“What did you just do?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “You don’t need to curb the partying for me.”

“Wasn’t for you, love,” he lied.

“Fine. For the balas, then.”

“Perhaps I just don’t feel like dealing with company tonight.”

Her eyes raked his body. “Doesn’t sound like you.”

No, it didn’t.

The elevator opened again behind him and more people poured into the penthouse.

“Listen,” she said, “one of these very lovely one-night stands could be your blood donor. Have you thought of that?”

“No.” In fact, the thought repelled him.

“Well, you should.” She gave him a very tight-lipped smile before turning and walking away.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

“To my room.”

He wanted to go with her. Or take her to his room. They could lock the door and remain lost there for days. If he could just get rid of these tossers.

Someone turned on his stereo, and music blared from the speakers. He heard the pop of champagne corks. Female voices called to him. But he didn’t even spare the lively living room a glance. It was as though that world, that existence, didn’t include him anymore. He followed Petra. Caught up with her just outside her bedroom.

Before he could say a word, she turned and leaned against the doorframe. She looked so beautiful. Long dark hair, lush pink lips. And how the fuck was he ever going to get over those eyes? The color and the sharpness and the heat.

“Just because I’m staying here,” she said softly, “doesn’t mean you should stop your life.”

“Why? Because once you leave, you won’t be stopping yours? Is that what you’re saying, Petra?”

She released a breath and stepped inside her room. “Good night, Syn.”

“This isn’t my life,” he said just as she closed the door in his face.

Fucking bear shifter.

He turned back and headed down the hall again, completely uninterested in the thirsty crowd that awaited him.

• • •

Dillon had never been so thankful to have her mutore brothers near. Helo and Phane bracketed her as she sat at the dining table in Wen’s home and faced the heads of each shifter faction. The ones who governed, counseled, and had divided up the Rain Forest lands long ago to accommodate each species of shifter. The Order’s words—no, Feeyan’s commands—lay heavily on her mind, and she was still pretty clueless as to how to keep the vampire world out of this one.

She’d sent the Romans and Dani to take care of Syn and Petra, see if the pair would agree to a simple “hi and bye” before the other nine. She prayed they would. It would be one less thing for her to deal with.

“Why would your Order want a war with us?” said the Avian leader, a small, aged female with bark brown eyes and a pouf of gray hair on top of her head. “We’ve done nothing.”

“There was a mix-up,” Dillon explained. “Two vampires were here, and it was believed they were being held against their will.”

The leader of the Mountain Beasts, which claimed as its members anything from bear to gorilla to fox, leaned forward on the table. The male looked very young—Dillon would guess not even twenty—but his emerald green eyes held intelligence beyond their years. “You speak of Petra. And the father of her cub.”

Dillon nodded.

“But they’re gone now,” said the leader of the Plains, his golden cat eyes bright against his deep chocolate skin.

“Yes, but there’s another who remains.” Dillon glanced around the table. “This vampire was once here a long time ago. He was granted samples of your DNA. I think he’s still here. Maybe he’s hiding among your people, trying to get more samples out of them.” She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Both the Avian leader and the young Mountain leader looked over at Helo, then Phane, then back to Dillon. “You are all part shifter, aren’t you?” the male said.

Helo was the first to speak. “Water. So, Mountain faction, I suppose.”

Phane glanced at the Avian leader. “Hawk.”

The leader of the Plains continued to stare at Dillon. “And you?”

“Jaguar,” she said simply. “Listen, back in our world we’re not prized, not respected. In fact, we’re pretty much thought of as trash.”

All three leaders recoiled in shock.

“Trash?” said the Avian female, her bird eyes narrowing.

“This vampire who remains here is responsible for creating us.” Dillon took a deep breath. “He took your DNA and mixed it with vampire DNA. He’s kind of a monster.”

“Why would he do such a thing?” said the Plains leader.

“And why did we know nothing about it?” asked the Avian female. “We must go to our shifters and talk.”

“Fine,” Dillon said. “But first we need your help.”

“What do you suggest?” asked the young Mountain leader male, his interest in her and her jaguar clearly visible in his amazing eyes.

“We need to find him and bring him back to our leaders.” Dillon looked at each faction leader in turn. “Unharmed.”

“But if all you are saying is true,” said the Plains leader, “he should be exterminated.”

Oh, Dillon sighed internally. I really hated my job. “Yes, he should,” she agreed. “But if Cruen isn’t returned alive, the Order will come.” She took a deep breath. “And they’ll bring war.”

• • •

Damn right she was going to sleep through a party.

Petra finished brushing her teeth, then turned off the bathroom light and got into bed. She didn’t pull up her covers right away, but instead began rubbing her belly in slow, gentle circles as outside her door the steady, almost rhythmic sounds of conversation were punctuated with the jarring shock of laughter and the heavy beat of a bass line. The baby was really active tonight, moving and pushing against certain internal organs. Petra grinned. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought.

She was about to reach for the television remote, see what late-night programs were on, when the bass line ceased abruptly, and she heard the most beautiful sound rise above the din. She stilled, drew back against her pillow, and closed her eyes.

Someone was playing the piano out there, and whoever it was had some serious talent.

Petra took a deep breath and just focused on the music. As if the balas heard it too, the kicking inside her womb gentled, and a lovely calm moved over the entire room.

It had been a long time since she’d felt like this. Calm, steady breaths in and out of her lungs as she relaxed, without a worry about the balas, where she was going to get blood she could actually keep down, or her emotional state.

Granted, this feeling of complete peace couldn’t last. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to enjoy it while it was here.

Though the music eased her body, it unfortunately couldn’t eradicate all thoughts from her mind. She wondered if Syn had spotted something he liked out there, something that would satiate his hunger, someone who could take the pinch of his fangs while granting him several pints of her blood.

A low growl broke from her throat, interrupting the Zen vibe she’d had going on in her bedroom. Shit, if he was drinking from someone right now, it shouldn’t bother her. The idea of his fangs penetrating another female’s skin? Shouldn’t bother her. The image of her blood flowing down his throat, feeding him, sustaining him? Or the sounds, the almost sexual groans of satisfaction when he was finished? Shouldn’t—

This time she groaned and rolled onto her side.

Goddamn it, no, it shouldn’t bother her. After all, feeding would keep him healthy and stable for her and the baby. But . . . it did. It just did.

In that moment the piano music ended. Strangely and abruptly. Petra stilled, waiting for it to come back. What had happened? She missed the slow, emotional rhythms already. A scream jarred her and sent her gaze to the door. Was that a woman? Close by, loud chatter and the sounds of several pairs of shoes clicking across hardwood could be heard.

Without a thought, her mouth dry with concern, Petra got out of bed and grabbed her robe. She was just slipping her arm in the fuzzy sleeve, when the door burst open. The earsplitting sounds of about forty retreating partygoers spilled into the room, along with one very pissed-off female shifter.

“You have got to be shitting me.”

Petra stared at her best friend. “Dani?”

“Glad you remember my name,” she said, glancing around the room. “Thought the evil vampire douche bag might’ve erased your memory along with your rational thought.”

“What are you doing here?” Petra asked, slipping her other arm into the remaining sleeve of her robe.

The hawk shifter walked into the bedroom and slammed the door. “Oh, you know, saving you from making mistake number freaking two, Pets.”

14

Lucian tossed him a cue, lifting one pale blond eyebrow. “We do this over pool, Brit Boy.”

Synjon caught the stick easily, then rounded the table, which was positioned on the far side of his living area. “Do what exactly, Frosty?”

Lucian’s eyes widened. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

Synjon grabbed the chalk and said nothing. He was thinking about Petra, and all that was being discussed in that spare bedroom. He didn’t like leaving her alone with the hawk shifter. That female hated him. With good reason, but still . . .

“Frosty?” Lucian repeated. He turned to Nicholas and Alexander, who were standing around the large billiard table with sticks of their own, waiting their turn. “Hey, boys. Did Brit Boy here just insult me?”

Nicholas grinned. “Don’t get emotional, Luca.”

“Please,” Alex agreed. “That would be embarrassing for all of us.”

Leaning over, Syn adjusted the shaft of his cue stick, aimed, and with an audible crack knocked the cue ball into the stripes and solids.