Synjon stared into her eyes and searched for an answer. Within her, within himself. His chest was so bloody tight, he wondered if he’d be able to take another breath.

“Can you let this go?” she repeated, her voice completely resolute.

He didn’t know. Fuck, he didn’t know if he could. But the one thing he did know for certain was that there was no way he was letting this veana walk out of his life. And, bloody hell, into the arms of another male.

“Yes, veana,” he said without a blink, a breath, or a “but.” “I will give up my revenge.”

For several seconds she just stared at him, her eyes searching his. Maybe she was wondering if she’d heard him correctly, or if he was about to change his mind. But then her face broke into a smile so wide, so happy, so relieved, that his gut ached.

He was such a vile prat.

He didn’t deserve her.

Almost giggling, Petra took the necklace from the box and handed it to him. “Will you put it on me?”

His gaze dropped to the key. They key that meant a thousand things he couldn’t say. The thousand things he wished and wanted for them. He undid the clasp and fastened it around her neck.

It was what he so desperately wanted. She was his. Because she wanted to stay. Because she cared for him. Because she might even love him.

Because she believed the lie he’d just told her.

20

Feeyan didn’t glare at Dillon. She didn’t snarl or snip, make a rude comment about Beasts or mutores or gutter rats. She simply turned to the other Order members at the table and said, “A Pureblood vampire is missing in the Rain Forest. Shall we go and find him?”

Seated behind the table, Dillon stared straight ahead, not listening to the discussion around her. She was pretty sure the Impure would vote her way, but she wasn’t about to try to convince anyone else. Feeyan was the leader of this brood, and like it or not—agree with her or not—the majority tended to side with her.

Fear and ancient ways still ruled the Order. A more modern approach to governing a community wasn’t about to suddenly take effect just because they now had a mutore and an Impure among them.

It would take time.

Feeyan rose from her chair and her voice boomed down the table toward Dillon. “Will you lead the way, Order Member Nine? Or is this a trip we must take without you?”

Dillon’s jaw was so tight, she was afraid it might snap. She turned toward the veana and said in the steadiest voice she could muster, “If you choose Cruen over common sense, I will stand with the shifters.” Then she turned back and faced forward again.

Around her the shocked and appalled prattle began.

• • •

As the hot spray pummeled her back, Petra dropped her head and fingered the key around her neck. Even in the dim light of the shower, the diamond charm sparkled brilliantly. She couldn’t believe what had happened this morning. The tree, the presents, the promises. It was perfect. And if there was one thing she knew didn’t exist, it was perfection.

But when she was around Synjon, when he looked at her with an almost covetous glint in his eyes, she felt reality slip away. She wanted this. Him. Them.

She just prayed he could keep his promise.

Deep in thought, she didn’t hear Synjon slip into the shower or feel him curl behind her, until his arms were wrapped around her belly and his lips were pressed to her shoulder blade.

She gasped as he trailed a line of fiery kisses up her shoulder to her neck, pausing when he was close to her ear.

“Playing with your key,” he whispered. “Your mind elsewhere. Having second thoughts, love?”

Even in the hot, steam-filled shower, she shivered. “Perhaps.”

His hands drifted up, over her belly to cup her breasts. “What about, then?”

She sighed at the feel of his large, slightly rough palms. “Well, this key,” she replied. “It’s not very practical.” Her nostrils flared as he started gently pinching her nipples. “It doesn’t unlock anything.”

“Bollocks.” He rolled his hips. His cock was like steel against her back. “I think the bloody thing unlocks my heart.”

She melted at his words. “Isn’t your heart as silent as mine, vampire?” Gods, she wanted this, him. And she wanted his cock inside her again.

He chuckled softly, then eased her legs apart with his foot. “Doesn’t mean it can’t be opened. Allowed a little light and care.”

“Oh, Syn,” she said breathlessly, her skin tightening, tingling.

His hands moved from her breasts around to her back. As the shower rained down on both of them, he traced the line of her spine. “Do you want me to be open to you, love?”

“Yes,” Petra breathed, anticipating the descent of his fingers as she let her hands rest on the wet walls in front of her.

“Because I want you to be open to me. Always.” Synjon continued downward, moving through the crease in her bottom, flipping his wrist just in time to ease two fingers inside her.

Petra’s groan of lust echoed throughout the stone shower.

He nipped at her shoulder. “A little farther open if you will, love.”

She arched her back.

“Mmmmm, there it is.”

“Please, Syn.” Her insides were tight and trembling. “I need you.”

“Brilliant,” he growled. “Because I need you, too, Petra, love.” He slipped his fingers out, and she felt the head of his cock nudge against her sex. “More than you’ll ever know.”

He punctuated his words with one perfect thrust into her cunt. Crying out, Petra arched her back and circled her hips, trying to get his iron cock to hit every inch of her creaming walls.

She heard Syn hiss, then felt his arm move over her shoulder. The sudden and intoxicating scent of hot, rich blood encircled her and instantly her fangs dropped. As Syn moved inside her, his strokes slow and shockingly deep, Petra drove her fangs into his waiting vein.

All thoughts drifted out of her mind, never to be analyzed again, and she became one humming, raw thread of feeling. Behind her, Syn growled and hissed and continued to drive up into her with a perfect rhythm that was designed to send her screaming over the edge.

Blood cascaded into her mouth, slid down her throat, fusing with the sensations of impending climax. It was a smoking leaf to a vast forest of dry brush, and Syn’s thrusts caught that fire and quickened. The sound of wet bodies slapping against each other filled the air, and Petra’s legs started to lose their purchase. She dropped his arm and leaned against the shower wall as inside her trembling pussy, Synjon’s cock swelled mercilessly.

Brilliant light burst inside her mind, and she slammed her hips back and came hard, moaning and whimpering, bucking and cursing, and wishing she could sustain the intensity of her climax for hours, days . . .

Syn gripped her ass and growled, the unearthly sound making the hairs on her arms stand up as he pounded ruthlessly into her.

And then Petra spread her legs even wider and leaned over, giving him full access. She heard him curse, felt him lightly slap her right cheek, and with four deep, driving thrusts, he came inside her.

Hot seed coated her walls, and she whimpered. She loved that feeling, loved having him impaled inside her.

For several long moments, neither of them moved. As the water turned cool, and Syn’s fingers lightly brushed the skin of her back and buttocks, the only sound was heavy breathing diminishing into soft pants of satisfaction.

Exhaustion claimed her, and Petra barely noticed when Syn eased out of her, shut off the water, and wrapped her in a warm towel. She curled into him as he lifted her and carried her out of the bathroom.

“Sleepy, love?” he whispered.

“Hmmmm,” she answered, nodding her head against his chest, kissing his smooth, hard skin.

He chuckled as he placed her on the cool sheets. When he drew back to get the covers, Petra grabbed his arm.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered in a bleary tone.

The mattress dipped with his weight, and he moved in close behind her. “Never.” He pressed his body right up against hers and dropped a kiss to her shoulder. “Sleep now, m’dear, m’darling.”

Smiling to herself, she snuggled into the curve of his body, loving his words, loving his heat, loving his closeness.

Gods.

Loving him.

• • •

Synjon strode into the diner and headed for the back booth. Leaving Petra, all warm and wet and soft in his bed, was the hardest thing he’d ever done. And he wasn’t even going to think about how he was lying to her in more than a few ways. Prat. He was just fecking worthless, truly. But once again, Adrian’s text had drawn him out—out of what was so perfect and happy, and toward something dusty and vile-smelling that he just couldn’t seem to turn away from.

“I can’t be gone long,” he said, slipping into the red leather booth across from the badass, ginger-haired paven.

“Neither can I,” Adrian said, glancing around the diner before turning his eyes on Syn. “Cruen’s nearly ready to leave, and he’s gaining strength.”

A shot of unease moved through Syn’s gut. “How?”

“I don’t know.”

“You need to find out.” Syn leaned across the table, his voice low and calculating. “We can’t have the old Cruen on our hands. Not until he’s in chains and under lock and key—and the heat of the midday sun.” He said the words with such fury and conviction, he knew in that moment that letting go of his need for vengeance wouldn’t be nearly as simple as a promise made to the veana he wanted.

“Problem is,” Adrian said, “he won’t allow me to come with him. Whatever it is that’s filling him with new strength comes from the water shifters there.” He paused, thoughtful. “I say we move now. I’m ready. You’re ready. Right?”

Bloody hell, he’d been ready for so long he couldn’t remember what it felt like to be unburdened. Synjon stared at the paven before him. Juliet’s brother wanted this, needed this. Shite, deserved this. It was decision time. If he could just make this happen without Petra finding out . . . But that wasn’t possible, and he knew it.