Eternal Sin (6 page)

The breath completely yanked from his body, his balls on fire, Synjon coiled into himself and cursed. The pussy brothers and the hawk shifter were right; Petra had some serious strength. Far greater than any
veana
he’d ever heard of or encountered. Was such a thing normal in
swell
? Or was she somehow different?

“I would say sorry.” She scooted off the bed. “But I’m not a very good liar.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, shaking off his pain, wondering if his dick was permanently scarred.

“Don’t want you making any more babies, do we?”

From his fetal position on the mattress, his gaze flipped up to find her. She stood just outside the door. In the hallway, where shafts of sunlight hit her neck and hair.

“I won’t be held here,” he told her through gritted teeth. “By you, your family. Even that hawk shifter who was only a few hours ago working her way into my bed.”

Shock registered on her face. She paled. “What?”

“She didn’t tell you?” he said evenly. Though he felt no emotion, he knew exactly how to extract it from others. Years of psych training in the military hadn’t been bled out of him. “Your small blond viper of a best mate, Dani?”

Petra shook her head. “She was there helping my brothers. Helping me.”

“Your brothers came later, love.” Recovered from the knee to the nuts now, Synjon pushed off the bed. He stood in the darkness, his eyes narrowed on the female who’d nearly turned him into a eunuch. This was going to be far trickier than he had thought. Her strength was amazing, strange, and couldn’t be matched. He would have to outwit her instead. An option that would take far more time and planning.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Whatever happened with Dani was just an act to get you off your guard, and you know it.”

“Well, she certainly fooled me. And I’m not easily fooled.” Synjon smiled coldly. “Must’ve been that black minidress, those come-shag-me heels, and the phrase ‘Where would you like me?’” His gaze moved over Petra again. “No
paven
alive can refuse that.”

Petra’s mouth thinned and she shook her head. “You really have no shame, no care, no feelings for anything, do you?”

No
.
He did not
.

“’Tis compliments of your father, love,” he said tightly. “Now, step aside.”

Her expression changed to near amusement. “Where do you think you’re going? The sun’s shining. It’s day.”

“It’s still night in New York. I may get a bit singed on the departure, but nothing a few
veana
s can’t take care of.”

Her mouth dropped open and she just stared at him.

“I’m asking you to step aside.” His eyes locked with hers. “I will only ask once.”

She lifted her chin. “And if I refuse?”

“I shall make you,” he said simply.

Petra took a breath, then released it as she moved into the very center of the doorway. “Make me, Syn.”

His brow furrowed. It was a response he hadn’t expected. It was illogical.

She continued, her tone filled with an almost feverish excitement. “Make me get out of your way. I’ve dreamed of it—this clash—and everything inside me is begging for it. I’ve wanted to deny this new strength I possess. Or just not deal with it because I didn’t understand its purpose, and shit, maybe it even frightened me a little. But I think it’s the perfect time to see just how powerful I am.”

“The
balas
 . . . ,” he began slowly.

“You won’t touch the
balas
.” She grinned, her eyes flashing with heat. “I won’t allow it. Ever.”

Again the strange sensation scratched at his insides, and again he forced it back. “I will show no pity, love. As you know, it doesn’t exist in me anymore.”

She sniffed, dropped into a fighting stance. “Trust me, Syn. It never did.”

He moved first. But Petra was only a second behind him. Fangs bared, blood surging in their veins, they collided in the center of the room: cold and lethal versus savage and ravenous.

4

C
ruen stood where so many lesser beings had stood before him. Where he had called to them, pulled them into his reality, rejected them.

The Hollow of Shadows.

Under the spotlight of a full moon, Cruen wanted to sneer at his predicament. But the action and the emotion behind it would steal the minimal energy that remained inside him. And though he grew worse with each moment he breathed, he had to appear capable and highly functioning before Feeyan and the others. For now, for today, he would tell them his only issue was a glitch in his ability to flash, the reason most frustratingly undetermined. He remembered something similar happening to another member of the Order many years ago. He hoped at least seven of the ten members would recall it now.

The temperature around him dropped another five degrees, the cold gripping his bones, weakening them further. It was truly disgraceful. The once all-powerful, feared, and respected vampire reduced to this. Begging for entrance to the plane he had created. Begging for an audience before the table he used to rule.

Damn Synjon Wise for his trickery, his treachery. What was his reasoning for this? Why not keep him in Erion’s dungeon? Why not just kill him outright?

An owl screeched overhead as Cruen walked toward the mouth of the cave. If he could just sit for a moment, find and collect his breath, save his strength. He wondered if Feeyan and the Order were ignoring him, his call. After all, they were a new, modern bunch now, and he had abandoned them for greater things. His self-serving agenda was common knowledge. And yet, even as he worked out the thought, he felt their almighty hand reaching for him, their strong and faithful energy wrap around him and pull. A weightless sensation moved through him as the Hollow of Shadows grew smaller and further away, while in his mind anger flared with the knowledge that even if he’d wanted to, there was no turning back. Feeyan had the power now. She was great. She was the leader of the Order.

And he was only a shell of the
paven
he used to be.

An even deeper, more bitter cold assaulted him as his feet hit compacted snow. At first Cruen was confused. Had the Order changed their reality—his reality—from sand to snow? Then, as Feeyan appeared at his side, tall and imperious, and the clouds parted before him to reveal several glorious white-capped mountains, he knew where he was and why.

“It is good of you to call, Cruen,” Feeyan said, her eyes matching the snow that surrounded them, while her expression mirrored the cold. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

He matched her crisp tone. “I was hoping for an audience with the Order.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I am the Order.”

It was like looking at himself only a few years ago. Ambitious, arrogant, secretive. He quite admired her in that moment. “So I’m to have a private audience?”

“I think it best to start there,” she said, studying him. “Don’t you?”

Cruen hesitated, handpicking every word that was to come out of his mouth. His successor was a complex
veana
. Not unlike him, she went beyond the boundaries of the Order to further her agenda, seek power and alliances. He had counted on standing before the group of ten and stating his case, his concerns. Now, with just their leader, perhaps he needed to play this game a little differently.

“We have a problem,” he began, the cold invading his bones, looking to weaken them further.

“We?” she repeated disdainfully.

“The Eternal Breed,” he said evenly, forcing calm, coolness into his expression. “I come to you as a concerned Pureblood.”

Her brows drew together in surprise, interest even. A small victory that gave Cruen the minute shot of mental adrenaline he needed to get attention, and action, for this lie he had conjured.

“A Pureblood looking for assistance,” he added.

Her mouth curved into a dangerous, disbelieving smile. “Since when do you need the Order’s help for anything, Cruen? You are all-powerful, remember?”

Yes.
He remembered
.
And I will be back there again.
As soon as I get to Synjon Wise
.
As soon as I dispose of this emotional disease inside me.

“This isn’t a personal issue,” he said, his eyes locking with hers. “It’s a problem for our kind.”

“What problem would that be? And why would you care?”

“Perhaps because I might be responsible for it.”

She fell silent, her narrowed gaze moving over his face, searching his expression, his body language. Cruen knew the intimidation tactic she was using. It had been one of his favorites. He nearly grinned. She truly had been his best pupil.

“Responsible how?” she said at long last.

It wasn’t the most optimal route to Synjon Wise, this lie he was about to tell Feeyan. No doubt Celestine and Petra would be caught up in the coming madness. But he couldn’t see any other way. He didn’t have the power the job required.

“It all began when I was creating the Breeding Male,” he said, his gaze shifting to the skiers on the mountainside. “As you know, I used not only the DNA of Pureblood vampires, but also that of demons—”

She hissed at his side. “And animals. One sits on the Order. I must look at her every day. Despicable.”

Perhaps,
he wanted to snarl. But the “animals” and the demons had been the route to the Breeding Male they all revered so. He would agree that they were not on par with the vampire breed, but they were serviceable, respected for their blood and all that it offered.

He continued to stare out at the snow, imperiously, unfettered. He had never wanted to reveal this secret to the Order. Doing so meant his research would be open to others. With a heavy breath, he said, “The DNA samples were not from animals.”

“What?” Her voice was very low.

His lips tightened around his teeth. Perhaps this was a mistake. Perhaps he should’ve come up with a different—

“Look at me!” she screamed.

Cruen had no choice but to obey. His head came around fast and sharp, his vision momentarily blurred. In seconds, he caught her fearsome gaze, and knew his willing body had just revealed some of its weakness.

Her eyes narrowed and she licked her lips, studying him. “If you didn’t use animals,” she said slowly, “how do we have the
mutore
and Order member, Dillon?”

The words, the revelation, hovered on the tip of his tongue. This was it. If he revealed them, their sheltered world, it was over. For them, and for him and his research. They would never grant him samples, test subjects, anything, ever again after this.

Feeyan was glaring at him with equal parts suspicion and gleeful curiosity. At his ear. Or lack thereof.

“What happened, Cruen?” she asked. “Animal bite?”

No.

Synjon Wise
.

Nearly debilitating shame drained Cruen of any scrap of concern he might have had for his relationship with the Rain Forest and its inhabitants. The
paven
who had tortured him, skillfully removing his ear before setting his skin to flame under the light of the sun, must be found. His emotions returned.

His life extinguished.

“There are shape-shifters in existence,” he began, barely feeling the frigid air swirling around him. “They have a hidden world in the Rain Forest. They were once peaceful. Incapable of posing a threat to our kind.”

Feeyan’s eyes turned an emotionless stark white. For a second or two, she didn’t speak. Then her fangs lowered and she spat out, “And you kept this from us?”

Of course he had. And he’d have continued to do so if that hidden world didn’t now contain Synjon Wise. “I was trying to protect them. But they are no longer peaceful. They’ve taken our own.”

Her eyes widened. “Taken?”

He nodded. “Purebloods. A male, and a female in
swell
. The shifters keep them as prisoners.”

Nostrils flared, Feeyan ingested this news. “Abducting Pureblood vampires,” she said thoughtfully. Deadly. She turned to face the mountain just as a group of thick gray clouds approached. “Well, we cannot have that, can we? I rather prefer blood at mealtime, but I’m willing to try a little raw meat in honor of the Eternal Breed.”

•   •   •

Petra stood in a blinding-white patch of sunlight, panting, sweating, thrilled, hungry, irritated. Basically, too freaking close to being out of control for her liking.

Three feet away, taking up residence in the doorway of the dark bedroom, his stance cold and calculated, his sharp-angled face sporting a nasty burn near his left temple, was her adversary.

The one she’d grabbed, clung to, pulled—not to keep him out of the sun this time—but to get him into it.

Her eyes moved over him, dark blue jeans that hung on narrow hips, wide, smooth, lean-muscled chest, broad shoulders, thick column of neck and a hard, set jaw. She lifted her gaze to connect with his iron stare. “You look a little afraid, Mr. Wise.”

“I don’t feel fear,
veana
.”

“Right. It’s an emotion. I keep forgetting you’re practically a machine.”

“I am impressed, though,” he said, the burn at his temple still smoking slightly.

“Machines don’t get impressed.”

He lifted his hand to his temple, hissed as his fingers made tentative contact. “Acknowledging skill, strength, and cunning in one’s opponent is not an emotion, but an understanding, a reasoning of events.” His brow lifted. “Do you wonder why you’re suddenly so powerful?”

Yes.
“No.”

“I don’t believe you. You, who wanted to know everything about your vampire self.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

She placed her hands on her belly. “Before I had to survive, fight.” She cocked her head. “Nice battle scar, by the way.”

“Not my only one, I think.” He took his hand from the burn. “Day’s still young and you look hungry.”

Her mouth watered at his words, his suggestion. The struggle to keep him from bolting had only aggravated her hunger. Being near him now, scenting him, was torture on her system. And to think, just hours ago the thought of blood on her tongue, running down her throat, made her gag.