Eternal Sin

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.

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