Laura Wright: Eternal Sin

And speaking of riding it out . . .

“What the hell are we doing here, Val?”

The lion shifter had come to a dust-kicking halt outside the River House, the one-story cabin on stilts that bracketed the rushing water below. The structure had been built by Sasha, Valentin, and their father many years ago to use when the weather grew unbearably warm. Petra couldn’t count the number of times she’d stretched out in the shade underneath the house, in the water, or on the bank. It had been perfect and relaxing. Completely the opposite of now.

Valentin quickly shifted into his male form, grabbed a pair of jeans from the stair railing, and pulled them on. “Come inside, Pets.”

Inside? This was crazy. What she wanted to do was turn around and run, keep running until she lost her breath. But she knew Val—his stubbornness and that look on his face. He would just come after her again. Better to see what he had inside the house, appease him for a few minutes, and then take off.

The pain of hunger rushed through her as she followed Val up the short flight of steps. Maybe she could talk with Brodan later, see about the blood-as-she-ran idea. Granted, it was a long shot, but the balas —

Her fangs dropped suddenly and saliva pooled in her mouth. The scent blasting into her nostrils as she walked through the front door of the cabin was not only familiar but despised. Chills broke out on her skin, but instead of wanting to run away, she had an irrepressible urge to run forward, deeper into the house, stalk the scent, and seize its owner.

A low hiss exited her lips. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. How could Val have done this to her? He loved her, and yet he now tortured her.

Her mind screamed at her to turn around, get out, get as far from the scent and all the memories that surrounded it as possible. But her need, her hunger, the vampire veana inside her, refused to let her retreat.

It wanted that scent.

Breathing heavily, she stumbled after Val, licking her lips as she passed familiar furnishings and the framed watercolors that she and her brothers had made when they were little.

With every step, the scent grew thicker, and she felt her fangs vibrate in her mouth as the hallway became increasingly dark. She followed her brother into the smallest bedroom, the one she normally used when they stayed in the house. The room where all sunlight was absent. The only illumination coming from the small lamp on her bedside table.

Even though she’d scented blood the moment she walked into the house, familiar blood , she wasn’t prepared for its origin—for the massive paven who was sprawled out on the green-and-blue floral quilt atop the queen-size bed.

“Oh, my god,” she rasped, reaching out to grip Val’s arm, her gaze lifting to see both Sasha and Dani enter the room and head for the hand-carved teak headboard and tightly sealed window. “Why? What is this?”

Sasha grinned. “Vampire. Freshly caught.”

Petra’s insides recoiled. He was smiling? He thought this was funny? Her breathing became erratic, and her gaze shot to Dani. Thank gods her best friend remained sober. In fact the blond female looked pissed off.

“He is a total bastard, Pets,” she said, her nostrils flaring, the action making her nose ring vibrate. “After you’re done with him, please rip that shit apart, okay?”

“Done with what?” Petra said, her voice high-pitched and panicked. Her fangs wanted out, down, and in. Hunger like she’d never known surged in her blood. Her nails dug into Val’s biceps. “What do you think I’m going to do with him?”

“He’s your blood donor, Pets,” Dani said, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world.

And shit, maybe it was. Synjon Wise was the father of her child, and his blood had been the only blood she’d ever been interested in tasting. But he was a monster. A killer. A male interested only in vengeance. A male with absolutely no soul, heart, empathy, or conscience. A male who’d been forced to the dungeon floor a week ago, held down by four massive vampires, and drained of his bitter and dangerous emotions. She didn’t want him in her precious world again. She didn’t want him in her mouth or her bloodstream.

He was a toxic substance.

Her wide, manic gaze slid to the bed. Synjon was lying on top of the pretty, feminine blanket she’d had since adolescence, unconscious, spread-eagled, clad only in a pair of dark blue denim jeans that hung just below his hipbones. He was leaner than she remembered, which made the continuous ripples of muscle on his arms, shoulders, and abdomen all the more obvious. His dark hair was cut short, his skin had remained a pale bronze, his cheekbones were prominent, and there was a light sprinkling of stubble around his full lips.

He was every bit as beautiful as she remembered.

Time rushed backward and claimed her. She’d seen this male unconscious before, in pain and desperate, and had wanted more than anything to save him. Now, as she stared, as she started to shake, as saliva pooled in her mouth and her fangs begged to do what they were meant to do, all she wanted was to attack, bite, and pull every last drop of blood from his veins into hers.

Dani chuckled wryly from her spot beside the bed. “Not to worry, boys. I think she likes her prezzie.”

Synjon came awake to the scent of unfamiliar surroundings and the sound of a female’s rage. Though his instincts were to jump to his feet and execute everyone in the room, everyone who held him hostage, he kept his eyes closed, his ears open, and his muscles flexed and ready. He would not be a prisoner. Not when he had to return home to Manhattan to welcome a prisoner of his own.

“Like it?” the female cried again, hunger, violence, and pain threading her tone. “I can’t believe you did this, Dani! I can’t believe you brought him here!”

Though Synjon felt no emotional connection to the female who spoke, he knew her voice instantly. He knew her body intimately.

In fact, he could see her with his eyes closed.

Black hair. Light crystalline blue eyes. Irresistible smile. Pink flush to her cheeks when she got excited.

It was an image his skin, cells, and muscles craved, yet wanted to forget, reject.

“Petra, come on,” came a male voice. “He’s what you need.”

A tremor went through Synjon. He knew that voice too. It belonged to one of his abductors, one of Petra’s brothers. He’d met them both many months ago in the Rain Forest community where they lived. Had battled with them inside their house as he’d tried to find the female who’d rescued him from the sun. This time, Synjon would make sure the bloody git and his lion brother paid for the cuffs and body slams with a little torture of his own. After he finished with his long-awaited guest, of course.

“He’s the opposite of what I need,” Petra growled. “Shit, Sasha, what anyone needs. He’s an empty, soulless, gutless bastard.”

“Fine,” Sasha returned. “What the balas needs, then.”

Balas .

Something about the word scratched at Synjon’s insides, but he quickly shoved back the sensation. The truth in the male cats’ words, the need Petra might have of him, meant nothing to the ultimate goal of vengeance that was nearly within his grasp. A vengeance that could finally be carried out without the inconvenient second-guessing and guilt that had once plagued him.

“Why are you hesitating, Pets?” It was the female hawk shifter again. Dani. Synjon knew he’d failed on that account. How had he not seen through that blue-balled facade of his to what truly stood before him? What had tricked him?

“It’s clear you want to tap that, Pets,” Dani continued with an almost audible sneer. One of the males laughed, and the sneer quickly became a growl. “Shut up, Val.”