Eternal Sin

After slipping the black silk robe on and tying the sash above her belly, she ventured out of the room. Clearly, it was full-on morning now, because every window was sealed and the house was lit by all things electric. As she walked down the hallway, past the teardrops of metal art on the wall, she wondered if Syn was even at home. It was so quiet. She also wondered what she was going to do today. She knew she needed to check in with her family and with Dani. The last thing she wanted was for them to worry about her and once again come to Manhattan to investigate.

Especially Dani. That female would force her to recite a virtual laundry list of affirmations about never sleeping with vampires named Synjon Wise and listening to genius best friends who were always right.

Petra laughed to herself at the thought, and didn’t see Synjon until she was nearly on top of him.

Well, Synjon and a . . . pine tree?

“Morning, darling,” he said, plugging something into the outlet behind him. “How did you sleep?”

“Good.” Lights erupted inside the pine tree. “Oh!” She looked from the tree to Synjon and back again. “What’s this?”

She stepped over a small pile of boxes, wrapped in beautiful silver-and-gold paper.

Synjon was looking at her like she had two heads. “Christmas. Don’t you know about that?”

Oh, right. She’d seen trees lit up when they were in the city. “We don’t celebrate it in the Rain Forest, but I’ve heard of it. Seen pictures. But”—she looked at him with a confused expression—“why are you doing it?”

He gave her an almost boyish shrug. “You had a chance to shop for yourself.”

“I know. It was great. I loved it.” She still didn’t understand.

He stood up, went over to her and ran his hands up her black-silk-covered arms. “Sexy. Crikey, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, love.”

“Back atcha,” she said, smiling. “Now, tell me what this is, please.”

“All right. I thought you should have the same chance for the balas.” He gestured to the gifts. “Go through them, see if there’s anything you like.”

She stared at the boxes. “You got things for the baby?”

“It’s nothing. Just a few bits and bobbles.”

Petra felt a huge lump form in her throat. “You picked out gifts for the baby.” It wasn’t a question. Gods, it wasn’t even directed at him really. She was just unloading her surprise. This wasn’t the Synjon Wise who’d had his emotions drained and who had seemed completely impassive with regard to her and the balas growing inside her just a few days ago. And frankly, this wasn’t the Synjon Wise from the Rain Forest tree house so many months ago either.

She turned to look at him. This was a Synjon Wise she’d never met before, but had fantasized about in the wee hours of the night when she’d been on her own, looking for Cruen, scared, lonely. The real and open Synjon. The nurturer, the gentle, thoughtful, sensual, playful caretaker.

“They’ll come to pick up whatever you don’t like,” he continued, his eyes on her, studying her expression.

She heard him, knew what he was saying, and yet she found herself asking, “When did you do this?”

“While you were sleeping.”

Overcome with the moment, the gesture, the happiness inside her, she rose on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her eyes searched his. “Santa, right?”

He laughed. “No, veana. Just a father.”

She gasped, stilled, her gaze locked with his. Oh, gods. His words. This was bad. Or it could be bad. Even she hadn’t gone there in her mind. She’d wanted to. So badly. But she knew where it led. That impossible road. Damn it, why did he have to say that? Something so completely committed? When neither of them knew what the future held. When he was still determined to destroy her father.

“Petra?” His eyes searched her own. She wondered what he saw there. The truth, or a veana so in love that she was overcome by his thoughtfulness?

“I don’t know what to say,” she said.

“You like it?”

She nodded. “I bloody love it.”

His face broke into a ridiculously gorgeous smile. “I told you. No one claims this balas but me.”

Right. The balas.

And what about her?

Don’t ruin it. Don’t. For yourself. For him. For Little Fangs. Just don’t. Because odds are you’ll hear something in there you don’t want to deal with right now.

Her gaze traveled the length of the beautiful pine tree. It smelled amazing. It smelled like family and memories, and a new couple sharing their first Christmas.

She wondered if it would be the same next year. Or if this was it, all she would get.

He broke from her grasp, leaned down, grabbed one of the presents, and held it out to her. “Ready?”

If this was all she got, she was going to enjoy it without regrets.

She ripped off the paper, flung open the box, and squealed like a young female when she saw a tiny T-shirt with the words “Little Fangs” printed on it.

* * *

He was nearly ready to return what should never have belonged to him in the first place. What had been forced on him. What had tried to take him down, make him so ineffectual and weak he might’ve truly gone through with what the bloodletter had said.

Begged Synjon Wise to remove his emotions.

But that was no longer the only option. The water shifter’s flesh, though beyond vile to force down, was slowly rebuilding his power grid. Granted, each burst was short-lived, so he’d been experimenting with stacking his feedings. Once every few hours, then once per hour, then every thirty minutes.

The water shifters had watched him carefully. Taking notes, asking questions, making sure that Cruen had the best and most aged flesh. He’d even been experimenting with his flash. Short trips, and only at night because he knew the Romans and the mutores were searching for him. It took consuming flesh at nearly fifteen-minute intervals, but he could finally travel and return without feeling weakened by the effort.

Tonight, he was going to see his guard. Make sure the male had remained near the gathering stones. If he had, it would tell Cruen everything he needed to know about the guard’s loyalty.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have to die after all.

Stuffing a good-size chunk of flesh into his mouth and another in his pocket, Cruen left the water shifters’ haven and flashed to a stand of trees just a few yards from the gathering stones. Looking around, sniffing the air, he didn’t see or sense the guard, and his anger flared to life, bringing forth visions of quick justice. But then he realized that the male would not remain out in the open. Not with the search for his master going on.

He hated to use his new power for anything other than taking down Wise, but he needed to meet with his guard first.

Checking for movement in the surrounding forest, and finding it quiet, he flashed to a wooded area at the back of the stones and waved his hand in a deep arc.

The guard’s position, his hiding spot, was instantly revealed. And though Cruen felt a twinge of the old weakness stir within him, he moved steadily toward the male.

“Good. You remain.”

The male, who was just emptying his bladder, turned and nodded at Cruen. “Of course, sir.”

“I have nearly completed my business with the shifters and will soon be returning to the States.”

The male eyed him a little too closely. “And when will that be, sir?”

Cruen sniffed. “You don’t question me, male.”

He lowered his head, but his eyes remained fixed on Cruen. “Of course, sir.”

“But I will tell you this, since you have been a loyal servant to me thus far. My strength has nearly returned, and I won’t need your flash.”

“Yet you want me to remain, sir?”

“I will be using your abilities for something far more satisfying than a mere flash.” His mouth curved