thereof.
“What happened, Cruen?” she asked. “Animal bite?”
No.
Synjon Wise .
Nearly debilitating shame drained Cruen of any scrap of concern he might have had for his relationship with the Rain Forest and its inhabitants. The paven who had tortured him, skillfully removing his ear before setting his skin to flame under the light of the sun, must be found. His emotions returned.
His life extinguished.
“There are shape-shifters in existence,” he began, barely feeling the frigid air swirling around him. “They have a hidden world in the Rain Forest. They were once peaceful. Incapable of posing a threat to our kind.”
Feeyan’s eyes turned an emotionless stark white. For a second or two, she didn’t speak. Then her fangs lowered and she spat out, “And you kept this from us?”
Of course he had. And he’d have continued to do so if that hidden world didn’t now contain Synjon Wise. “I was trying to protect them. But they are no longer peaceful. They’ve taken our own.”
Her eyes widened. “Taken?”
He nodded. “Purebloods. A male, and a female in swell . The shifters keep them as prisoners.”
Nostrils flared, Feeyan ingested this news. “Abducting Pureblood vampires,” she said thoughtfully. Deadly. She turned to face the mountain just as a group of thick gray clouds approached. “Well, we cannot have that, can we? I rather prefer blood at mealtime, but I’m willing to try a little raw meat in honor of the Eternal Breed.”
• • •
Petra stood in a blinding-white patch of sunlight, panting, sweating, thrilled, hungry, irritated. Basically, too freaking close to being out of control for her liking.
Three feet away, taking up residence in the doorway of the dark bedroom, his stance cold and calculated, his sharp-angled face sporting a nasty burn near his left temple, was her adversary.
The one she’d grabbed, clung to, pulled—not to keep him out of the sun this time—but to get him into it.
Her eyes moved over him, dark blue jeans that hung on narrow hips, wide, smooth, lean-muscled chest, broad shoulders, thick column of neck and a hard, set jaw. She lifted her gaze to connect with his iron stare. “You look a little afraid, Mr. Wise.”
“I don’t feel fear, veana .”
“Right. It’s an emotion. I keep forgetting you’re practically a machine.”
“I am impressed, though,” he said, the burn at his temple still smoking slightly.
“Machines don’t get impressed.”
He lifted his hand to his temple, hissed as his fingers made tentative contact. “Acknowledging skill, strength, and cunning in one’s opponent is not an emotion, but an understanding, a reasoning of events.” His brow lifted. “Do you wonder why you’re suddenly so powerful?”
Yes. “No.”
“I don’t believe you. You, who wanted to know everything about your vampire self.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
She placed her hands on her belly. “Before I had to survive, fight.” She cocked her head. “Nice battle scar, by the way.”
“Not my only one, I think.” He took his hand from the burn. “Day’s still young and you look hungry.”
Her mouth watered at his words, his suggestion. The struggle to keep him from bolting had only aggravated her hunger. Being near him now, scenting him, was torture on her system. And to think, just hours ago the thought of blood on her tongue, running down her throat, made her gag.
Of course, she hadn’t been thinking about Synjon’s blood then.
Her mouth twitched at both the irony of the situation and the emergence of her fangs.
“So what’s the plan?” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “You wanted me here, Muscles. Now you have me. For a few hours at any rate.”
A tidal wave of emotions, anger, and lust barreled through her. Needing his blood was one thing, but what he’d just implied was another. She abandoned her sunlit patch and moved toward him. “Let me make something very clear, Mr. Wise. I don’t
“What happened, Cruen?” she asked. “Animal bite?”
No.
Synjon Wise .
Nearly debilitating shame drained Cruen of any scrap of concern he might have had for his relationship with the Rain Forest and its inhabitants. The paven who had tortured him, skillfully removing his ear before setting his skin to flame under the light of the sun, must be found. His emotions returned.
His life extinguished.
“There are shape-shifters in existence,” he began, barely feeling the frigid air swirling around him. “They have a hidden world in the Rain Forest. They were once peaceful. Incapable of posing a threat to our kind.”
Feeyan’s eyes turned an emotionless stark white. For a second or two, she didn’t speak. Then her fangs lowered and she spat out, “And you kept this from us?”
Of course he had. And he’d have continued to do so if that hidden world didn’t now contain Synjon Wise. “I was trying to protect them. But they are no longer peaceful. They’ve taken our own.”
Her eyes widened. “Taken?”
He nodded. “Purebloods. A male, and a female in swell . The shifters keep them as prisoners.”
Nostrils flared, Feeyan ingested this news. “Abducting Pureblood vampires,” she said thoughtfully. Deadly. She turned to face the mountain just as a group of thick gray clouds approached. “Well, we cannot have that, can we? I rather prefer blood at mealtime, but I’m willing to try a little raw meat in honor of the Eternal Breed.”
• • •
Petra stood in a blinding-white patch of sunlight, panting, sweating, thrilled, hungry, irritated. Basically, too freaking close to being out of control for her liking.
Three feet away, taking up residence in the doorway of the dark bedroom, his stance cold and calculated, his sharp-angled face sporting a nasty burn near his left temple, was her adversary.
The one she’d grabbed, clung to, pulled—not to keep him out of the sun this time—but to get him into it.
Her eyes moved over him, dark blue jeans that hung on narrow hips, wide, smooth, lean-muscled chest, broad shoulders, thick column of neck and a hard, set jaw. She lifted her gaze to connect with his iron stare. “You look a little afraid, Mr. Wise.”
“I don’t feel fear, veana .”
“Right. It’s an emotion. I keep forgetting you’re practically a machine.”
“I am impressed, though,” he said, the burn at his temple still smoking slightly.
“Machines don’t get impressed.”
He lifted his hand to his temple, hissed as his fingers made tentative contact. “Acknowledging skill, strength, and cunning in one’s opponent is not an emotion, but an understanding, a reasoning of events.” His brow lifted. “Do you wonder why you’re suddenly so powerful?”
Yes. “No.”
“I don’t believe you. You, who wanted to know everything about your vampire self.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
She placed her hands on her belly. “Before I had to survive, fight.” She cocked her head. “Nice battle scar, by the way.”
“Not my only one, I think.” He took his hand from the burn. “Day’s still young and you look hungry.”
Her mouth watered at his words, his suggestion. The struggle to keep him from bolting had only aggravated her hunger. Being near him now, scenting him, was torture on her system. And to think, just hours ago the thought of blood on her tongue, running down her throat, made her gag.
Of course, she hadn’t been thinking about Synjon’s blood then.
Her mouth twitched at both the irony of the situation and the emergence of her fangs.
“So what’s the plan?” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “You wanted me here, Muscles. Now you have me. For a few hours at any rate.”
A tidal wave of emotions, anger, and lust barreled through her. Needing his blood was one thing, but what he’d just implied was another. She abandoned her sunlit patch and moved toward him. “Let me make something very clear, Mr. Wise. I don’t
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