cats if they pose a problem.” He shrugged. “That I will take.”
She stared at him, this paven before her. Someday her balas would ask about its father, and she would be forced to remember that Synjon Wise hadn’t always been a heartless, emotionless shell. That in fact he’d been generous and funny and irreverent and sexy as hell once upon a time. For the good of her balas , she would remember how close she’d felt to him the night they’d conceived. How he’d asked her to come with him, promised to teach her, show her the world of the Eternal Breed.
And for the good of the balas , she would leave out the fact that he’d wanted to kill not only Cruen but perhaps even Petra herself.
“Shall I make it easy on you, love?” Syn said, cutting into her thoughts with the rusty blade of reality. “On the both of us?” He brought his wrist to his lips, and with his eyes pinned to her, bit down. “After all, I have guests coming at midnight.”
The scent hit her like a tree branch to the face. Knocking her out, sending her to heaven. She could almost taste it on her tongue, luscious, sweet like nectar. And she was so thirsty.
She stared at his wrist. Thick, strong, and oozing that wondrous, yet toxic, blood. This would satiate her, calm her, feed her.
This would save her balas .
Never in her life had she wanted something as much as she wanted what flowed in slow, mouthwatering twin lines down his wrist.
She reached out, snatched his arm, and pulled it close. Fool or forager, she couldn’t help herself. Her gaze narrowed on his forearm as her fangs dropped lower. Gods, she remembered how it felt to be bitten, to be drunk from. Sweet pain and intense pleasure. She didn’t want to feel that again with him. She wanted no connection to this male who cared nothing for her and her child.
But unlike the paven himself, his blood was impossible to resist.
• • •
When her fangs entered his vein, Synjon’s breath caught in his throat. But when she began to suckle, taking his blood into her mouth, her fingernails digging into the back of his hand as she worked, he lost his breath completely.
He’d fed others in the past, a simple, sometimes sensual contract. After all, it was the way of the vampire. But this . . . blood exiting his veins at a rapid pace, and what blood remained heading straight for his groin, making his cock stand at attention. Well, this was a problem.
One feed.
That was all he was giving her.
A soft, almost guttural groan escaped Petra’s throat as she changed the angle of her draw, as she gripped him tighter. His wrist felt weak and wet, and irrepressible desire flooded him. Unfortunately for that moment, intense sexual desire hadn’t been taken from his blood. Only his emotions, past and present. Only what Syn had allowed that piece of shite paven to take.
He sagged into the doorframe, his eyes drifting closed, the burn near his temple all but forgotten. This was trouble, what raged inside him. Perhaps more trouble than the desire to kill, to torture. He wanted to take her. Fuck her. Right now. Again. His fingers vibrated and his mouth filled with saliva. He saw it clearly playing out in his mind. He wanted to strip her naked, ease her to her hands and knees on the rug behind him. He wanted to look her over, see her round bottom lift toward him in anticipation—see her juicy, pulsing sex. He wanted to position himself behind her, slide his cock to her entrance, then thrust deep, pressing against her womb as his hands gently cupped her belly.
The belly that housed, cradled, and protected the balas .
He pulled in air. This wasn’t good. In fact, it was bloody madness. Considering the child inside Petra’s womb as anything more than fact could ruin his plan. It was why he’d stopped fighting midway through Cruen’s bloodletting. He’d seen a new path, a better way to exact his revenge.
And a bargaining chip in the form of a child could cost him that revenge.
A hiss
She stared at him, this paven before her. Someday her balas would ask about its father, and she would be forced to remember that Synjon Wise hadn’t always been a heartless, emotionless shell. That in fact he’d been generous and funny and irreverent and sexy as hell once upon a time. For the good of her balas , she would remember how close she’d felt to him the night they’d conceived. How he’d asked her to come with him, promised to teach her, show her the world of the Eternal Breed.
And for the good of the balas , she would leave out the fact that he’d wanted to kill not only Cruen but perhaps even Petra herself.
“Shall I make it easy on you, love?” Syn said, cutting into her thoughts with the rusty blade of reality. “On the both of us?” He brought his wrist to his lips, and with his eyes pinned to her, bit down. “After all, I have guests coming at midnight.”
The scent hit her like a tree branch to the face. Knocking her out, sending her to heaven. She could almost taste it on her tongue, luscious, sweet like nectar. And she was so thirsty.
She stared at his wrist. Thick, strong, and oozing that wondrous, yet toxic, blood. This would satiate her, calm her, feed her.
This would save her balas .
Never in her life had she wanted something as much as she wanted what flowed in slow, mouthwatering twin lines down his wrist.
She reached out, snatched his arm, and pulled it close. Fool or forager, she couldn’t help herself. Her gaze narrowed on his forearm as her fangs dropped lower. Gods, she remembered how it felt to be bitten, to be drunk from. Sweet pain and intense pleasure. She didn’t want to feel that again with him. She wanted no connection to this male who cared nothing for her and her child.
But unlike the paven himself, his blood was impossible to resist.
• • •
When her fangs entered his vein, Synjon’s breath caught in his throat. But when she began to suckle, taking his blood into her mouth, her fingernails digging into the back of his hand as she worked, he lost his breath completely.
He’d fed others in the past, a simple, sometimes sensual contract. After all, it was the way of the vampire. But this . . . blood exiting his veins at a rapid pace, and what blood remained heading straight for his groin, making his cock stand at attention. Well, this was a problem.
One feed.
That was all he was giving her.
A soft, almost guttural groan escaped Petra’s throat as she changed the angle of her draw, as she gripped him tighter. His wrist felt weak and wet, and irrepressible desire flooded him. Unfortunately for that moment, intense sexual desire hadn’t been taken from his blood. Only his emotions, past and present. Only what Syn had allowed that piece of shite paven to take.
He sagged into the doorframe, his eyes drifting closed, the burn near his temple all but forgotten. This was trouble, what raged inside him. Perhaps more trouble than the desire to kill, to torture. He wanted to take her. Fuck her. Right now. Again. His fingers vibrated and his mouth filled with saliva. He saw it clearly playing out in his mind. He wanted to strip her naked, ease her to her hands and knees on the rug behind him. He wanted to look her over, see her round bottom lift toward him in anticipation—see her juicy, pulsing sex. He wanted to position himself behind her, slide his cock to her entrance, then thrust deep, pressing against her womb as his hands gently cupped her belly.
The belly that housed, cradled, and protected the balas .
He pulled in air. This wasn’t good. In fact, it was bloody madness. Considering the child inside Petra’s womb as anything more than fact could ruin his plan. It was why he’d stopped fighting midway through Cruen’s bloodletting. He’d seen a new path, a better way to exact his revenge.
And a bargaining chip in the form of a child could cost him that revenge.
A hiss
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