“Sun still shining, eh?”

“Hard and hot.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere, am I?” Syn said before continuing his pacing.

Val pressed his chair back too. “Doesn’t matter, bloodsucker. Sun, moon, dusk. We’re going to make sure you stay here until our sister is done with you.”

“That’s right,” Sasha piped up. “Don’t wanna have to make the trip back into frozen New York City to pick up your pale ass again.”

It was truly his grand shame. The pussy brothers catching him off guard, knocking him out, dragging him here. He’d have to make sure that didn’t get out, in the spy community, the military, or his home credenti. “How did you manage it?” Syn asked. “I’m curious.”

“What? Breaking in your place and stealing you?” Val grinned. “Dani’s such a pisser.”

“Forget Dani,” Sasha remarked. “It was our skill and incredible brute strength.”

Synjon’s nostrils flared at their idiocy. “What drug did you use to get me to this hovel? That’s all I want to know.”

Both chairs dropped back into place with a crash, and Synjon couldn’t see them anymore. “Did he just call the playhouse that you and me and Dad built with our bare paws a hovel, Val?”

“I believe he did.”

Sasha growled softly. “If his blood wasn’t needed inside our sister, I might have to spread it around the hovel right now.”

“Please don’t make any messes, boys,” Petra said, walking through the front door. “I spent way too many years picking up after the two of you.”

“Thank Christ you’re back,” Synjon said, coming to stand in the bedroom doorway. “The pussy brothers here are trying out material for their comedy act. So far I’d say it’s a glorious fail.”

For one brief moment, Syn was sure her lips twitched with amusement. It reminded him of her smile. The happy one, the well-pleasured one. He saw it on the lids of his eyes when they were closed. That particular smile made her eyes light up, and glow with blue fire.

She eyed her brothers. “You can go.”

Sasha raised a blond brow. “You sure?”

“He’s not going anywhere. Sun’s still high.”

“All righty.” Sasha kicked the chair back and stood.

Val too. “So, what happened? With the meeting?”

“Mom will tell you,” she said, her voice softer than before. “She’s back at the house.” She tilted her chin in the direction of the door. “Go.”

“Fine.” Val walked past her.

But Sasha hesitated in the hall, his eyes on Syn. “We’ll be back in two hours.”

“Lovely,” Synjon said overpolitely. “Can’t wait.”

There were grumblings of irritated comebacks, but Petra managed to shuffle her brothers out the front door. When she returned, Synjon was leaning against the doorframe, his back to the dark bedroom.

“You were gone a long time.”

She shrugged. “There was a lot to discuss.”

“Like . . .”

“Dillon was there.”

“The Order.” Interesting. And quite possibly problematic.

Her eyes turned a crystal blue as she walked toward him. She licked her lips. “She and Gray and the Roman brothers’ mates and even a few of the mutore wanted to make sure you were being well treated.”

Even in jeans and a tank, she was unbelievably sexy. Or maybe it was because of the jeans and the tank. He tried to keep his gaze off her belly. It bothered him that her swell intensified his desire for her.

“And what did you tell them?” he asked.

She stopped just a few inches from the doorway and inhaled rather obviously. “That I was doing my level best to locate and drain every bit of shitty attitude from your person.”

He grinned. Couldn’t stop himself. It wasn’t just her swell that was making his cock twitch. It was her voice too, her attitude, the hunger in her expression. Bloody hell, he might not have emotions, but his body was on fire and ready to go.

All she had to do was say the word.

“I’m surprised they didn’t want to see me,” he said.

“They did.”

“And you . . .”

“Told them no.” She leaned in then, breathed in, and ran her nose along the ridge of his collarbone.

What the hell? Synjon’s hands fisted around the doorframe. Do that again, little veana, and the next time you take my blood I’ll be taking your cunt.

She spoke against the skin of his neck. “I told them you were mine until the balas is born.”

“And they didn’t insist?” he said in a hoarse voice.

She laughed softly. “No one’s going to fight a pregnant girl over her food.”

“Is that why you stand so close, veana? You want my blood—”

She jerked back then, and speared him with her gaze. “Not want, Mr. Wise. Need. Don’t ever mistake the difference. I don’t.”

He stared at her, his skin twitching with desire. He’d never seen a female so famished before. He couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and lapped at her upper lip with his tongue.

Again she jerked back. “What the hell was that?”

“You had a little of my blood on your lip.” His brow lifted. “I wanted it back.”

She brought her hand up and swiped at her mouth. “Don’t do that again. You don’t get to touch me.”

“Why? Because it excites you?”

“It disgusts me,” she said far too vehemently.

“I very much doubt that.”

“Do you?” Her eyes narrowed.

He couldn’t keep standing there, scenting her, his dick a pulsing stone behind his zipper. He turned and headed into the dimly lit bedroom.

To his surprise, she followed him. “Why? Because the rich, sexy, emotionless Synjon Wise has only to lay a finger on a female and she’s panting and parting her thighs for him?”

He turned around, shrugged. “Well, it might require more than a finger.”

“Pig.”

“I never claimed to be anything but, love.”

She clamped down on his chest and shoved him hard. He fell back on the bed, taking her with him in such a controlled way it was clear he hadn’t been caught off guard.

Shocked by where she found herself, poised above him, straddling his waist, Petra glared down at him. “How many females have you taken to your bed since we were together?”

“I never take anyone to my bed.” When her eyes lit with something far too soft, he amended the statement quickly. “Now, if you’re talking about a casual shag over the back of the couch, well, then . . .”

“That’s disgusting.” She tried to get up, get off him.

But he held her ass tightly. “No, veana. That’s normal, healthy fucking.”

“No, Syn, that’s just you. Screw ’em and leave ’em.”

His fingers dug into her ass and his voice dropped without his permission. “You walked out on me. Let’s not forget that.”

Her jaw worked and she stumbled slightly over her words. “I haven’t. I don’t.”

“Good.”

“Just like I won’t forget that you wanted to kill my father.”

“Wanted to?” He started to laugh. “It may not have happened in that dungeon as I’d planned. But it will happen.”

“I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t be able to stop it.”

Her fangs dropped. “I could kill you right now.”

“Shhhh . . .” He grinned. “No empty threats in front of the balas.”

Practically growling, she swatted his hands away and climbed off him. “It’s a promise. One I make to the balas. Protection from the evils of the world.”

“Then we are both saying the same thing, Petra.” He watched her turn and walk out of the room, his body screaming for her to come back, make him warm again. Maybe even make him feel again. “Because like it or not, love,” he called after her, “accept it or not—grandfather Cruen is the evil of this world.”

7

“They remain in the Rain Forest?” Cruen asked calmly, his gaze moving down the table, taking in the face of each member of the Eternal Order. “Why have they not been rescued?”

There was no more mountaintop. No more snow, or Feeyan solo at his side. This time, Cruen stood before the ten, his feet ankle-deep in the very sand he had once conjured. Yes. Before the Order. Not behind the table where he’d ruled for so long. The shame was not lost on him.

His jaw tightened. Gods, how had he fallen so far? How had he allowed a piece of British tripe to best him? Make him so weak and ineffective that he had been forced to piggyback to the Hollow of Shadows on one of his Pureblood guards?

A fact he would never allow the members of the Order to learn. To the ten, he was only here on Eternal Breed business. His concern for one of his brethren, and his desire to protect the pure blood. And perhaps even his need for redemption for not only keeping the shifter world a secret but using their DNA to enhance the vampire race.

“The Order has just returned from the Rain Forest,” Feeyan informed him coldly. “All I have heard is that one of the Purebloods is not a prisoner.”

“And from whom have you heard this?” Cruen asked. “Who did you send?”

“Me.” Dillon grinned from her seat, farthest down the table. “Hello, Daddy Dickest.”

As the other Order members muttered under their breath, Cruen’s gaze narrowed on the vampire and jaguar shifter he’d adopted so long ago. The one who had run from him when she claimed one of his guards had touched her. Cruen had never been sure of what happened. But he was sure of Dillon’s penchant for deceit, and for turning the other mutore against him. This time, however, she would not interfere with his plans. “You are one mongrel I wish I had left in the ditch.”