Eternal Beauty

This was bullocks.



Synjon stood in the very same spot he'd occupied when the veana had left him ten minutes ago. Inches from the bloody door. But now, he leaned against it, listening as Doctor Forgive and Fuck Me refused to get a clue and leave. If this kept on, Synjon wasn't sure he could follow through on his promise to remain hidden. Though his face and neck were healed, his gut ached with hunger. If he didn't feed soon, he would start to grow feral.



His head dropped against the wood as he heard the veana speak again.



"Thank you for the food, Brodan, but I'm pretty well stocked."



"Shit, I'm so sorry, Petra."



"For what?"



His voice drew nearer to the bathroom, his footfall heavy. "I don't know how he got away."



"It's not your fault."



"I should've stayed at the clinic, watched him until he woke up. I thought I could go home for a few hours, shower, change clothes-"



Petra interrupted. "Seriously, Brodan. It was impossible to predict."



Yes, seriously, Brodan, Synjon thought with irritation. Give it a rest already, you stupid gatecrashing git.



"I don't like you being here on your own," the doctor said.



"I'm always here by myself. Nothing new, nothing to worry about."



"Not while that thing is on the loose."



Thing. Synjon's upper lip twitched and his fangs started to descend. If anyone in this place is a thing . . .



"The family doesn't want me at the house in case he returns," Petra responded quickly. "This is the perfect hideout. I have everything I need."



"Come home with me, Pets. He'll never follow you there, and if he did I can take care of it."



Bloody hell. Just tell her you want to shag her and let's be done with this.



"I appreciate it," Petra said. "I really do, Brodan. But I'm good here."



"Then I'll stay with you. A little company, a little protection."



A scream of hunger assaulted Syn's gut and he groaned.



Cut that off, Veana. Cut that off now before I have to do it.



"I don't need protection, Brodan," she said with growing seriousness. "I have a ton of work to do. I have all the supplies I need." She lowered her voice, but Syn could still hear her. "This is not how we should have our first outing."



"No," he replied in a husky tone. "It will be outside, near the waterfall." He chuckled. "I have it all planned, you see."



Synjon growled low in his throat. The hunger was starting to make him insane, make him possessive over his food.



"All right, Pets," Brodan continued. "I know better than to push you. But I'm coming back to check on you."



Brilliant, mate. Now, get the hell out.



Synjon picked up on some final departing words, then the welcome sound of the front door closing. He was nearly panting when the bathroom door opened with a flourish.



"I assume you heard everything," she said.



"The chat between you and your boyfriend? Afraid so."



Her cheeks went pink. Or maybe they were flushed before she came into the bathroom. He didn't like it either way.



"Brodan and I aren't mates."



"Yet," Syn finished, nostrils flaring as he took in her scent. "But he wants it pretty damn bad."



She shrugged nonchalantly. "Perhaps that's a good thing then. After all, he is a well respected male; strong, smart, kind."



"Polite."



"Yes," she agreed, walking toward him, stopping when they were only a few inches apart. "It's an attractive quality in a male."



He grunted. "Pleases and thank yous."



"Of course."



"Never take without asking."



"Exactly."



"Sounds like a recipe for a ruddy dull life."



"Not to me."



"Too bad, Petra." He studied her face, her stunning, mysterious, and stubborn face. In another lifetime, he might've gone arse-over-tit for someone like her. She was the kind to make a bloke forget.



But he wasn't in the business of forgetting.



"For our final tutorial," he said, his eyes connecting with hers. "You must know that no true Pureblood vampire male will ever ask you for a kiss. If he wants it, he'll take it."



"Is that right?"



"Indeed. And afterward, it will be you who offers the overly polite, 'thank you.'"



"You're arrogant as shit, you know that?"



"Yes."



"And barbaric."



"Welcome to your world, Veana."



She stared at him, nostrils flaring. "Well, I don't think I want it."



"You're lying."



"No, I'm not."



He cocked his head and stared at her neck. "I see your vein pulsing as I speak, Love. I see your eyes dilating. Your mind may be trying to convince you otherwise, but the desire to submit is written all over your face." He leaned in, nostrils flaring, and sniffed. "And I'm willing to bet if you were stripped bare right now, a male would find that desire displayed in other areas on your person as well."



She looked stunned and livid and shit, aroused. What was he doing? Christ, what the hell was he doing? This was about hunger, not desire. This was about caring for his body, not punishing it.



"Petra . . ." he began, but she cut him off.



Closing the space between them, she practically growled at him. "I may live among Shifters," she said menacingly, her eyes flaring with ire and heat and confusion, "but you are the true animal."



His mind died in that moment, as did his soul. She was near and he was starved. For blood, for heat . . . for the feel of a female's skin . . .



He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Crikey, her body fit his far too well. His breath came out in a rush, and he took her mouth like he wanted to take her blood. Tears behind his eyes, caught in his throat and his chest, he forced every thought out of his head, every memory from his unbeating heart-and every shred of decency he had left, and just kissed her. She tasted sweet and perfect, and her lips were warm and soft. She responded instantly to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and returning his passionate assault as if she too wanted to release some great heaviness of shame and guilt. With a moan of pleasure, he ran his tongue over her top lip, and when she met him with her own wet heat, he felt his cock stir.



Fuck.



Bloody hell.



He eased back until she was forced to release him. For several long seconds, they stared at one another, breathing heavy, skin flushed with desire. Syn had no idea what was going on in her head, but what was going on in his was brutal. He was a cock-up, a prat, a rogue, and a rat bastard. He deserved to be strung up by his fangs for touching another female.



"I'm famished," he said in lieu of an excuse or an apology. "In pain. I need your blood now before I lose what little control I have left."



Her skin was pink and the scent of her arousal in the air couldn't be missed by either one of them, and yet she nodded and stepped back. "Will it hurt? Will I be weak afterward?"



"There is a moment of pain, as you felt in the clinic. But it doesn't last." He went over to the wood bathtub and sat down, rested his back against the side. "You may feel tired afterward, or you may feel energized. I'm not sure how your body will react."



"I'm nervous."



"But you're willing?" He wasn't about to fight her for it. Shite, right now he was out of fight.



Without a word, she came to sit beside him. And after several deep breaths, she lifted her chin and offered him her wrist.



Synjon didn't say anything more. Frankly, he was so amped up, heavy with desire, and ravenous with hunger, whatever came out of his mouth at this point would probably be grunts and groans. So he gave in to his true and honest need and became a Pureblood vampire paven.



He brought her wrist to his lips, and within the space of a breath, his fangs plunged into her vein.



* * *



The rush of heat, pain and undeniable pleasure moving through Petra was mind-boggling. At first, when his fangs had entered her skin, pricked her vein, she'd wanted to pull away, rescind their bargain and get the hell out of the bathroom. But in seconds the fear, the strangeness of the act fell away and she was left with a feeling she could only describe as pre-orgasmic.



Panting slightly, she watched him, his dark head coiled over her wrist, his body moving to the rhythm of his suckle. With every pull, she felt him inside her. With every swallow, her mind conjured images of his mouth on hers again.



Sweat broke out on her forehead and she leaned against his shoulder. His hand instantly reached for her, grabbing her thigh and squeezing. Below her waist, heat surged and the small heartbeat hidden inside her clit swelled. She'd never felt anything like it, and a moan escaped her lips.



As his fingers clenched and unclenched like a feline's claws against her skin, she fought the swirling desire inside of her. But it was impossible to control. She was incredibly turned on. Every goddamn inch of her. Her mouth was dry, her nipples were hard, her sex was wet, and her mind was begging for him to slide his hand from her thigh up to where she ached.



"Oh, Synjon," she whispered almost desperately, her head starting to pound. "Please . . ."



Gods, what was she asking? What was wrong with her?



In front of her eyes, spots formed. She blinked rapidly, licked her lips and swallowed. She couldn't feel her limbs, her face . . .



"Please," she uttered. "Don't. Stop. Please. I can't . . . breathe."



Suddenly, the room faded of all color, and just as the male pulled from her vein, she lost consciousness.