Eternal Sin (21 page)

“Look,” he said.

And there it was. Her child’s head or elbow or foot following along behind Synjon’s hand.

She pulled away from him, from his touch, from the idea that he might somehow have control of her little
balas
, and rolled to her side. “I’m really tired.”

Syn didn’t say anything, but his hand flexed.

“You know, from all that pacing.” She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. What had just happened here was the most intimate thing that she’d ever experienced in her life, and she didn’t know what to make of it.

“Good night, Syn,” she said almost breathlessly.

He stood, hesitated for a moment, then walked to the door. “I want to know if that pain comes back.”

She curled into her pillow.

“Promise me, Petra.”

His tone, almost dark, worried her. “I promise.”

This time, when he left, he didn’t close the door all the way.

•   •   •

He felt.

Not just the keys beneath his fingers as he worked the Bösendorfer with Debussy, but something deeper, something that had nothing to do with instinct, when he got close to the
balas
.

How could that be possible? Instinct he was willing to accept, but an emotional connection?

Cruen had drained him absolutely. Syn had made sure of it—then made sure all those emotions were permanently embedded in the asshole
paven
.

He played on. He played until he felt nothing at all. He played until the room grew cold and the snow outside accumulated against the glass doors leading to the terrace.

He played until he felt someone watching him.

His hands stilled over the keys and he glanced up. To his right, halfway between the hall to her bedroom and his piano, was the most beautiful swollen-bellied angel. Her hair loose and falling about the high white mounds of her breasts, barely encased by the black lace of her tank.

His mouth started to water. “Is the pain back?”

“That was you?”

“Is the pain back, love?” he said again.

“No. No, I’m fine.”

He took a deep breath and blew it out, then began to play once again. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

She came to stand beside the piano bench, bringing her scent with her. It made his gut clench with hunger and thirst. “You were the one playing at the party.”

He looked up at her. “You heard me over that crowd?”

“It was the only thing I wanted to hear,” she said. “It was beautiful. It
is
beautiful. I had no idea you could play.”

“The secret life of Synjon Wise,” he muttered, then switched gears, his fingers dancing over the keys as he played the very same song he’d played earlier that night. When he’d wanted to block out the party, his hunger, and his ever-growing desire for the
veana
who stood just inches away.

When he stopped, Petra sighed. “Incredible. I wish I could play like that.”

“You can,” he said.

She laughed. “Come on now.”

“I don’t mean right away. But you can learn, start from the beginning.” Then he added impetuously, foolishly, “I could teach you.”

“I’d like that, but I’m not sure I can fit on a piano bench in my condition. Where’s the belly going to go?” She laughed. “On top of the keys?”

“We could give it a try, and if it’s not comfortable, maybe after the
balas
is born . . .”

“Right,” she said quickly. She was quiet for a moment, no doubt thinking about returning to the Rain Forest after the birth of Little Fangs. Or not returning.

It was a thought he refused to entertain.

“How long have you been playing?” She came around to stand behind him.

“Since I was a
balas
of six years.” He started playing something soft and a little sad. Seemed to suit the mood. “Took to it right away.”

“No lessons?”

He shook his head. “Not a one.”

“That’s amazing. I wonder if Little Fangs will have—” She stopped abruptly. “Sorry. I know you hate the name.”

“I don’t mind it, really.” He looked over his shoulder, found her gaze. “And I hope so.”

She swallowed tightly and her eyes shuttered.

Syn took his hands off the piano and turned around to face her. His hands went to her waist, his thumbs on her stomach. “I hope the
balas
has something of me. Though it may seem impossible to see at this moment, with what I have become, there are traces of good within my blood.”

She gazed down at him. “I remember.”

“Oh, Petra.” He leaned in and placed his head on her belly. It was so warm.
She
was so warm.

Her hands found his hair and tangled in the dark strands, the pads of her fingers massaging his scalp. Syn turned and nuzzled her belly. He gently lifted her tank and pressed a kiss to her skin, then dropped his head and kissed down the side of her
swell
, over her hipbone.

He growled, his nostrils flaring. “I scent your heat, Petra,” he whispered against her skin. “I want it.”

She shifted in his hands, her body and her breathing unsteady.

He lapped at her hipbone with his tongue, then started pulling down her pajama bottoms.

She moaned, her fingers digging deeper into his scalp as he eased the black silk down to her knees.

“I’m so thirsty, love.” He gazed at the beautiful wet pussy that was nearly at eye level as he sat on his piano bench.

“Syn . . .”

The whisper of his name made his cock stir. “I can’t drink your blood, love. But I can lick your cream.”

“Oh, gods,” she cried softly.

“Tell me yes, Petra.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

As his head bent, his hands went around to cup her ass. With his first lick, his first taste, blood surged into his cock. He’d never had anything on his tongue that compared to this, to her, and he realized in that moment that no matter how long he feasted at her spectacular cunt, he’d never be satiated.

He wanted her for life.

Growling away the thought, he slipped one hand down the curve of her ass and up again, finding her wet sheath. Flicking his tongue lightly over her clit, he eased two fingers up inside her.

Her deep-throated groan matched his own.

Ruddy hell, she was so tight, so drenched in cream.

His dick begged to be let out, released, so it could find and capture and bury itself in the hot, fist-tight cage it desired so intensely. His emotions were gone, or so he’d thought, but this . . . fuck, this connection he had with her—this connection he’d had since she’d saved his sorry ass—was never going to recede.

And he didn’t think he wanted it to.

Her hips were moving now, swinging, bucking against his mouth. It was all Syn could do to keep his face planted in her sex, his tongue swirling on her clit and his fingers fucking her deep. The room no longer felt cold. In fact, it was blistering with heat and sweat, groans and heavy breathing, and Syn wanted to rip his clothes off and feel her skin to skin again.

His eyes closed as he pressed his tongue against her clit, moving his head up and down. On the backs of his eyelids he saw them, the two of them, in the strange, beautiful, tree house bathroom, his body over hers, her eyes on him, his cock thrust so deep he’d nearly lost his mind.

She ripped her fingers from his hair then and gripped his shoulders for support. He could feel the heat gathering within her, her slick, honey walls clamping around his fingers as he pumped. She was going to climax. And when she did, he was going to drink her down.

Not her blood.

But her sweet come.

With a growl of hunger, he consumed her, his tongue moving through her wet slit, then circling. He eased a third finger inside her and started fucking her fast and deep. Her head fell back and she began to shake.

“Oh, gods, yes!” she cried, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders.

Syn left her ass and looped his arm around her waist to hold her in place. Then his lips covered her clit and while he suckled, while he coaxed the hot bud to swell against his tongue, his fingers thrust up into her cunt and remained.

Petra gasped for air, her knees buckling.

Inside her sex, Syn flicked the pads of his fingers, hard and quick, back and forth, until he heard her cry out, felt the walls around him shudder and go slick. Then he pulled out of her and thrust his tongue inside.

She came hard, bucking and writhing, cream pouring out of her cunt and down Synjon’s greedy throat.

16

P
etra felt boneless and worked over, and when Synjon picked her up in his arms for the second time that night and carried her off, she didn’t argue or question. She just curled into his chest and breathed deeply of his amazing scent.

She wanted to chastise herself for allowing him to touch her, but she felt too weak, both in body and in spirit. Dani was a hundred percent right about her. She was falling in love with this
paven
, and if he wanted to touch her, kiss her, or rub her belly and watch their
balas
move against his palm, she would let him.

She wasn’t sure if that made her weak or honest, but right then she didn’t care.

The air inside her room felt cold, and when he placed her back in bed, she thought very seriously about asking him to stay. Maybe curl up behind her, drape his arm over her belly, and fall asleep against the back of her neck.

But his expression stopped her.

Or his lack of expression. Once again he looked utterly impassive, from his mouth to his eyes.

Had this meant nothing to him? she wondered. Was it physical desire only?

And then he did the strangest thing. He gathered the blanket at her feet and pulled it over her, all the way to her chin. The gesture was so odd for someone who had no emotion.

“The pain?” he asked.

“Gone,” she whispered.

His eyes softened with relief, and he leaned down and kissed her, a kiss so soft and gentle and sweet it nearly broke Petra’s heart.

“Sleep,” he said, walking out of the room. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Again, he left the door ajar, and for the second time that night, Petra curled up with her pillow. This time she fell asleep within seconds.

•   •   •

Phane climbed the steps of the small mountain house he and Helo were going to stay in while they were in the Rain Forest. It had been chosen for them. Phane wasn’t sure who had selected it, but it looked pretty damn good from the outside. It was centrally located and had a river for Helo to swim in, as well as easy access to the sky and a perch for Phane.

He pushed the door open and went inside. The place was a total pit, but he hardly cared. He was beat and hungry. They’d been flying for hours, combing every inch of the Rain Forest looking for Cruen. Coming up with a whole lot of nothing. That bastard
paven
was slicker than a rattlesnake dipped in oil.

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Dani, who had done the escorting-him-home bit, and who Phane was pretty sure wanted to be elsewhere. “I’ll try, but this place makes it hard, you know?” He grinned. “It’s paradise.”

Her eyes widened innocently. “It was the only free house we had available.”

“I’m sure.”

Her mouth twitched with amusement. He bet she liked making males squirm. It was one of the many reasons he found her so freaking hot.

“So, bird-slash–blood boy,” she said, moving past him and into the wreck of a living room, “how long do you and your brother plan on staying?”

“That’s undetermined.”

“What fun for us.”

“With Syn’s information about the Order’s potential threat, we don’t want to leave the Rain Forest unprotected.”

She looked up from the couch, which was missing two of its cushions and the one that remained had several gaping holes in it. “Unprotected.” She snorted. “So arrogant for one so pretty.”

Pretty, eh?
He wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. He headed into one of the bedrooms. Dani followed him. If it was possible, the room was even worse than the living room. The floors were wrecked and damaged from water, and it looked as though at some point in time the entire contents of the Rain Forest had been blown through the broken window.

“So, you know where I’m bunking down,” he said, turning to face her. “Where do you live?”

“Oh, here and there.”

“Never heard of it. Is it as nice as this?”

“Not even close.” She grinned and checked out the adjoining bathroom. “You have running water. ’Course, it’s probably running brown this time of year, but who do you really have to shower for anyway?”

How pissed would she be if he grabbed her, kissed her, and asked her how bad he smelled? He imagined pretty pissed, but the thought made him grin.

“So you don’t live with the Avians, then?” he asked, checking out the dirty broken window.

“I’m a nonconformist. I sorta do my own thing.”

Shocker,
Phane thought with a chuckle. “Do you have a male?”

“Uh . . . exactly how is that any of your business, vampire hawk?”

He turned, his back to the window, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m interested in you.”

His honesty must’ve stunned her. But only for a few seconds. “Really?”

He nodded. “So? Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Have a male?”

She grinned wide and wicked, and Phane’s chest tightened with desire. That is, until she said, “I have many males.”

The front door opened and soon Helo appeared in the doorway. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Phane laughed. “Thank Dani. It’s all her doing.”

Helo turned to the female and glared. “Thanks, Dani.”

“Sure thing,” she answered. “Try not to stay too long.”

“Hospitable, ain’t she?” Phane muttered to Helo, then followed Dani out of the bedroom and over to the front door. “Come again soon,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb.

She grinned wickedly at him as she passed. “I always do, bloodsucker. I always do.”

“You know, I’m not just a vampire,” he called to her back.

She turned around. “Oh, I know. Feathers and talons and—”