by Laura Wright
He regarded her with a lift of one dark brow. “Your choice, female. And it’s a very simple one. The piano or the door.”
Her mouth twitched. “You’re really something—you know that?”
He glared at her. Was that humor in her expression? He didn’t think so. In fact, he was starting to believe this encounter was a grand mistake. He cocked his head. “I’ll walk you out. My driver’s downstairs. He’ll make sure you get home without a problem.”
“I don’t need a driver, asshole.” She grinned wide. “I’ve got wings.”
Before Synjon could draw his next breath, two males rushed him from opposite sides of the room. Growling and snarling, they bodychecked him so bloody hard he lost his vision for a few seconds. What the hell . . . ?
Widening his stance, he shook his head, trying to clear his vision. He was a natural fighter and a seasoned killer, but over the past week, ever since Cruen had bled his emotions, his instincts had been slightly off. He was slower to react. And it showed now.
“I want to kill him,” he heard the female say.
“We can’t,” said one of the males.
“No,” said the other. “But we could hurt him a little.”
Even without full use of his sight, Synjon felt the steady heat come up behind him. He whirled around and shoved his elbow into the neck of one of the males, followed by a fierce head butt to the face. He heard a whoosh of air, and the male’s bloodscent rushed into his nostrils. Familiar. Not vampire.
But whether enemy or estranged ally he wasn’t sure.
Someone grabbed his arms, pinned them behind his back. Syn growled and slammed his head back, meeting flesh and bone.
“Fuck!” cried one of the males.
“Don’t let go!” yelled another.
Cuffs were snapped around Syn’s wrists and he was hit from behind by something hard, maybe metal. Not once, but twice. Then something smacked into his skull, and his vision went gray. He went down, knees, belly, head. Again he shook his head, willed his eyes to open and focus. His vision returned just as he was flipped over onto his back. He was about to shoot to his feet when one dirty, black boot clamped down on his windpipe while the other slammed him mercilessly in the groin.
Stars glittered on his retinas as one of the males loomed over him and uttered tersely, “Do you remember us, vampire?”
“Cats,” Syn hissed through gritted teeth. “Fucking pussycats.”
“That’s right. Val and I are taking you back to where it all began.” He pressed harder on Syn’s throat. “You’re going to feed our sister.”
No air was getting through. He fought to keep his eyes open, his brain functioning.
“And your cub.”
The glass door opened and Synjon felt a blast of cold air move over him. Weight lifted off his airway, and he was shoved to his feet.
“Ready to go for a ride, asshole?” the female said, moving out onto the terrace.
“Not interested anymore, love,’ Synjon rasped. “Not sure if I ever was.”
Suddenly Synjon dropped down, and in a series of quick, powerful moves, he sent his foot into the gut of one male and his knee into the other.
The pussy brothers were bloody well kidding themselves. Even with the fucked-up vision and the slow reaction time, he wasn’t going anywhere. He had a very important guest arriving soon. A guest who would beg him for mercy, and a quick death before he baked slowly in the sun.
A needle slammed into his neck then, cutting off all thought, all fantasy. Instantly, the room started spinning. Bloody bastards . . . Synjon braced for a fall, forced his fangs down and a growl from his throat.
The female on the terrace sneered at him. “I can’t believe she wasted her time on you.”
Seconds before Synjon blacked out, he saw the blond female leap from the ledge of his penthouse balcony and shift into a glorious, massive, and highly pissed-off hawk.
3
With the sun warm on her skin, Petra circled the tree, then raced toward the stream. Thank the gods for her mother’s suggestion to get some air, some exercise. It was how pregnant shifter females brought on their labor. Hours of sprinting through the Rain Forest. Granted, Petra was no shifter and she wasn’t trying to bring on labor, but the running did something for her. Something miraculous. It released some of the intense and debilitating emotion that had been holding her hostage for a week.
When she reached the stream, she leaped to the other side and continued along the water’s edge. As she ran, she spotted creatures moving, courting, and mating under the surface of the shallow water. It was a sight she’d grown up with and was used to. A sight that meant a new year approached. New beginnings . . . new life.
Ever since she’d woken up to the understanding that she lived in a rain forest with an entire species of shape-shifters, Petra had wanted to be like them. She’d been somewhere around ten years old when she’d realized she wasn’t. Even the young who hadn’t shifted yet could run like the wind and scent prey. It hadn’t made her feel like an outcast exactly, but like she was missing something amazing.
And then, just seven months ago, everything had changed. When he came. He came and made her feel understood, not like a freak. He unleashed the truth, showed her what she was capable of if she embraced it, trained it—fed it.
Her fanged nature.
And in some odd way, embracing her vampire had made her feel closer to her family, as though she had more in common with the shifters than she had ever thought possible.
Breaking into a sprint, she passed a bear shifter who was trying to climb a tree and get to a nest tucked into one of the branches. It growled playfully at her, then returned to its task. Petra found that the faster she moved, the less pain she experienced. It was as if the overwhelming feelings didn’t have time to fully fuse to her insides.
And the balas liked it.
She wasn’t sure how, but she could sense it. And moving so quickly provided one of only a handful of times when she’d been able to connect with the little life growing inside her. If she could just give it nourishment now . . .
If she could just give it blood.
Bile rose in her throat as she picked up speed, leaving the stream behind and taking off across the flat land toward her lion shifter family’s sprawling one-story compound. Somehow she would find a way to protect her balas, feed her balas, give her balas the loving and proper family it deserved.
Even if she had to spend the remainder of her swell running.
Just a foot over the property line, she nearly collided with a massive blond male.
“Damn it, Val,” she said, jerking to a halt. “You could’ve hurt the baby.”
The blond male with shoulders as wide as the doorframe of their family house backed up a foot just to show he wasn’t in her space. His dark eyes moved over her curiously, concerned. “You’re sweating. Breathing heavy. What are you doing?”
“Whatever I have to do to keep sane.”
He frowned. “My poor Pets.”
“What do you need, Val?” She jogged in place. She wanted to hold on to this moderately contented feeling for as long as possible. Maybe she could try drinking blood as she ran. Maybe the movement would curb her disgust.
“I need you to come with me,” Val said, his mane of blond hair escaping the tie at the nape of his neck.
“Where?”
“Back home. I have something to show you.”
“I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to stop, talk, look.” She shook her head, pain rising within her, clenching her belly. “The speed makes me feel better. Or maybe it makes me feel nothing, I don’t know.” Tears choked in her throat. Goddamn it. “It’s starting to come back, Val. I gotta go.” She began to move past him.
He blocked her way. “Pets, wait.”
She snarled at him. “I can’t.”
“We have something for you,” he insisted, his eyes shifting from her chin to her ear. “Something we think might help.”
“Nothing
helps. Don’t you get that? Except for this. Moving, sweating. It’s just going to have to be pure survival mode until Little Fangs here is born.”
He made a face. Disgusted or embarrassed, she couldn’t tell. “You’re not really going to name it that, are you?”
“I’m going.” Groaning, she took off again at a fast jog.
“Pets, wait. Please.” In seconds, Val was at her side. But this time he was in his lion form. He kept pace with her, snarling, tossing his incredible mane, giving her the “cat eyes” that as a child always got him what he wanted.
That wasn’t happening today.
“Go home, Val,” she called out. “I appreciate your concern, but this is my problem to deal with.”
She sped up, hoping he’d get the message and take off for home, but he was clearly determined. With a massive roar, he shot out in front of her, and the minute she slowed to avoid crashing into him, dipped his head, pushing her off balance.
“Goddamn it, Val!” she cried, stumbling, trying to right herself.
But the lion shifter knew exactly what he was doing. When one of her legs jacked up, he lowered and shoved his body underneath. As Petra straddled his back, instinct gripped her, and she fisted his mane in both her hands to keep herself steady as he rose to his full height.
Not waiting for a response or permission, he took off, barreling over the stretch of land at a shocking pace, kicking up dirt. She couldn’t believe him. What was he trying to prove?
She curved over him and leaned into the wind. “I should bite you for that,” she called near his right ear as they raced across the pride’s lands. What the hell was Val thinking? What was so freaking important that he had to practically abduct her? And who else was in on it?
Her gut twisted. Why couldn’t her family and her friends understand and accept that this was going to be her existence, her reality, for a little while? She knew they cared deeply for her. She knew they wanted more than anything to stop her suffering, and she loved them to death for it. But at some point they had to realize there was nothing to be done but to ride it out.
And speaking of riding it out . . .
“What the hell are we doing here, Val?”
The lion shifter had come to a dust-kicking halt outside the River House, the one-story cabin on stilts that bracketed the rushing water below. The structure had been built by Sasha, Valentin, and their father many years ago to use when the weather grew unbearably warm. Petra couldn’t count the number of times she’d stretched out in the shade underneath the house, in the water, or on the bank. It had been perfect and relaxing. Completely the opposite of now.
Valentin quickly shifted into his male form, grabbed a pair of jeans from the stair railing, and pulled them on. “Come inside, Pets.”
Inside? This was crazy. What she wanted to do was turn around and run, keep running until she lost her breath. But she knew Val—his stubbornness and that look on his face. He would just come after her again. Better to see what he had inside the house, appease him for a few minutes, and then take off.
The pain of hunger rushed through her as she followed Val up the short flight of steps. Maybe she could talk with Brodan later, see about the blood-as-she-ran idea. Granted, it was a long shot, but the balas—
Her fangs dropped suddenly and saliva pooled in her mouth. The scent blasting into her nostrils as she walked through the front door of the cabin was not only familiar but despised. Chills broke out on her skin, but instead of wanting to run away, she had an irrepressible urge to run forward, deeper into the house, stalk the scent, and seize its owner.
A low hiss exited her lips. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. How could Val have done this to her? He loved her, and yet he now tortured her.
Her mind screamed at her to turn around, get out, get as far from the scent and all the memories that surrounded it as possible. But her need, her hunger, the vampire veana inside her, refused to let her retreat.
It wanted that scent.
Breathing heavily, she stumbled after Val, licking her lips as she passed familiar furnishings and the framed watercolors that she and her brothers had made when they were little.
With every step, the scent grew thicker, and she felt her fangs vibrate in her mouth as the hallway became increasingly dark. She followed her brother into the smallest bedroom, the one she normally used when they stayed in the house. The room where all sunlight was absent. The only illumination coming from the small lamp on her bedside table.
Even though she’d scented blood the moment she walked into the house, familiar blood, she wasn’t prepared for its origin—for the massive paven who was sprawled out on the green-and-blue floral quilt atop the queen-size bed.
“Oh, my god,” she rasped, reaching out to grip Val’s arm, her gaze lifting to see both Sasha and Dani enter the room and head for the hand-carved teak headboard and tightly sealed window. “Why? What is this?”
Sasha grinned. “Vampire. Freshly caught.”
Petra’s insides recoiled. He was smiling? He thought this was funny? Her breathing became erratic, and her gaze shot to Dani. Thank gods her best friend remained sober. In fact the blond female looked pissed off.
“He is a total bastard, Pets,” she said, her nostrils flaring, the action making her nose ring vibrate. “After you’re done with him, please rip that shit apart, okay?”
“Done with what?” Petra said, her voice high-pitched and panicked. Her fangs wanted out, down, and in. Hunger like she’d never known surged in her blood. Her nails dug into Val’s biceps. “What do you think I’m going to do with him?”
“He’s your blood donor, Pets,” Dani said, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world.
And shit, maybe it was. Synjon Wise was the father of her child, and his blood had been the only blood she’d ever been interested in tasting. But he was a monster. A killer. A male interested only in vengeance. A male with absolutely no soul, heart, empathy, or conscience. A male who’d been forced to the dungeon floor a week ago, held down by four massive vampires, and drained of his bitter and dangerous emotions. She didn’t want him in her precious world again. She didn’t want him in her mouth or her bloodstream.
He was a toxic substance.
Her wide, manic gaze slid to the bed. Synjon was lying on top of the pretty, feminine blanket she’d had since adolescence, unconscious, spread-eagled, clad only in a pair of dark blue denim jeans that hung just below his hipbones. He was leaner than she remembered, which made the continuous ripples of muscle on his arms, shoulders, and abdomen all the more obvious. His dark hair was cut short, his skin had remained a pale bronze, his cheekbones were prominent, and there was a light sprinkling of stubble around his full lips.
He was every bit as beautiful as she remembered.
Time rushed backward and claimed her. She’d seen this male unconscious before, in pain and desperate, and had wanted more than anything to save him. Now, as she stared, as she started to shake, as saliva pooled in her mouth and her fangs begged to do what they were meant to do, all she wanted was to attack, bite, and pull every last drop of blood from his veins into hers.
Dani chuckled wryly from her spot beside the bed. “Not to worry, boys. I think she likes her prezzie.”
* * *
Synjon came awake to the scent of unfamiliar surroundings and the sound of a female’s rage. Though his instincts were to jump to his feet and execute everyone in the room, everyone who held him hostage, he kept his eyes closed, his ears open, and his muscles flexed and ready. He would not be a prisoner. Not when he had to return home to Manhattan to welcome a prisoner of his own.
“Like it?” the female cried again, hunger, violence, and pain threading her tone. “I can’t believe you did this, Dani! I can’t believe you brought him here!”
Though Synjon felt no emotional connection to the female who spoke, he knew her voice instantly. He knew her body intimately.
In fact, he could see her with his eyes closed.
Bla
ck hair. Light crystalline blue eyes. Irresistible smile. Pink flush to her cheeks when she got excited.
It was an image his skin, cells, and muscles craved, yet wanted to forget, reject.
“Petra, come on,” came a male voice. “He’s what you need.”
A tremor went through Synjon. He knew that voice too. It belonged to one of his abductors, one of Petra’s brothers. He’d met them both many months ago in the Rain Forest community where they lived. Had battled with them inside their house as he’d tried to find the female who’d rescued him from the sun. This time, Synjon would make sure the bloody git and his lion brother paid for the cuffs and body slams with a little torture of his own. After he finished with his long-awaited guest, of course.
“He’s the opposite of what I need,” Petra growled. “Shit, Sasha, what anyone needs. He’s an empty, soulless, gutless bastard.”
“Fine,” Sasha returned. “What the balas needs, then.”
Balas.
Something about the word scratched at Synjon’s insides, but he quickly shoved back the sensation. The truth in the male cats’ words, the need Petra might have of him, meant nothing to the ultimate goal of vengeance that was nearly within his grasp. A vengeance that could finally be carried out without the inconvenient second-guessing and guilt that had once plagued him.
“Why are you hesitating, Pets?” It was the female hawk shifter again. Dani. Synjon knew he’d failed on that account. How had he not seen through that blue-balled facade of his to what truly stood before him? What had tricked him?
“It’s clear you want to tap that, Pets,” Dani continued with an almost audible sneer. One of the males laughed, and the sneer quickly became a growl. “Shut up, Val.”
“You’re just such a guy sometimes, Dani,” he remarked with another low chuckle.
But Dani was all about Petra. “I want you to take stock, Pets. You’re losing your freaking mind. Your emotions are out of control. You can’t eat or sleep.” She sniffed. “I mean, the vampire’s right here for the taking. I say drain him dry and leave his shell in the sun.”