.”

Thing
. Synjon’s upper lip twitched and his fangs started to descend.
If anyone in this place is a thing . . .

“The family doesn’t want me at the house in case he returns,” Petra responded quickly. “This is the perfect hideout. I have everything I need.”

“Come home with me, Pets. He’ll never follow you there, and if he did I can take care of it.”

Bloody hell. Just tell her you want to shag her and let’s be done with this.

“I appreciate it,” Petra said. “I really do, Brodan. But I’m good here.”

“Then I’ll stay with you. A little company, a little protection.”

A scream of hunger assaulted Syn’s gut and he groaned.

Cut that off,
Veana.
Cut that off now before I have to do it.

“I don’t need protection, Brodan,” she said with growing seriousness. “I have a ton of work to do. I have all the supplies I need.” She lowered her voice, but Syn could still hear her. “This is not how we should have our first outing.”

“No,” he replied in a husky tone. “It will be outside, near the waterfall.” He chuckled. “I have it all planned, you see.”

Synjon growled low in his throat. The hunger was starting to make him insane, make him possessive over his food.

“All right, Pets,” Brodan continued. “I know better than to push you. But I’m coming back to check on you.”

Brilliant, mate. Now, get the hell out
.

Synjon picked up on some final departing words, then the welcome sound of the front door closing. He was nearly panting when the bathroom door opened with a flourish.

“I assume you heard everything,” she said.

“The chat between you and your boyfriend? Afraid so.”

Her cheeks went pink. Or maybe they were flushed before she came into the bathroom. He didn’t like it either way.

“Brodan and I aren’t mates.”

“Yet,” Syn finished, nostrils flaring as he took in her scent. “But he wants it pretty damn bad.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Perhaps that’s a good thing then. After all, he is a well respected male; strong, smart, kind.”

“Polite.”

“Yes,” she agreed, walking toward him, stopping when they were only a few inches apart. “It’s an attractive quality in a male.”

He grunted. “Pleases and thank yous.”

“Of course.”

“Never take without asking.”

“Exactly.”

“Sounds like a recipe for a ruddy dull life.”

“Not to me.”

“Too bad, Petra.” He studied her face, her stunning, mysterious, and stubborn face. In another lifetime, he might’ve gone arse-over-tit for someone like her. She was the kind to make a bloke forget.

But he wasn’t in the business of forgetting.

“For our final tutorial,” he said, his eyes connecting with hers. “You must know that no true Pureblood vampire male will ever ask you for a kiss. If he wants it, he’ll take it.”

“Is that right?”

“Indeed. And afterward, it will be you who offers the overly polite, ‘thank you.’”

“You’re arrogant as shit, you know that?”

“Yes.”

“And barbaric.”

“Welcome to your world,
Veana
.”

She stared at him, nostrils flaring. “Well, I don’t think I want it.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

He cocked his head and stared at her neck. “I see your vein pulsing as I speak, Love. I see your eyes dilating. Your mind may be trying to convince you otherwise, but the desire to submit is written all over your face.” He leaned in, nostrils flaring, and sniffed. “And I’m willing to bet if you were stripped bare right now, a male would find that desire displayed in other areas on your person as well.”

She looked stunned and livid and shit, aroused. What was he doing? Christ, what the hell was he doing? This was about hunger, not desire. This was about caring for his body, not punishing it.

“Petra . . .” he began, but she cut him off.

Closing the space between them, she practically growled at him. “I may live among Shifters,” she said menacingly, her eyes flaring with ire and heat and confusion, “but you are the true animal.”

His mind died in that moment, as did his soul. She was near and he was starved. For blood, for heat . . . for the feel of a female’s skin . . .

He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Crikey, her body fit his far too well. His breath came out in a rush, and he took her mouth like he wanted to take her blood. Tears behind his eyes, caught in his throat and his chest, he forced every thought out of his head, every memory from his unbeating heart—and every shred of decency he had left, and just kissed her. She tasted sweet and perfect, and her lips were warm and soft. She responded instantly to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and returning his passionate assault as if she too wanted to release some great heaviness of shame and guilt. With a moan of pleasure, he ran his tongue over her top lip, and when she met him with her own wet heat, he felt his cock stir.

Fuck.

Bloody hell.

He eased back until she was forced to release him. For several long seconds, they stared at one another, breathing heavy, skin flushed with desire. Syn had no idea what was going on in her head, but what was going on in his was brutal. He was a cock-up, a prat, a rogue, and a rat bastard. He deserved to be strung up by his fangs for touching another female.

“I’m famished,” he said in lieu of an excuse or an apology. “In pain. I need your blood now before I lose what little control I have left.”

Her skin was pink and the scent of her arousal in the air couldn’t be missed by either one of them, and yet she nodded and stepped back. “Will it hurt? Will I be weak afterward?”

“There is a moment of pain, as you felt in the clinic. But it doesn’t last.” He went over to the wood bathtub and sat down, rested his back against the side. “You may feel tired afterward, or you may feel energized. I’m not sure how your body will react.”

“I’m nervous.”

“But you’re willing?” He wasn’t about to fight her for it. Shite, right now he was out of fight.

Without a word, she came to sit beside him. And after several deep breaths, she lifted her chin and offered him her wrist.

Synjon didn’t say anything more. Frankly, he was so amped up, heavy with desire, and ravenous with hunger, whatever came out of his mouth at this point would probably be grunts and groans. So he gave in to his true and honest need and became a Pureblood vampire
paven
.

He brought her wrist to his lips, and within the space of a breath, his fangs plunged into her vein.

* * *

The rush of heat, pain and undeniable pleasure moving through Petra was mind-boggling. At first, when his fangs had entered her skin, pricked her vein, she’d wanted to pull away, rescind their bargain and get the hell out of the bathroom. But in seconds the fear, the strangeness of the act fell away and she was left with a feeling she could only describe as pre-orgasmic.

Panting slightly, she watched him, his dark head coiled over her wrist, his body moving to the rhythm of his suckle. With every pull, she felt him inside her. With every swallow, her mind conjured images of his mouth on hers again.

Sweat broke out on her forehead and she leaned against his shoulder. His hand instantly reached for her, grabbing her thigh and squeezing. Below her waist, heat surged and the small heartbeat hidden inside her clit swelled. She’d never felt anything like it, and a moan escaped her lips.

As his fingers clenched and unclenched like a feline’s claws against her skin, she fought the swirling desire inside of her. But it was impossible to control. She was incredibly turned on. Every goddamn inch of her. Her mouth was dry, her nipples were hard, her sex was wet, and her mind was begging for him to slide his hand from her thigh up to where she ached.

“Oh, Synjon,” she whispered almost desperately, her head starting to pound. “Please . . .”

Gods, what was she asking? What was wrong with her?

In front of her eyes, spots formed. She blinked rapidly, licked her lips and swallowed. She couldn’t feel her limbs, her face . . .

“Please,” she uttered. “Don’t. Stop. Please. I can’t . . . breathe.”

Suddenly, the room faded of all color, and just as the male pulled from her vein, she lost consciousness.