Laura Wright - Eternal Sin

The realization made him breathe easier, made him hope.

“I want to show you something,” he said, leading her through the living room, past the kitchen and down the hall.

“You’ve changed things,” she said quietly, her gaze darting from left to right. “New artwork, different colors, furniture. Why?”

His chest tightened.

“You know why, love,” he said leading her into his bedroom.

“I don’t know if I want to go in here, Syn,” she said tightly. “Don’t know if I want to revisit the . . .” Her voice petered out as she entered the room. Her lips parted and she stared. “What did you do?”

He turned to look at her, watch her as she took in the complete remodel of his bedroom—what he wanted to be their bedroom. New furniture, softer fabric, colors he knew she loved. “The pillows you bought with Sara. I used them as inspiration.” He eyed her. “You like it?”

Her head fell forward. “Oh, Syn, does it matter if I like it? Really?”

“More than you can possibly know, love.” He squeezed her hand, then tugged it a little. “But that’s not what I really want you to see. Come.”

Petra felt as though the unbeating heart inside her chest was expanding, preparing to burst, as Syn led her into the en suite bathroom, and toward the room beyond. It was truly the last place on earth she wanted to go. She hated what she’d found here. How it had ruined everything. Ended what she’d thought was a true hope for love, a family. Why would—

Her thoughts ended abruptly .

Oh, gods.

Oh, gods.

Emotion caught in her throat. Fear and wonder and amazement. Tears blurred her vision, and she blinked to force them away, down her cheeks. She wanted to see clearly, take in what was before her with cool, detached eyes. But that was just an impossible hope.

It was too incredible.

Gone were the closet, the clothes, the leather and the wool. Gone was the room full of metal and hate and anger and vengeance. And in its place was a completely remodeled space. Pale yellow walls, fanciful artwork, bookcases and dressers, rugs and lamps, a rocker and a crib.

The most beautiful crib she’d ever seen.

Petra bit her lip to keep from crying, from blubbering like a fool . . . or maybe just an emotional pregnant chick. But nothing was going to stop the tears from raining down her cheeks.

A baby’s room.

Syn had turned a room meant for such darkness into a room of light and softness and innocence.

He released her hand. She’d forgotten she was holding his, gripping it so tightly that she’d probably bruised him. She watched him walk over to the rocker and sit down.

“I’m so sorry, Petra. For everything. For lying to you, lying to myself. For hurting you.” His eyes locked with hers and implored her to listen. Really listen. “I’m not asking you to live here. I know I don’t deserve that. But I want you to understand that in my mind and in my heart, you and the balas have a home here.”

Petra leaned against the doorframe and stared at him in that rocker. That sweet, happy rocker. And envisioned him holding Little Fangs in his arms. She couldn’t believe it. Any of it. That he’d gone to these lengths. Was it truly possible that one so hell-bent on revenge could find a new and infinitely more beautiful way to live out his life?

She didn’t know. Gods, she didn’t know. But she wanted to find out. So badly that she ached with it.

“I may not be the male you believed could be your family, be the balas ’s father,” he said, his dark eyes pinning her where she stood. “But in my mind, my heart, I am.”

In her mind and heart, he was too. He’d proved that on the night he’d saved her, sacrificed himself and his need to claim vengeance, for her and the balas , at the gathering stones. And he’d proved it with this incredible room.

“You fought for me, remember, love?”

She nodded, not even trying to hold back her tears anymore. And truly, what was the point? This was the male she loved, the father of her child. Her one wish had come true. Tears were more than appropriate. They were called for.

“When I was ready to give up,” he said, his eyes full of warmth and hope, “you fought for me. Now I’m fighting for us, for you, for Little Fangs there. We’re a family. I want us to be together always. I love you, Petra.”

The words killed her. Not the part of her that had still believed in a future with this male, but the part that had wanted to give up, run away because she didn’t want to be hurt again.

“Syn . . .”

“I’m not rushing you, not asking you to decide anything or change anything. I just wanted you to see where I’m at. What I’m offering. Long term. Forever. And to know if you could possibly forgive me.”

Inside her womb, the balas moved, pressing against her skin. Maybe it just wanted to stretch its little limbs. Or maybe, like her, it wanted to be closer to that voice. And to the paven it loved.

“Cruen—,” she began, hating herself for bringing that male’s name into this room.

But Syn was quick to answer, and his tone was completely unfettered. “Love, I’m no longer concerned with chasing your father. I want to be a father.”

That was it. She needed nothing more. Gods, nothing more than him.

Petra pushed away from the door, fairly leaped across the room and jumped into his lap. Instantly Syn’s protective arms went around her and he groaned into her hair. Heat infused her. Love too. And then he started to rock. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Be my mate, love?” he whispered.

She tipped her chin up and stared into those dark, deeply emotional eyes and grinned. “Yes.”

“Wed me under the tree house in the Rain Forest?” He leaned in and kissed her mouth.

She sighed. “I’d love that.”

“I love you .” He placed one hand on her belly, waited a moment, then said confidently, “The balas is happy.”

Oh, gods. “So’s his mother.”

Synjon’s eyes got big, and he said almost breathlessly, “His?”

She shrugged, her grin widening. “Just a guess.”

This time, when Synjon dropped his head and kissed her, Petra could feel the emotions within him. They were warm and intense, and they infused her skin like bathwater. There were fear and happiness, concern and craving, but the emotion that spread the furthest, went the deepest, and heated his blood as he growled and groaned against her mouth, was love.

Phane had done his best to make the place livable. Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered. After all, he had the house in New York, a perch to kill for, and the whole extended-family thing. But there was just something about the Rain Forest, about the heat and the shifters—and damn, he wanted to pursue Dani.

Sweat pouring off his body, he continued to scrub the exterior of the cabin. After what had gone down at the gathering stones, he wasn’t sure what to expect with Dani and the others. They’d offered to show him how the other half lived, so to speak, but was that real? Would they want him and Helo hanging around, reminding them of just how kind and giving the vampires were not?

He was just turning around to grab a bucket of clean water, when he spotted someone—some thing —stalking toward him in the brush.

“I don’t believe this.” He knew that blond-gray coat and don’t-fuck-with-me glare. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The wolf shifted the moment he reached the porch of the cabin. Lycos glanced around, first at the cabin, then back at Phane. He looked uncomfortable as shit. “Come to get you. The Romans said you were taking your sweet time getting back.”