“What does that mean? Do you foresee a problem?” His gaze moved over her. “Shall I call for Leza?”

She laughed softly. “You’re losing it, honey.”

Then she kissed him again, and Alex forgot all about his fears. Hell, he forgot his name. He reveled in the feel of her warm, soft mouth, and played with her tongue. He was about to wrap his arms around her and really start the tasting, when Dillon interrupted with a curse.

“Hey!” she shouted. “Lovebirds! Trying to stop a war over here.”

Alex eased back, but he didn’t take his eyes off his mate’s mouth. How was it possible that she tasted sweeter with every day that passed?

She grinned up at him. “We’d better listen to Dillon. You can ravish me later.”

“Oh, my god,” Dillon groaned. “Getting nauseated over here.”

Laughing, Sara turned back. “Sorry, D.”

“I’m not,” Alex said, curling his lip at the veana who was working his rug down to the fibers. “Okay, D. If Cruen’s so deeply hidden in the forest that even the shifters who live there can’t find him, what can we do?”

Dillon glanced around the room. “The Order will come and find him if we don’t.”

“That’s not the answer to the question I asked,” Alex said, dropping his arm around his mate’s shoulders.

“Fine. We have two options at this point. We can let the shifters deal with it on their own, and by ‘it’ I mean the Order coming into the forest, finding Cruen, and taking out anyone who gets in their way . . .”

“And what’s the other option?” Nicholas asked.

Phane sat forward and Helo too, but it was Lycos, who’d just shown up in the doorway after basically being a ghost for the past few days, who spoke.

“She wants us to stand with them and fight,” he said. His eyes cut to Dillon. “Right, sis? Protect and serve a race that’s not our own? Well, you can count me out.”

“Already had, brother dear. Already had.” Dillon barely spared him a glance. She was looking at the Romans, Helo and Phane, even Celestine. “I won’t pretend, unlike others, that I’m not connected to the shifters. That they’re not a part of my blood. Maybe even more so than the vampire in me. And if they need my help, I’m going to give it. You’ll all have to make that decision too. But make it quick.” She inhaled deeply. “Because I fear it’s only a matter of time before Feeyan feels the pressure to carry out her rash threat, and lands at the gathering stones, her power ratcheted up to high.”

• • •

He could worship at her temple forever.

His fangs pulled from her thigh, Syn licked and kissed the two pinprick holes until they started to close; then he rose above her. He felt like a new paven, impossibly strong, deeply possessive, achingly satisfied and . . . Bollocks, dare he say it? Happy?

He gazed down at her, black hair against the white pillow, cheeks and lips stained a deep pink, and those eyes . . . they killed him, stole his unbeating heart, reached inside his mind and emptied it of all thoughts but the ones that involved the two of them, naked.

“You sure you’re all right?” he asked.

She grinned and stretched around him. “Never felt better in my life.”

“Oh, veana, you know I can’t resist a challenge. Not when it comes to you . . .” He grinned. “Coming.”

“Then don’t.” She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles just above his ass.

He went hard instantly.

She glanced down and grinned. “Wow. My blood’s everywhere in you, it seems.”

“It’s bloody magic, love,” he growled. “Truly.”

“Then I must be a witch.”

He grinned. “A sorceress.”

“Able to cast spells on her enemies—”

“And her lovers.”

She laughed. “Of which she will have too many to count. One for each day of the week—”

Petra stopped talking when she felt Syn go rigid around her. His gaze dropped.

“Syn. What is it?”

His eyes on her belly, he eased back, then thrust inside her hot, ready pussy. Petra gasped. Clung to him. Worried about him.

As her sex stretched to accommodate him, Syn’s eyes locked on hers. “No other male will play father to my balas.”

Petra swallowed tightly. “Syn . . .”

He eased out of her, then thrust back in possessively, making her gasp.

“No other male will linger above you. Waiting . . . just waiting for the chance . . .”

He started moving inside her.

His eyes, their black heat, bored a hole straight through to her soul. “No other male will lick you, drink from you, fuck you, or make you scream.”

She cried out as he pulled out of her, then slid all the way down to her sex and plunged his tongue into her cunt. For several mind-altering seconds he fucked her, speared her. Then just as quickly, he left, replaced his tongue with his cock again, and covered her mouth with his own.

Petra nearly climaxed right there.

She kissed him fiercely, tasting herself on his tongue. The combination of the two of them was shockingly heady, and she wanted more. She wanted everything. And Syn was determined to give it to her.

He tunneled under her body and lifted her hips. The harsh cry that escaped her lungs when he drew back and thrust into her rent the air around them. Slightly weak from a long night of lovemaking and Synjon’s intense blood drain, Petra could only hold on and take whatever he had to give her.

Syn gripped her ass cheeks and pummeled her with stroke after honeyed stroke until she was breathing heavy, moaning his name, and ratcheting up her hips for one last thrust as she came. One loud, raspy scream tore from her throat, and Syn followed her, draining his hot, creamy seed inside her sex.

Coated in a very sexy layer of sweat, Synjon eased out of her and collapsed to the side. Before she could even release the breath hovering inside her lungs, he caught her up in his arms and pulled her ass to his groin. Petra sighed and melted into his chest. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any better, any sweeter, he covered her—her and their balas—with the softest, thickest blanket in the world.

19

Petra woke to near blackness, and it took her a moment, and a good glance around, to realize where she was.

Syn’s room.

Syn’s bed.

And it had to be morning because the skylight overhead was sealed.

She glanced over her shoulder. She was alone, though the impression of Syn’s body on the mattress remained. And, of course, his scent. It was everywhere. On the sheets, in the air, all over her naked body.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she spotted the robe she’d gotten on her shopping trip. It was laid out over the arms of an almond-colored leather chair against the wall. She smiled, knowing Syn had placed it there for her. In any other situation, at any other time, she would’ve let her mind run wild with that gesture. The implications, the potential outcomes. The hopes. But she wasn’t going to do that this time.

She got out of bed and scooped up the robe. She refused to ruin herself and the wonderful memories of the night before by overanalyzing. When reality settled in, whatever happened, happened. But right now she was going to live in bliss for however long that lasted.

After slipping the black silk robe on and tying the sash above her belly, she ventured out of the room. Clearly, it was full-on morning now, because every window was sealed and the house was lit by all things electric. As she walked down the hallway, past the teardrops of metal art on the wall, she wondered if Syn was even at home. It was so quiet. She also wondered what she was going to do today. She knew she needed to check in with her family and with Dani. The last thing she wanted was for them to worry about her and once again come to Manhattan to investigate.

Especially Dani. That female would force her to recite a virtual laundry list of affirmations about never sleeping with vampires named Synjon Wise and listening to genius best friends who were always right.

Petra laughed to herself at the thought, and didn’t see Synjon until she was nearly on top of him.

Well, Synjon and a . . . pine tree?

“Morning, darling,” he said, plugging something into the outlet behind him. “How did you sleep?”

“Good.” Lights erupted inside the pine tree. “Oh!” She looked from the tree to Synjon and back again. “What’s this?”

She stepped over a small pile of boxes, wrapped in beautiful silver-and-gold paper.

Synjon was looking at her like she had two heads. “Christmas. Don’t you know about that?”

Oh, right. She’d seen trees lit up when they were in the city. “We don’t celebrate it in the Rain Forest, but I’ve heard of it. Seen pictures. But”—she looked at him with a confused expression—“why are you doing it?”

He gave her an almost boyish shrug. “You had a chance to shop for yourself.”

“I know. It was great. I loved it.” She still didn’t understand.

He stood up, went over to her and ran his hands up her black-silk-covered arms. “Sexy. Crikey, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, love.”

“Back atcha,” she said, smiling. “Now, tell me what this is, please.”

“All right. I thought you should have the same chance for the balas.” He gestured to the gifts. “Go through them, see if there’s anything you like.”

She stared at the boxes. “You got things for the baby?”

“It’s nothing. Just a few bits and bobbles.”

Petra felt a huge lump form in her throat. “You picked out gifts for the baby.” It wasn’t a question. Gods, it wasn’t even directed at him really. She was just unloading her surprise. This wasn’t the Synjon Wise who’d had his emotions drained and who had seemed completely impassive with regard to her and the balas growing inside her just a few days ago. And frankly, this wasn’t the Synjon Wise from the Rain Forest tree house so many months ago either.