Eternal Sin motv-6

by Laura Wright

  * * *

  As he led Petra into the house, Syn felt like a nervous young paven. He loved this veana so bloody much, wanted her so bloody much, he thought he’d lose his mind over it. He needed her to see that, understand his heart and his hope through his actions.

  “I’m glad you came,” he said.

  “Didn’t have much of a choice. Dani tricked me.” She stopped for a moment and glanced over at the tree. It was fully decorated now, sporting small white lights, and beneath it were all the things he wanted her to have, all the things he’d found for the baby over the past week.

  Her eyes cut to his piano, which stood to the left of the tree, then down to the child’s piano he had not only tuned himself but polished as he did his own.

  He heard her quick intake of breath, saw her shake her head, and reached for her hand. For a moment, he was sure she was going to pull away. But she didn’t. Granted, she wasn’t cuddling up to his side or anything, but she wasn’t flinching at his touch either.

  The realization made him breathe easier, made him hope.

  “I want to show you something,” he said, leading her through the living room, past the kitchen and down the hall.

  “You’ve changed things,” she said quietly, her gaze darting from left to right. “New artwork, different colors, furniture. Why?”

  His chest tightened.

  “You know why, love,” he said leading her into his bedroom.

  “I don’t know if I want to go in here, Syn,” she said tightly. “Don’t know if I want to revisit the . . .” Her voice petered out as she entered the room. Her lips parted and she stared. “What did you do?”

  He turned to look at her, watch her as she took in the complete remodel of his bedroom—what he wanted to be their bedroom. New furniture, softer fabric, colors he knew she loved. “The pillows you bought with Sara. I used them as inspiration.” He eyed her. “You like it?”

  Her head fell forward. “Oh, Syn, does it matter if I like it? Really?”

  “More than you can possibly know, love.” He squeezed her hand, then tugged it a little. “But that’s not what I really want you to see. Come.”

  * * *

  Petra felt as though the unbeating heart inside her chest was expanding, preparing to burst, as Syn led her into the en suite bathroom, and toward the room beyond. It was truly the last place on earth she wanted to go. She hated what she’d found here. How it had ruined everything. Ended what she’d thought was a true hope for love, a family. Why would—

  Her thoughts ended abruptly.

  Oh, gods.

  Oh, gods.

  Emotion caught in her throat. Fear and wonder and amazement. Tears blurred her vision, and she blinked to force them away, down her cheeks. She wanted to see clearly, take in what was before her with cool, detached eyes. But that was just an impossible hope.

  It was too incredible.

  Gone were the closet, the clothes, the leather and the wool. Gone was the room full of metal and hate and anger and vengeance. And in its place was a completely remodeled space. Pale yellow walls, fanciful artwork, bookcases and dressers, rugs and lamps, a rocker and a crib.

  The most beautiful crib she’d ever seen.

  Petra bit her lip to keep from crying, from blubbering like a fool . . . or maybe just an emotional pregnant chick. But nothing was going to stop the tears from raining down her cheeks.

  A baby’s room.

  Syn had turned a room meant for such darkness into a room of light and softness and innocence.

  He released her hand. She’d forgotten she was holding his, gripping it so tightly that she’d probably bruised him. She watched him walk over to the rocker and sit down.

  “I’m so sorry, Petra. For everything. For lying to you, lying to myself. For hurting you.” His eyes locked with hers and implored her to listen. Really listen. “I’m not asking you to live here. I know I don’t deserve that. But I want you to understand that in my mind and in my heart, you and the balas have a home here.”

  Petra leaned against the doorframe and stared at him in that rocker. That sweet, happy rocker. And envisioned him holding Little Fangs in his arms. She couldn’t believe it. Any of it. That he’d gone to these lengths. Was it truly possible that one so hell-bent on revenge could find a new and infinitely more beautiful way to live out his life?

  She didn’t know. Gods, she didn’t know. But she wanted to find out. So badly that she ached with it.

  “I may not be the male you believed could be your family, be the balas’s father,” he said, his dark eyes pinning her where she stood. “But in my mind, my heart, I am.”

  In her mind and heart, he was too. He’d proved that on the night he’d saved her, sacrificed himself and his need to claim vengeance, for her and the balas, at the gathering stones. And he’d proved it with this incredible room.

  “You fought for me, remember, love?”

  She nodded, not even trying to hold back her tears anymore. And truly, what was the point? This was the male she loved, the father of her child. Her one wish had come true. Tears were more than appropriate. They were called for.

  “When I was ready to give up,” he said, his eyes full of warmth and hope, “you fought for me. Now I’m fighting for us, for you, for Little Fangs there. We’re a family. I want us to be together always. I love you, Petra.”

  The words killed her. Not the part of her that had still believed in a future with this male, but the part that had wanted to give up, run away because she didn’t want to be hurt again.

  “Syn . . .”

  “I’m not rushing you, not asking you to decide anything or change anything. I just wanted you to see where I’m at. What I’m offering. Long term. Forever. And to know if you could possibly forgive me.”

  Inside her womb, the balas moved, pressing against her skin. Maybe it just wanted to stretch its little limbs. Or maybe, like her, it wanted to be closer to that voice. And to the paven it loved.

  “Cruen—,” she began, hating herself for bringing that male’s name into this room.

  But Syn was quick to answer, and his tone was completely unfettered. “Love, I’m no longer concerned with chasing your father. I want to be a father.”

  That was it. She needed nothing more. Gods, nothing more than him.

  Petra pushed away from the door, fairly leaped across the room and jumped into his lap. Instantly Syn’s protective arms went around her and he groaned into her hair. Heat infused her. Love too. And then he started to rock. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  “Be my mate, love?” he whispered.

  She tipped her chin up and stared into those dark, deeply emotional eyes and grinned. “Yes.”

  “Wed me under the tree house in the Rain Forest?” He leaned in and kissed her mouth.

  She sighed. “I’d love that.”

  “I love you.” He placed one hand on her belly, waited a moment, then said confidently, “The balas is happy.”

  Oh, gods. “So’s his mother.”

  Synjon’s eyes got big, and he said almost breathlessly, “His?”

  She shrugged, her grin widening. “Just a guess.”

  This time, when Synjon dropped his head and kissed her, Petra could feel the emotions within him. They were warm and intense, and they infused her skin like bathwater. There were fear and happiness, concern and craving, but the emotion that spread the furthest, went the deepest, and heated his blood as he growled and groaned against her mouth, was love.

  Epilogue

  Phane had done his best to make the place livable. Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered. After all, he had the house in New York, a perch to kill for, and the whole extended-family thing. But there was just something about the Rain Forest, about the heat and the shifters—and damn, he wanted to pursue Dani.

  Sweat pouring off his body, he continued to scrub the exterior of the cabin. After what had gone down at the gathering stones, he wasn’t sure what to expect with Dani and the others. They’d offered to show him how the
other half lived, so to speak, but was that real? Would they want him and Helo hanging around, reminding them of just how kind and giving the vampires were not?

  He was just turning around to grab a bucket of clean water, when he spotted someone—some thing—stalking toward him in the brush.

  “I don’t believe this.” He knew that blond-gray coat and don’t-fuck-with-me glare. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The wolf shifted the moment he reached the porch of the cabin. Lycos glanced around, first at the cabin, then back at Phane. He looked uncomfortable as shit. “Come to get you. The Romans said you were taking your sweet time getting back.”

  Yeah, and they know why too, Phane thought. He wondered if Alex, Nicky, and Lucian had mentioned it. “Sorry you made the trip, brother. But I’m staying.” He sniffed. “If they let me.”

  “Here in sweat city?” Ly sneered.

  “I’ll always take sweat over snow.” He wiped the beads on his face with his forearm. “Besides, I want to get to know my other half.”

  “The Avians.”

  Phane nodded, tried out some new material. “They have wolves here, you know? In the Mountain Faction.”

  Ignoring him, Ly looked past him into the house. “Where’s Helo? I bet he hasn’t lost his fucking mind today.”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

  “Is he talking this talk?”

  “If you mean does he plan on staying, then yes.”

  Phane tilted his head, looked at the wolf shifter from a different angle. Something told him that Lycos was more than just irritated at the prospect of his remaining two brothers living full-time or part-time away from what he now called home. But Phane was out of sympathy. He loved Ly, and the male was absolutely family, but he’d dropped the ball on this one. He’d walked away from them too, when they’d all needed him—and that didn’t come without consequences.

  Phane leaned on the porch rail. It threatened to give way. Another goddamn Mr. Fix-it project coming up. “Are you going to tell me just where the hell you’ve been? What was so important when we could’ve used your help? Another set of fists?”

  The wolf shifter looked past him, but his face was a mask of impassivity. “Like I told you, I just don’t want any part of this.”

  Stubborn bastard. “We needed family and you took off.”

  “You don’t know what family is anymore. You think it’s here? You think you fit in with these assholes? It’s just like New York or anywhere else, brother. You, me, Helo, we’re all mutts.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “No—fuck you!”

  Phane heard something crash inside the cabin. Then a female voice shriek, “Hey! Bloodsucking hawk shifter male, where the hell are you?”

  What the hell? He turned back to see Dani at his screen door. “Did you just come from inside the house?”

  “I flew in from the other direction. Your window was open.”

  “Didn’t sound like it,” he said, eyeing her. She looked hot as hell. Nothing new. “What’s going on?”

  “Your brother. The water beast.”

  His chest went tight at her expression. “What? What’s going on with Helo?”

  “Those fucking rogue water shifters. They’re losing their minds. I swear to gods, the faction leaders need to—”

  He yanked open the screen door. “Dani.”

  “Right.” She stepped out. “He’s been taken by the water shifters. That group that helped the geriatric vampire asswipe, gave him the eel flesh. We need to go. Now. The Water Faction leader is calling a . . .” Her voice trailed off as she noticed who stood near the far edge of the cabin.

  Phane nodded at his mutore brother. “This is my—”

  “Lycos?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  Phane turned to face his brother. “You know each other?”

  Lycos just shrugged, didn’t even glance at Dani.

  Phane looked over his shoulder at the hawk shifter. “How do you know my brother?”

  “Brother?” Dani looked from male to male, then broke out in laughter. “Well, well, well. This is interesting, and maybe even a little awkward. Lycos is one of the males I’m seeing.” Her brows rose. “He didn’t tell you?”

  A low, feral sound erupted from Phane, and he leaped from the porch, shifting into his hawk just as Lycos grew fur and howled.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Once again and always, I want to thank my incredible editor, Danielle Perez. The sixth is just as sweet as the first, D.

  And my amazing and supportive agent, Maria Carvainis. Thank you so very much for having my back.

  My wonderful reader friends on Facebook. You make this job rewarding, fun, and oh so fulfilling!

  And to my Girl Writer Collective: Jennifer Lyon, Katie Reus and Alexandra Ivy. 1 Hour 1 K? Anyone? Anyone?

  Please turn the page for a preview of the first novel in

  the Cavanaugh Brothers series

  by Laura Wright,

  BRANDED

  Available from Signet Eclipse in June 2014.

  JOURNAL OF CASSANDRA CAVANAUGH

  May 12, 1997

  Normally we bribed the cowboys five dollars to look the other way when we saddled up one of Daddy’s prize cow horses and rode off. But they’d raised their prices lately, and today it took both our monthlies to pay them off. Damn cowboys. Didn’t even care if it was my birthday.

  “You still coming to the movies with me on Saturday?” Mac called over her shoulder. “It’s a PG-13, but I think I know someone who can get us in.”

  I wrapped my arms even tighter around her waist as she kicked Mrs. Lincoln into a full-on gallop. “Daddy will never let me go and you know it.”

  “It’s just a movie, Cass,” she returned as we cut through the tree-dotted pasture land and headed down for the Hidey Hole, the swimming circle we’d found and claimed when we were seven years old.

  “Not to him,” I said. Mac doesn’t understand my family. Never has. It’s just her and her Dad at home, and Travis Byrd lets his daughter run wild and free. Sometimes it made me so jealous I could spit. Sometimes I felt bad she didn’t have a Mama. “To him it’s me sneaking off to meet boys.”

  “But that’s not true.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m his baby girl.”

  “You’re ten years old, Cass. That’s not a baby.”

  A breeze kicked up, making the tall grass shiver around Mrs. Lincoln’s feet.

  “Everett Cavanaugh is living in the dark ages,” Mac continued. “What about your mom? Maybe you can ask her.”

  “She’ll do whatever Daddy says.”

  Mac snorted as she steered the mare down the small incline toward the swimming hole. “I’ll never be that kind of wife.”

  The idea of Mac being anyone’s wife was so crazy, I started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Mac asked indignantly. “Whoa, Mrs. Lincoln.” She stopped at the water’s edge, kicked one leg over the gray mare’s neck, and jumped down into the wet grass.

  I followed her. I always followed her. “You getting married. That’s crazy.”

  “I didn’t mean tomorrow, Cass Cavanaugh.” She wrapped the horse’s reins around the base of a young pecan tree, then sat down, kicked off her boots, and plunked her bare feet in the water. “But, you know, someday I plan on getting hitched.”

  I sat down beside her, but kept my boots on. “To who?”

  She turned to face me, tossed her blond ponytail over her shoulder and gave me one of those huge smiles that meant she had a secret she was aching to share. “A very lucky guy.”

  “Barry Miller?” I asked.

  Dark blue eyes filled with heat. “That dope?”

  “He’s cute,” I pointed out.

  “He doesn’t even know the difference between a stallion and a gelding.”

  Behind us, a familiar male voice boomed down from the ridge. “And neither should you, Mackenzie Byrd.”

  Both Mac and I jumped, t
hen jerked around. A few feet up, sitting tall on his horse, Friction, his black Stetson dropped low over his forehead—green eyes as fierce as a wildcat’s—was my fourteen-year-old brother, Deacon. It was crazy, but in just over a year that boy had gone from being a beanpole with hair to a big, bossy, thought-he-knew-everything man.

  “You two should be home,” he said. “Weather’s getting testy.”

  “We like testy weather,” Mac piped up beside me, then tossed me a grin. Nothing Mac liked better than to make my brothers bristle.

  Deacon’s mouth thinned and he turned Friction in a circle. “Your party’s been moved indoors, Cass, and while I’m sure Mackenzie here’ll be just fine in ripped jeans and dusty boots, Mom’s expecting you to clean up.”

  “I’m fine, too,” I said, raising my chin like I’d seen Mac do a hundred times.

  “No. You smell like manure.”

  “How would you know? You can’t smell me from there.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Because you and Mac always smell like manure.”

  “They say shit’s good for the soul,” Mac called out, kicking up one foot and splashing me with cold water. “And for the skin.”

  He eyed Mac sternly. “That’s enough out of you, Mackenzie Byrd.”

  Mac just chuckled and continued to splash. “It’ll never be enough, Deacon Cavanaugh.”

  Once again, he circled his horse at the top of the ridge. “I don’t like you hanging around my little sister. Cussing and stealing horses. You’re a bad influence.”

  “And you’re a mama’s boy, riding all the way out here to fetch us,” she called back.

  His face went red and he slid his aggravated gaze back to me. “I want you back at the house in twenty minutes, Cass.”

  “Takes that long to ride,” I whined.

  “Exactly.”

  He turned, then gave Friction a hearty “Yup,” and took off at a gallop. Grumbling, I scrambled to my feet and made my way over to Mrs. Lincoln.