Eternal Sin (19 page)

“There was a mix-up,” Dillon explained. “Two vampires were here, and it was believed they were being held against their will.”

The leader of the Mountain Beasts, which claimed as its members anything from bear to gorilla to fox, leaned forward on the table. The male looked very young—Dillon would guess not even twenty—but his emerald green eyes held intelligence beyond their years. “You speak of Petra. And the father of her cub.”

Dillon nodded.

“But they’re gone now,” said the leader of the Plains, his golden cat eyes bright against his deep chocolate skin.

“Yes, but there’s another who remains.” Dillon glanced around the table. “This vampire was once here a long time ago. He was granted samples of your DNA. I think he’s still here. Maybe he’s hiding among your people, trying to get more samples out of them.” She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Both the Avian leader and the young Mountain leader looked over at Helo, then Phane, then back to Dillon. “You are all part shifter, aren’t you?” the male said.

Helo was the first to speak. “Water. So, Mountain faction, I suppose.”

Phane glanced at the Avian leader. “Hawk.”

The leader of the Plains continued to stare at Dillon. “And you?”

“Jaguar,” she said simply. “Listen, back in our world we’re not prized, not respected. In fact, we’re pretty much thought of as trash.”

All three leaders recoiled in shock.

“Trash?” said the Avian female, her bird eyes narrowing.

“This vampire who remains here is responsible for creating us.” Dillon took a deep breath. “He took your DNA and mixed it with vampire DNA. He’s kind of a monster.”

“Why would he do such a thing?” said the Plains leader.

“And why did we know nothing about it?” asked the Avian female. “We must go to our shifters and talk.”

“Fine,” Dillon said. “But first we need your help.”

“What do you suggest?” asked the young Mountain leader male, his interest in her and her jaguar clearly visible in his amazing eyes.

“We need to find him and bring him back to our leaders.” Dillon looked at each faction leader in turn. “Unharmed.”

“But if all you are saying is true,” said the Plains leader, “he should be exterminated.”

Oh,
Dillon sighed internally.
I really hated my job
. “Yes, he should,” she agreed. “But if Cruen isn’t returned alive, the Order will come.” She took a deep breath. “And they’ll bring war.”

•   •   •

Damn right she was going to sleep through a party.

Petra finished brushing her teeth, then turned off the bathroom light and got into bed. She didn’t pull up her covers right away, but instead began rubbing her belly in slow, gentle circles as outside her door the steady, almost rhythmic sounds of conversation were punctuated with the jarring shock of laughter and the heavy beat of a bass line. The baby was really active tonight, moving and pushing against certain internal organs. Petra grinned. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought.

She was about to reach for the television remote, see what late-night programs were on, when the bass line ceased abruptly, and she heard the most beautiful sound rise above the din. She stilled, drew back against her pillow, and closed her eyes.

Someone was playing the piano out there, and whoever it was had some serious talent.

Petra took a deep breath and just focused on the music. As if the
balas
heard it too, the kicking inside her womb gentled, and a lovely calm moved over the entire room.

It had been a long time since she’d felt like this. Calm, steady breaths in and out of her lungs as she relaxed, without a worry about the
balas
, where she was going to get blood she could actually keep down, or her emotional state.

Granted, this feeling of complete peace couldn’t last. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to enjoy it while it was here.

Though the music eased her body, it unfortunately couldn’t eradicate all thoughts from her mind. She wondered if Syn had spotted something he liked out there, something that would satiate his hunger, some
one
who could take the pinch of his fangs while granting him several pints of her blood.

A low growl broke from her throat, interrupting the Zen vibe she’d had going on in her bedroom. Shit, if he was drinking from someone right now, it shouldn’t bother her. The idea of his fangs penetrating another female’s skin? Shouldn’t bother her. The image of her blood flowing down his throat, feeding him, sustaining him? Or the sounds, the almost sexual groans of satisfaction when he was finished? Shouldn’t—

This time she groaned and rolled onto her side.

Goddamn it, no, it shouldn’t bother her. After all, feeding would keep him healthy and stable for her and the baby. But . . . it did. It just did.

In that moment the piano music ended. Strangely and abruptly. Petra stilled, waiting for it to come back. What had happened? She missed the slow, emotional rhythms already. A scream jarred her and sent her gaze to the door. Was that a woman? Close by, loud chatter and the sounds of several pairs of shoes clicking across hardwood could be heard.

Without a thought, her mouth dry with concern, Petra got out of bed and grabbed her robe. She was just slipping her arm in the fuzzy sleeve, when the door burst open. The earsplitting sounds of about forty retreating partygoers spilled into the room, along with one very pissed-off female shifter.

“You have got to be shitting me.”

Petra stared at her best friend. “Dani?”

“Glad you remember my name,” she said, glancing around the room. “Thought the evil vampire douche bag might’ve erased your memory along with your rational thought.”

“What are you doing here?” Petra asked, slipping her other arm into the remaining sleeve of her robe.

The hawk shifter walked into the bedroom and slammed the door. “Oh, you know, saving you from making mistake number freaking two, Pets.”

14

L
ucian tossed him a cue, lifting one pale blond eyebrow. “We do this over pool, Brit Boy.”

Synjon caught the stick easily, then rounded the table, which was positioned on the far side of his living area. “Do what exactly, Frosty?”

Lucian’s eyes widened. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

Synjon grabbed the chalk and said nothing. He was thinking about Petra, and all that was being discussed in that spare bedroom. He didn’t like leaving her alone with the hawk shifter. That female hated him. With good reason, but still . . .

“Frosty?” Lucian repeated. He turned to Nicholas and Alexander, who were standing around the large billiard table with sticks of their own, waiting their turn. “Hey, boys. Did Brit Boy here just insult me?”

Nicholas grinned. “Don’t get emotional, Luca.”

“Please,” Alex agreed. “That would be embarrassing for all of us.”

Leaning over, Syn adjusted the shaft of his cue stick, aimed, and with an audible crack knocked the cue ball into the stripes and solids.

“You’re changing,” Lucian said, leaning over directly across from him, setting up his shot while inspecting Syn. “How?”

Syn’s eyes flipped up. “There’s no change. I’m an emotionless bastard. My desires and plans are the same as they always were.”
Just waiting for Cruen to come to me, beg me to put him out of his misery.
Except maybe that wasn’t his first thought anymore. His gaze shifted toward the spare bedroom. They were taking forever.

“You want Cruen,” Lucian said, then sent his cue into the ball, dropping a solid in the right side pocket. “We want Cruen.”

“What?” Syn glanced at the other two
paven
s. “What are you talking about?”

“That stupid piece-of-shit
paven
,” Alexander said. “As usual, he’s made a mess of things. This time in the shifter community.”

“He’s still there?” Syn said before leaning down and sending a striped ball into the far left corner pocket.

“Still?” Nicholas said, his sharp eyes locking with Syn’s. “How did you know he was there at all?”

Bloody brilliant, Mr. Wise. Get your head out of your arse and think before you speak.
“Petra made a phone call home, remember? Now. Is he being hunted or made a guest?”

Though his gaze remained curious, Nicholas shrugged. “Not sure. Helo, Phane, and Dillon are speaking with the leaders of the factions now, trying to persuade them to go on a little search and capture.”

Syn didn’t mind the search. It was the capture he was worried about. If the shifters, the Romans, the pussy brothers, or whoever caught Cruen, that would mean a different plan. One that utilized his past skills as a spy.

“And what?” Synjon began. “You’re here to ask for my help in tracking him.”

“No,” Alex said, his cue aloft, his focus no longer on the game. “We need you and Petra to go before the Order—”

“Petra’s not going anywhere.” The words were far too quick exiting his mouth. He’d have to watch that.

All three Roman brothers stared at him, studied him.

“We need you to tell them you were never held against your will,” Nicholas said.

“You want me to lie?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Lucian snorted, leaning over the table to try a difficult shot. He was the only one still in the game. “Unless you want a war brought to the Rain Forest.”

Synjon once again ventured a glance at the hallway leading to the spare bedroom. “Why would you think I’d care about the Rain Forest and its occupants?”

Alexander eyed him, the corners of his mouth kicking up. “I don’t know. Maybe because that’s the home of the pregnant
veana
you stole and brought here because you’re feeling . . . ?”

A curl of annoyance went through Syn, but he kept it in check, kept it hidden. For all the things they thought they knew or had noticed about him, they didn’t know shit about what was going on inside him, or with him and Petra, or with him and the
balas
. Or how he couldn’t stop thinking about her, wanting her, wanting the
balas
, and how with each passing minute he grew more and more protective of them both.

“So?” Lucian said, after sending two balls into the left side pocket. “You gonna be a help? Or are you gonna be a total dickhead with no conscience?”

Without even looking at the table, Synjon smacked his cue into the ball. But instead of hitting one of his own, he sent the eight ball into the far right pocket. “That’s a
knobhead
with no conscience, Frosty.”

Luca grinned, broad and excited. “I’ve missed you, Brit Boy.”

•   •   •

Cruen stared at the pale gray flesh and sneered. “What do you call this exactly?”

“Cacuba,” said the young water shifter. “It’s a type of eel.”

They sat in the low rock caves near a waterfall spring. Several water shifters swam or sunbathed on the rocks like mermaids, while Robes, the young water shifter, and his older sister, Nore, cut up pieces of what they claimed to be magic-infused flesh.

“And why do you believe this gives one power?” Cruen asked, wondering if he’d made a grave mistake in remaining in the Rain Forest, expending his last shreds of mental and physical strength on a hope.

“We have used it,” Nore said, her dark eyes wide with excitement. “In hunting. In our rituals.”

Cruen took stock of his surroundings. He’d been to this very spot many moons ago, had taken samples from this same species, and yet, as he turned back to the plate of rotting gray flesh that was to make him powerful again, he felt no delight in being here once again. If this was a mistake, if nothing came of it, how could he return to the gathering rocks? Have the strength to return? His guard hadn’t been allowed to follow, and was waiting for him there. To flash him home, or to the table of the Order.

Flash
him
.

Oh, gods, the humiliation at his loss of power grew worse with every breath.

“Go ahead,” urged Robes, pushing the plate closer to Cruen. “You will see.”

He had fallen. Far and painfully. He grabbed the slimy eel flesh and stuffed it in his mouth. The taste was one of the most vile he’d ever experienced, and instead of chewing, he swallowed it whole.

“Now you will see,” Nore said, clasping her hands together.

Yes,
Cruen thought,
but will I feel? Will I feel power racing through my veins, my blood? Will I be able to flash to the balcony of one Synjon Wise and force him to remove his emotions from my mind?

Or will I be walking back to the gathering stones, searching, praying to all who will listen that I don’t lose my mind or my breath before I get there?

•   •   •

Petra sat cross-legged on the bed, picking at the imaginary lint on the new sage green comforter Synjon had insisted on buying her. Across from her, a plush striped green pillow separating them, was Dani.

It was like old times.

Except for the digs.

“There’s only one answer,” Petra said in what she hoped was a firm voice, because Dani rarely responded to anything less.

“So.” Dani cocked her head to the side. “You’re saying this is really about the baby?”

“Of course it’s about the baby.”

The hawk shifter shook her head, disbelieving. “You need to do your repeats.”

“Dani—”

“Here, let me go over them with you.”

“No, thanks.”

“Synjon Wise is a complete ass-cake.”

“Hey, wait.” Petra pointed at her and scowled. “That’s a new one.”

Dani shrugged. “Well, you know, they’re all along the same lines.”

“Listen,” Petra said, eyeing her closest friend in the world. “I don’t need to do any of that shit. I’m a grown female with a
balas
on the way.”

“Right. And the father of that
balas
just happens to be the guy you’ve always had a huge thing for. The guy who has whisked you off to his cocksure penthouse on top of the world,
Pretty Woman
’d your ass, and once again tried to get up your skirt. Did I leave anything out?”

Petra leaned back against her pillows—her very pretty, very green pillows—and grinned. “Yes.”