There were three stages of fire in target shooting: slow, timed, and rapid. Synjon had been at it for an hour and every round he went ended up rapid. He had no patience for conventional practice rules. Removing magazine after magazine, reloading again and again, aim and shoot-that's all he was after. Hit after hit until he saw the battered wall behind the face on each of his target papers.

He set the semiautomatic down and went to change the target. Shooting used to give him some form of release, some feeling of control. It was like the bite into flesh before the suck-the initial action that drew blood.

But there was no relief inside him anymore. No matter what he did. All he felt, all the bloody time, was manic darkness. And it was growing blacker every moment Cruen continued to breathe.

"How many rounds you go?"

The Roman brother's deep, concerned voice didn't make Synjon start. In fact, Syn had known the male was coming, catching his scent as it had drifted in from the hall.

"Not nearly enough," Syn muttered, crushing the target paper in his fist as he walked back toward Alexander. "Glad you stopped by."

"I think it's you who's stopping by."

"Yes," Syn said. "At long last. I'm sure Frosty's told you what I'm after." He picked up the semiautomatic and started to reload. "A reminder of what was promised more than seven months ago."

Alex leaned against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest. The paven was big, his Breeding Male genes showing in every thick muscle, every predatory movement. "Vengeance."

The word made Syn pause, look up. His eyes narrowed. "I could say 'justice,' but why bother? I hope there's no problem with that."

"None whatsoever. Except for the fact that we're having some trouble-"

"Locating the bastard yourself," Syn finished.

"Right." The skull-shaved paven's eyebrows drew together. "But I think I may have stumbled upon a way."

Syn lowered his weapon. "Tell."

"Can't. Not yet." He released a breath. "It involves my mate."

"You think she knows how to get to Cruen?"

"No. But she will be affected, perhaps even hurt, if I use this possibility."

The urge to throttle Alexander Roman until he revealed his thoughts, his plan, was almost impossible to repress. "I understand your caution, but the paven must be taken down."

"I know," Alex said calmly. "I just need a little time."

"Time's up, Roman," Synjon said, turning from the paven and lifting his gun. "For you, me, the balas who lies in wait of a rescue, and that paven bastard who killed my veana."

Without another word, Syn aimed at the target and fired ten rounds without blinking. All shots landed right between the eyes.

Erion burst through the front door and flash-ran down the hill toward the gate like a paven possessed. What the hell would he find waiting? Who would he find waiting? And if it was a trap, how badly could he rip the bastard apart before the male spilled the details of his plan?

His final flash brought him right to the gate's entrance. He'd already bitten into his wrist as he traveled, and he ran it over the lock. He sprang forward as the gate allowed him access. At first he saw nothing, no one, his gaze tracking every movement the moonlight favored him with. Then a sound caught his ears, a scent too, and it was one he knew well. One that was normally accompanied by irritating wafts of dust.

"What the hell are you doing here, Raine?" he called out.

Nothing. Just wind through the trees met his query.

Erion cursed through clenched teeth. "Get over here before I'm forced to hunt you down. Your beast is a midnight snack for mine."

He heard a whimper, then saw a flash of pale skin. Raine had stepped out from behind a wide bush and was slowly moving toward him. "I'm in deep trouble because of you."

"You came here for an apology?" Erion said on a growl. "Truly?"

The mutore's terrified features intensified as he drew nearer. "He knew I told you that I could be the only one."

Cruen had contacted him. Erion's skin prickled with hope. "Good."

Raine, however, looked shocked at his response. "You are pleased."

"I want to meet with him, exchange our goods. It is all I want."

Raine stared piteously at him for a moment, then he sighed. "Then meet him, you will."

He moved quickly, leaped forward, and grabbed Erion around the waist. Before Erion had a chance to react, they flashed from the castle grounds. But it was a flash unlike any Erion had ever experienced before. It was slow and strange and rendered him utterly immobile; even his mouth refused to move. Panic snaked through him, but it hardly had time to take hold. In an instant, he touched down, his feet sinking into warm, gentle sand as his gaze searched his surroundings. When he realized where he was, his bowels tightened. He despised this place, hated what he'd done on this beach, who he had manipulated, who he had humiliated.

"We have spent many hours here, my son."

The words, that voice-it broke the spell over Erion's muscles and his ability to speak. He lifted his upper lip and flashed his fangs at the paven who stood beside him. "Call me that again and I will devein you."

Cruen laughed, but it wasn't a light, frothy sound. It carried the weight of worry within it.

"There was a time when you begged me to call you son, when you reveled in my parental care."

If only I had the ability to kill here, Erion mused. "It was the desperate need of a desperate child," he stated flatly. One who only wanted to be considered worthy of love. "That desire was over the moment you lied to me about being able to produce a balas."

"It was for your protection, Erion."

"Was it?" Erion turned and regarded the ancient paven.

"Of course. I have always protected my children." He looked out at the ocean, the waves so calm, so serene-so unlike the pavens who stood before it. "All of my children."

"Then you will understand that I must protect mine."

Cruen turned to him, a strange gleam of optimism, perhaps even hope, lighting his eyes. "Come back, come home, bring the female, and I will give you the balas. He can remain with you in my home-"

Erion interrupted the paven's worthless words with mirthless laughter. "I will be happy to trade the female for the boy, but you will never have me. I don't belong with you anymore. I am no soldier to fight for you and your ugly cause, no specimen for you to study."

"You think you belong out there in the world?" Cruen said with a trace of sadness in his voice. "Look at you. You're a beast, something the Order would kill on sight. You can't have a real chance at life in that world, Erion. Neither can your brothers."

Erion wouldn't believe that. Refused to believe it. He already had a life-the beginnings of one, at any rate. He had his brothers and the Roman brothers, he had a home . . . maybe even a child. He fixed the paven with a resolute glare. "They will not return, and neither will I."

All traces of melancholy left Cruen's expression and his mouth formed a hard line. "Your transition will be coming soon. You won't be able to handle it alone. You will need me, my medicines, and my expertise. If I could see your blood, study your cells, I may be able to predict the exact time of your transition."

Desperate threats were lost on him. His transition wasn't for several years yet, and he would deal with it when the time came. His answer was simple. "Never."

Around them the wind picked up, made the ocean water stir. Cruen's gaze stirred too. "We will see."

"I want the balas," Erion said, going to stand in front of the aged paven, blocking his view of the seawater he loved so much. "Bring him here, and I will bring the female."

Cruen's face lit with a strange combination of relief and irritation. He wanted Hellen, perhaps needed her, but he didn't like her. That realization should've washed off Erion's back. The boy was all he cared about; the female was nothing more than a bargaining chip.

And yet . . . it bothered him.

"Not here," Cruen said, interrupting his thoughts. "You will come to my compound."

"So we are surrounded by your guards and you can take the female and the boy? I don't think so." Erion nodded at the mutore who had brought him here, the mutore who hovered a few feet away. Raine looked terrified, exhausted, like he wished he were anywhere else. "We will do the exchange at Raine's shop."

"No!" the mutore cried out, backing up a foot.

Cruen put a hand up to silence him. "Agreed. Twenty-four hours."

Erion growled and grabbed his adopted father's wrist. "We will do it now, paven. This very moment."

Cruen made no move to force his hand away. In fact, he appeared slightly less confident than a moment ago. "It is not possible."

"Why?"

A shadow of humiliation moved over the paven's face. He shook his head. He wasn't going to answer.

"Your delay is suspect," Erion said, tightening his hold. "I warn you not to attempt trickery. If you hurt the balas in any way, your bride-to-be will have the life's blood sucked out of her every orifice."

Cruen's nostrils flared. "Twenty-four hours."

Erion cursed and released the paven's wrist. Not because he wanted to, but because his hand was on fire. What the hell? He stared at his palm, red and stinging. It was as though he'd been burned. His gaze ratcheted up just in time to see Cruen's image flicker on and off before him like a faulty lamp. He seemed to glow for a moment; then he disappeared altogether.

Erion rounded on Raine. "What was that?"

"An illusion," he offered weakly.

Realization dawned. He had been tricked.

He cocked his head to one side and growled. "He was never here."

Raine looked terrified. "His mind was here."

"Why not his person? What the hell is going on?"

The male rolled his lips under his teeth and shrugged.

Erion stalked toward the mutore. "Continue to hold your tongue, and I will cut it out." With the mutore's fearful gasp, Erion continued, "Is he contained somewhere? A prisoner?"

Looking around himself, Raine whispered, "I don't believe so."

"Then what?" Erion demanded, his feral voice echoing down the beach. "He blazed with heat, with color at first; then he looked as though he were fading, like he'd lost power before he . . ."

Raine looked up, blinked at him.

"His power?" Erion said, pouncing on the mutore's reaction. "What about it? Is there something wrong?"

"It is all the time we have here. All I was allotted. If you are determined to cut out my tongue, it will have to be done back in France."

He grasped Erion around the waist again, and in a flash they were airborne.

The heat inside her had risen maliciously. It was no longer contained at her feet and ankles, where thinking rationally and breathing in and out was manageable. Now it surged above her knees, licking at the very edges of her thighs. Hellen internalized a frustrated whimper. Whatever was left of the cooling draft was quickly exiting her veins. If she didn't get to her supply soon, she would need to find relief another way.

She lifted her lids and narrowed her gaze on the guard who stood directly in front of the window. The male hadn't looked her in the eye once since he'd come on duty after Erion left. He was clearly wary of her. And she hardly blamed him. After all, she'd eaten his coworker.

"Hey, you," she called out.

The male's eyes swept the floor.

"I know you hear me," she said, forcing a calm, gentle tone into her voice instead of the raging frustration she truly felt. "You need to be afraid of me only if you say no."

His gaze flickered upward. "Say no to what?"

She forced a smile, hoped she didn't look too maniacal-or maybe that was a good thing in this situation. "If you do as I ask, I promise I won't hurt you. If you don't, I will kill you." His eyes widened. She continued, "Most likely in your sleep." His mouth dropped open and his nostrils flared. "I'll wake you up first, of course, just so I can get your heart pumping quickly before I rip it from your chest and devour it."

The guard turned fish-belly white and shook his head over and over. "I can't release you. I won't."

She nodded her understanding. "You fear your master more than me?"

He didn't answer.

"Fool." She sniffed, attempted to look impish.

"He would kill me."

"Yes," she agreed, still keeping her tone even. "But he would kill you swiftly. Me? Not so much."

"I could remain where I am," he said with a moment of confidence. "I won't get close to you."

She laughed. "Perhaps not. But there will come a day when your master releases me. If you refuse to help me now, I will come and find you. And I will bring friends."

She watched this news settle over him, watched as he shifted away from the stone. But still he remained where he was. His gaze, however, did flicker toward the ring of keys on the wall.

She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "If you like, I will kill him. Then you needn't worry about his wrath or mine."

The thoughts inside the male's head, the visions of being eaten and/or tortured like his colleague versus being killed by his employer stirred his features. His body rigid, he slowly moved toward the wall with the keys.

"You will jump through the window again," the male said. It wasn't a question.

Her skin hummed with anticipation. "I will run straight past you, Male, and dive for the glass."

"You will wait outside for the master and kill him before he returns." Again, his words were not a question.

"I am very good at hiding." And running, she mused. There was no way she was sticking around to deal with Erion. All she wanted to do was get home, get her draft, get herself under control, and get to Cruen.

Hellen's breathing changed as the heat within her surged upward, flaring between her thighs. She needed this to happen now. While she still had control. While the desire was manageable.

The male continued toward her. His hands shook as he fiddled with the keys he'd snatched from the ring.

Erion would beat this male senseless when he returned, but leaving a ring of keys on the wall had to be one of the more foolish choices the paven had made of late. Perhaps he'd never dreamed one of his guards would be stupid enough to take them, much less get close enough to her to use them.

She licked her lips, leaned forward. The male was getting closer. She could smell his fear. Hear the pounding of his heart. He kept his eyes below her chin as he raised his hand. He had the key held out toward the lock at her wrist when all of a sudden something rushed into the room. Whatever it was, it moved so fast, it was impossible to see or detect its action.

Until the guard fell to the floor at her feet, his neck snapped, the keys gone from his hand.

Erion glared at her, his breathing uneven. "You just cost me another servant!"

Hellen couldn't speak. She was too shocked, too angry. Her chance of escape was gone. She'd never get this opportunity again. The master here would see to that.

What the hell was she going to do?

Erion paced back and forth in front of her, huffing and puffing like a wolf. "What did you promise him, Hellen? If he released you? More than what the other guard got a feel of? A trip below the waist this time?"

"Screw you."

"I can't believe I fell for your 'I'm so unattractive' lament." He growled at her. "You know exactly what you have and how to use it."

What she'd had was a terrifying reputation that had given her a chance of escape. That was gone now. As the heat surged up between her legs again, she bit her lip, bit back the groan of need that was only going to intensify. She'd never been one to wish for something she couldn't make happen, but right now she was wishing like hell for her mother's wise words and comfort.

"Make no mistake," Erion continued on with his rant. "Punishment will be severe."

"I'm shaking."

He stopped in front of her and flashed his fangs. "What did you say?"

"Look at me!" she yelled, her fists clenching and unclenching in their shackled cages. "I'm shackled, Erion! What more punishment is there but death!"

His nostrils flared as he ran his gaze down her body. "There is so much more I can do."

Her skin went tight. Her stupid, disloyal skin actually went tight at his threatening words. How was she going to manage this? With him around her, with him standing so near, his mood so volatile, his scent making her insides churn and the heat between her legs inch ever closer to hell? The draft was nearly out of her system. She was so screwed.

As if he sensed her panic, or perhaps scented her growing arousal, he advanced on her. Hellen drew back against the brick, but it wasn't far enough to stop the heat of his body from curling around hers or the spiciness of his skin from playing inside her nostrils.

She pulled in a breath and held it, just as she held his gaze. He was inches away, his crystal eyes predatory, curious.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"You look afraid, and yet-"

"Yes." She released her breath with the word. "Yes, that's it." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. She tried to tamp down the pain of desire snaking through her veins. "I'm scared."

He inhaled deeply. His eyes narrowed. "No. That is not fear I scent."

His voice, the low growl of his voice, sent another wave of intense heat between her legs.

He inhaled again. "That's desire. Arousal."

"No."

"What the hell . . ." Shock lit his eyes. "You desire me."

"No!"

"You want to fuck me."

She glared at him. Why couldn't he get out of here? Walk away? Why did it matter to him what her body was crying out for? "I think you were dropped on your head as a baby, bloodsucker."

He didn't rise to her insults. Instead he drew nearer. "But why? You should despise me."

"I do."

"Your body says differently."

Her mind scratched and clawed for a reason, an excuse, anything to stop this line of questioning. "I am thinking about the one I'm to mate. My body burns for him, is excited to be joined with his." She gritted her teeth and locked eyes with him. "Perhaps if I force myself to think about you, I will grow blissfully cold."

Only a few inches from her body, her face, Erion's expression tightened. He said nothing for a few moments, then a slow grin appeared. "You know, I've just met with your fiance."

Hellen gasped. "Cruen!" Her entire body flared with hope, a possible end to the nightmare raging through her. "When? What did he say? Is he coming for me?" She would be released, saved. She would have her draft; the pain would ease. No one would ever have to know.

Erion watched her, took in her jubilation, his expression nothing less than disgusted. "You truly wish to be mated with that monster."

"With all my heart."

"You love him?"

"I agreed to mate him, didn't I?"

"That's no answer."

"And that is a pointless question coming from someone who wishes only to trade me in for what he truly values."

Erion looked startled. When he spoke, his voice was low and caustic. "Not to worry, little hellion; by tomorrow you will be in his arms and his bed. Forever after, he will take care of that painful heat I scent between your thighs."

Hellen's stomach rolled. She couldn't stop it. It was the truth, what Erion had just said, but she had rarely allowed herself to think on it. Yes, she wanted to be free, wanted to ease the pain and heat within her, but the thought of the male who had essentially bought her from her father taking her to his bed made her shudder with revulsion.

Perhaps she should've held on to that reaction until Erion had stepped back, left the room.

His nostrils were flared wide and his head was cocked to one side. His eyes were changing color as he drew in breath after breath. "Your scent changed. From desire to disgust in one second flat."

Again, her stomach rolled. "I don't know what you're talking about, bloodsucker."

"Oh, I think you do. You're hiding something."

Hellen stared at him, her insides warm and trembling, her skin tight around her muscles. "Maybe we're both hiding something. Your eyes changed from vampire to something else entirely." She leaned forward and whispered. "What are you? You're not just a vampire. You're something more."

Inches away, his shoulders flexed, his neck tensed, and his gaze moved from her mouth to her cheek. Then he leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Pleasant dreams, Hellen."

Hellen's entire body flared with lust and she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

When she lifted her head, the dark-haired male was across the room, taking the steps two at a time. She stared after him. What had just happened? And what the hell was he? She knew it shouldn't matter to her-nothing should matter except getting free. And soon she would be if the male was telling her the truth.

Yes, she had to hold on to that belief. In a few hours she would be home, the draft at her lips, her heat repaired, her life sacrificed to the one cause she believed most worthy: her sisters. And this nightmare, this male who held her captive in more ways than she was willing to admit, would be a distant and despised memory.

As if the heat within her had a mind and a plan of its own, it snaked up between her legs and exploded maliciously inside her cunt.