by Laura Wright
“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found,” Dillon said with a tight shrug.
Feeyan’s lips twitched with humor. “No matter what his daughter says, no Pureblood vampire wants to live in this jungle. And after this day, none ever will.” She turned to address the three Romans brothers and their mates, who had been silent and seething as they sat upon the rocks. “It sets a bad precedent,” she continued authoritatively. “The Eternal Breed and . . . whatever these things are will not live together.”
With one hand on her belly, Petra glared at the Order. “You can’t control where we live.”
A false smile on her face, Feeyan raised her hands above her head, then abruptly brought them down. Instantly, snow started to fall.
The shifters gasped and leaped to their feet, touched their heads and shoulders, wondering if they were being burned. Clearly, they had never seen snow before.
Feeyan eyed Petra. “I can control everything, my dear. This—what you see before you—is just a whisper of my power.” She turned to Wen and the faction leaders. “I will search this forest, find my Pureblood. And I will do it either with your approval or with your blood on my fangs.”
23
Synjon landed at the mouth of the caves, the caves where he’d watched Juliet’s body burn, where he’d held and kissed Petra, where he’d realized something had changed within him and that his dead emotions had somehow sprung up from the ashes and were growing once again.
The moon was a spotlight above him, bathing the interior of the cave in ghostly white for a good ten feet. Adrian waited for him inside. They were going to make the trek to the gathering stones, where Cruen was to meet up with his trusted guard. That was the plan anyway.
A whimper from inside the caves drew Syn forward, and he followed the dim light all the way to the back of the cave walls. He’d been here twice in eight months, had witnessed his own mental collapse as well as the confusion and sexual desire and despair of the greatest kind. But never had he come upon something so impossible to resist as Cruen, unconscious and unchained.
He stared at the bloodied and bruised monster just inches away from his feet.
“Forget the stones,” Adrian said to him with a dark grin. “We can take him to his final resting place right now.”
The male looked bloody feral, Syn thought, a whisper of concern moving through him. Completely jacked up on adrenaline. “How did you manage this?”
Adrian shrugged, his fangs hanging low, the points illuminated by the one thread of moonlight that had tracked deep inside the cave. “Drugs. I stole them from the shifter doctor.” Adrian grinned. “It’s like some kind of animal tranquilizer.”
Spreading like cancer through Syn’s blood was the satisfaction of knowing that Cruen could be brought down. That he wasn’t even close to his full strength. Containment could be so easy. He picked up the paven’s legs while Adrian took his shoulders, and they carried him outside the cave.
“I kept him inside,” Adrian said, glancing around. “Can’t have the Avians flying overhead, seeing something strange that they feel they have to investigate, can we?”
“I’m taking him to the Order, Adrian.”
At first the ginger-haired paven didn’t react. His expression was blank as he stared at Synjon. Then he broke out in something like a low, sinister laugh. “I’m sure I didn’t hear you correctly.”
“He’ll go to Mondrar.”
A muted growl rent the warm night air. “Syn.”
Yeah, he didn’t blame the male for what was coming next. “That’s where he belongs, Adrian, the vampire prison. That’s where criminals belong.”
Adrian released his grip on Cruen and the paven sank to the ground. He stalked toward Syn, his eyes narrowing with every step. “What’s happened to you?”
“Changed my mind, mate. That’s all.”
“More than your mind, I’d say. I thought he belonged with you, tortured until his last breath.” His eyes bored into Syn’s and he uttered the one word he knew would not only slide the knife home but twist it good and painfully. “Juliet.”
“I loved her. So much.” He shook his head, feeling the knife slide out again. “But she’s gone.”
“Yes,” Adrian hissed. “And he did that.”
“He’ll pay for it.”
“It’s not enough. It’s not enough for him to sit in a cell, breathe easy, and get three blood draws a day.”
“No. It’s not,” Syn agreed. “But his death means more now than it ever did. It means my life is over too. I have a mate and a balas on the way. They’re his blood. He deserves punishment forever if I can manage it. But not by my hand anymore.”
“That veana has changed you,” Adrian said tersely. “Softened you into something you should be ashamed of.”
“No shame, mate. Not for loving. When Cruen drained my emotions, I thought I was dead, lost forever. But Petra and the balas brought me back. I want to live a different life for them.”
Adrian’s lip curled. “You pick this female over my sister?”
“Yes,” Syn said without hesitation.
He’d never seen such pain in the male’s eyes before. And bloody hell if he didn’t understand it.
“If you won’t make him pay,” Adrian began, crouching in a fighting stance, “make him hurt, then I will.”
Fighting Juliet’s brother to save Cruen was the last thing Synjon would ever have wanted to do. But he did it. One full minute of jabs to the face, throat, and knees, his own fingers crushed on his right hand from being bent back, and one black eye that had made him see stars for a few seconds.
But then Cruen was up and against him, his head flopping forward as Synjon granted one last look at the bloodied paven on his knees before flashing away.
* * *
The moon was bright above.
The Rain Forest hummed with the sounds of insects, and the night’s heat still infused her skin.
But pelting her shoulders and the top of her head were sugar-light flakes of snow.
Petra glared at the leader of the Eternal Order. This veana who felt it was her right to flash into a world she knew nothing about and threaten its inhabitants. She hated that she came from such a line of bullies. Feeyan, her father . . . Granted, she knew there was good in the world of bloodsuckers. Her eyes flickered toward the stand of Roman brothers and their mates. They were ready to fight. Alongside the shifters, against their own ruling class. She just hated that they had to. The last thing she wanted was bloodshed.
Feeyan’s gaze was now focused on the jaguar veana, the mutore Dillon, who was hell-bent on protecting the shifters. “If you fight for the wrong side, Order Member Nine, you cannot continue on the Order.”
The female shrugged. “Bummer.”
“Such insolence,” Feeyan hissed.
“And not so fast,” Dillon continued, flakes of white coating her long eyelashes. “Even though I’d jump at the chance to escape your old-fashioned rule, you can’t kick me off the Order without the approval of the others.”
Feeyan looked smug, then slashed at the air with her hands. Instantly the snow was gone and sand was beneath everyone’s feet. “I need nothing. You don’t seem to understand this, mutore.” She started toward Dillon. “One who takes the position of leader of the Order, doesn’t need anything or anyone to give permission.”
“How about when someone is given the position because the real leader got canned?” Dillon’s eyes filled with amusement. “The leader everyone respects, maybe even wants back. The leader who truly acted without fear.”
Once again, the Order members started to talk. For as much as their leader tried to display her power and bravado, they saw her weaknesses too.
“I think you’ve spoken enough for tonight,” Feeyan said with brutal hatred.
She brought her hand up to Dillon’s face and closed it quickly in a tight fist. Dillon’s eyes went wide and she gripped her throat. She looked over at Gray, who was on his feet and snarling, and shook her head. She couldn�
��t speak. Up came the Romans, and the shifters. Petra felt panic enter her gut. This was it. The first blow of battle. Once the Romans and the shifters rushed in, there was no going back.
A sudden shock of sound and light stole everyone’s attention, including Feeyan’s. Gray rushed in and grabbed Dillon, who touched her throat and gasped as her mute state ceased. But everyone else stood frozen.
Staring at what had just landed.
A battered and bruised Synjon Wise stalked forward with a groggy male in his grasp.
Petra could only gape, her breath caught in her lungs and her gut tight with tension. She didn’t know what to think, what to do. The male she loved and the male who’d given her life were headed straight into the center of the gathering stones.
“Here’s your lost paven,” Synjon said, his eyes hard and narrowed on Feeyan. “Battered and bruised and showing off his pure blood.”
Gasps and murmurs echoed in the cavernous space as Syn tossed the unconscious paven at the Order leader’s feet.
Petra didn’t know what made her do it. What made her cry out and rush—not at Syn—but at her father. Curled on the ground, he looked so old, so pathetic. This was her flesh and blood. The male who had given her life, given her to the best family in the world.
Her hands ran over his back, his neck. Someone who did all of that couldn’t be completely evil. There had to be good somewhere in him, decency in him. She wanted so badly to know it. Not just for herself, but for her balas.
A hand crushed hers, and another gripped her shoulders. She managed only a squeak of shock and protest before Cruen jacked to his feet, yanked her up and slammed her back against his chest. Before anyone could move, he curled one hand around her neck.
24
Syn felt every bloody emotion on the planet run through him as he stared at Petra’s face. Fury, fear, love, regret. They were all there and all shockingly intense. His hands twitched at his sides. His fangs dropped low and sharp. And a growl he’d never heard before ripped from his throat.
Life was repeating itself. Only this time, he wasn’t going to allow Cruen to take his heart and soul from him.
Around the gathering stones, everyone held their breath. Not only was Cruen slowly pressing Petra’s windpipe, but his fangs were out and pointed at a spot on her temple that could shut her brain down in an instant.
“Let her go,” Syn said in a low, dangerous voice.
Saliva dripped from Cruen’s fangs onto Petra’s cheek. “Another female for you to mourn, Wise?”
“And for you,” Syn replied, trying not to look at Petra. Her fear, her sadness would weaken him. “As this one happens to be your daughter.”
“Yes, that is unfortunate. But power comes before all.”
“Especially when you’ve lost yours completely.”
Cruen’s gaze flickered in Feeyan’s direction.
“That’s right,” Synjon said. “They know. They know you’ve been hiding out here, eating the flesh of some ancient water beast to try and retrieve your power. Can you flash yet? Or are you still using your Pureblood guard?”
Behind Feeyan, three Order members gasped.
Cruen growled and pressed his fang against Petra’s temple.
“Do it and I will rip your flesh from your bones in under a second,” Syn promised blackly, inching forward.
“And I’ll fucking eat it when he does,” Dani said, jumping down from the high rock to stand beside him.
Petra cried out, flinching.
“Enough!” From behind the Romans, an older female stood up. She was tall and lovely, and her eyes, so similar to Petra’s, locked with Cruen’s and she shook her head at him. “That is our daughter.”
“Cellie?” Cruen’s grip on Petra eased and his eyes softened as he stared at the female. “Cellie, you’re here.”
“Let her go, Cruen.”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“You won’t take her from me again.”
“Cellie, I didn’t—”
“You took her. From my birthing bed.” Her voice broke with emotion. “Not to protect her, but to forge an alliance with the shifters so you could use them.”
Though his eyes remained soft upon her, he didn’t deny it. “I could’ve killed her and I didn’t. I did that for you.”
Petra whimpered, and Synjon’s entire body erupted in flame. He acted without thought, but with a lifetime of military combat training to guide him. Flashing from his spot beside Dani, he landed directly behind Cruen and wrapped his own hand around the male’s neck.
Cruen gasped, but he didn’t let go of Petra.
“What do you want?” Synjon whispered in his ear.
“You. Dead.”
“No. That’s not what you want. Say it.”
Cruen hissed. “Take them back.”
“My emotions.”
“Yes.”
He could scent Petra, her fear, her sadness, and it made him insane. He pulled air into his lungs. “If I do, you will release her immediately following, or you’re dead.”
“You must love my daughter.”
“I love Petra,” Syn clarified. No male who treated his young like this could be called a father.
Still gripping the paven’s throat, Syn lowered his head, so his temple was flush with Cruen’s face and fangs.
“Go back on your word, and every Roman, mutore, and shifter in this place will take you down before you have a chance to pull your next breath.”
The last word wasn’t even out of Syn’s mouth before Cruen’s fangs thrust deep into his temple. As before, on the floor of Erion’s dungeon, the blood drain was executed painfully, quickly, but this time Syn let go and gave in. As he opened his mind wide, to a world of past hurt and sadness and regret, emotions flooded his senses like a massive and unceasing ocean wave.
And then there was nothing. And everything. And Cruen was pulling out of his head, and he was back, standing in the gathering stones, scenting Petra, gripping Cruen, with his entire arsenal of baggage. All the hate and all the love.
And bloody hell, all the newfound strength.
Syn’s fingers dug into the paven’s throat. “Release. Her. Now.”
Cruen stood there for a moment, unmoving, no doubt thinking and plotting and planning. Could he use Petra another way? Could her death be of benefit? Or her life? And then suddenly, he opened his hand and freed her from his grasp.
“Go, Petra,” Syn commanded gently. “Go to your family.”
As Petra took off, holding her neck, stumbling forward, dizzy, into the arms of her mother, Cruen shouted at all of them, “You’ll never contain me, and you know it. None of you are able to. Even with my power waning, I will always be the one to rule this Breed.”
Her eyes frosty, yet the most controlled Syn had ever seen them, Feeyan moved forward. She began with an incantation, then slowly circled her arms around Cruen, wrapping him in some kind of invisible magical vise. She sighed, clucked her tongue. “I’ve always enjoyed our back and forth, Cruen. Our sharing of knowledge and power. Even our battles. But you have shamed not only yourself but the entire Eternal Breed. Your daughter”—her lip curled—“forcing her to live with these creatures. Not knowing her true worth. A Pureblood veana.” She leaned in, snarled as he struggled against her magical bonds. “Consuming the flesh of . . .” Her nostrils flared. “You have just insulted every Pureblood on the planet. In truth, I have stumbled somewhat in my governing of our kind as of late. Perhaps I was under the impression that I could not measure up to your way. It made me reckless and far too interested in proving myself to others. But I see now that your way wasn’t in service of the Eternal Breed. It was in service of you.” She glanced up at Syn, who was still holding Cruen by the throat. “I will take him now. Deal with him in my own way.”
“Not a chance,” Syn said, shaking his head. “I escort him to Mondrar, walk him into the cell, make sure he’s contained by the most powerful magic possible.”
Feeyan titled her chin. “Y
ou do not have a choice in how the Order punishes—”
“After all that’s just happened, I bloody well do.”
And with that, Syn flashed himself and Cruen from the gathering stones, the Rain Forest, and the strange sadness in his beloved veana’s eyes.
* * *
Seconds after Synjon flashed from the Rain Forest, the Order followed suit. Well, all but Dillon. She was still holding her throat, standing close to Gray, who looked like he wanted to put his fist through a fucking wall. In seconds, the sand disappeared, and all was back to normal within the gathering stones.
From his perch on the highest rock, Phane watched the shifter leaders attempt to find calm, understanding. But it was crystal clear to all, now that the Order knew about the Rain Forest and its inhabitants, that things would be very different from now on. They were no longer hidden, no longer safe.
His gaze cut to Dani. The hawk shifter female was comforting Petra, her arms wrapped around the veana as she shook with great sobs of grief. Below Phane, her mother by blood looked on, watched her daughter, then turned to look at Wen, who was embracing Dillon.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Wen said to the jaguar female, who looked both shaken up and pissed off by what Feeyan had subjected her to.
The leader of the Mountain Faction approached Dillon as well. “We won’t forget what you did for us. How you spoke up for us. Please know that you are all welcome here at any time. For those who have shifter blood, it would be our honor to introduce you to your kind.” His eyes warmed. “We have jaguar in my faction. If you ever want to know them . . .”
The veana visibly winced as the male’s voice trailed off. Like his half sister, Phane felt the strangeness of being in a place with others similar to himself. But truly, there was something here that called to him. To Helo as well. He shook his head. Foolish Lycos. The male was missing it all because he refused to get involved, refused to see this as an opportunity to know his history, know more about himself.
“My love?” Alex called out, his voice suddenly fearful.
