In this house, he did all the drinking.
A flash on the terrace snagged his attention even as he continued playing. Three massive fanged blokes appeared on the flagstones, their eyes narrowed, their expressions grave in the bleak moonlight as they quickly assessed their surroundings, then headed for the glass doors. Synjon knew them, of course. One far better than the other two, and although the memory, the history, he shared with them held a good amount of tension, he knew absolutely that they were not his enemies.
Dressed in black and taller, wider, and far more fearsome than any of his guests, the three males entered the great room, bringing with them the winter chill and a swimming pools worth of testosterone. Every set of human eyes widened, every pair of human feet drew back. His fingers still sliding over the keys, Synjon tracked the males, waited for them to spot him, scent him. It took no more than a moment before they did, before a pathway was created across the polished stone floor.
Syn continued to play as the Roman brothers approached, stalking him like prey. They appeared rather tense. Syn wondered what that felt like.
The one he knew best, a nearly albino vampire male with a perpetual sneer, spoke first. Nice party. But I think our invitation got lost in the mail, Brit Boy.
There was a time when Syn had risen to the males caustic play. Reveled in it, in fact. He had no interest now. You werent invited, Lucian. In fact, none of you were.
The male turned to his skull-shaved brother, Alexander, and snorted. Good to know the guy still has some asshole left in him.
Alexander didnt respond. His focus was entirely on Synjon, his tone serious as he spoke. We have a problem.
We? Synjon asked, his fingers moving into Bachs Concerto in F Minor. He used to despise the piece, had been forced to practice it over and over as a balas, but now he felt only the smoothness of the keys against his skin.
Alexanders voice dropped, and his eyes narrowed. The veana who carries your child
Petra, Syn supplied, picturing the dark-haired veana and feeling . . . nothing.
Yes, Alexander ground out. She hasnt gone through her Meta. We didnt know that before. When we brought her back home . . . We didnt know how a veana in swell who hadnt gone through her transition would react . . . Shes losing her mind, Syn.
Synjon looked up, assessed the male. He couldnt imagine why Alexander was telling him this. Now that youre here, would you like to stay? Join my guests?
A growl rumbled in Alexanders chest. No.
Perhaps youd like something to drink?
Christ, Lucian muttered, leaning against the piano.
Someone to drink, then? Synjon caught the eye of one of the humans who enjoyed feeding his vampire guests. She grinned hopefully at him.
Were not here for a party, Nicholas said tersely, moving around to the other side of the piano. Petra is ill, Syn. She cant control her emotions. Shes in pain. Shes going out of her mind. It happened soon after she returned to the Rain Forest. You have to
Attend to my guests, Synjon said evenly. There was so much to dohe had to select his blood donor for the evening as well as his sexual conquests. He had discriminating tastes in both. But first, a little Prelude in C-Sharp Minor. Rachmaninoff used to make him snarl.
Times changed, it seemed.
Arching an eyebrow at the three males, he said, If youll excuse me.
Excuse me? Lucian repeated, giving Syn a disgusted look. Whatever happened to Get the fuck out of my way, you bleeding tossers?
Useless. Words with emotions attached.
I dont react to people and problems with threats and anger anymore, Lucian, he said, his voice even. I take care of them quietly, quickly.
Thats too bad, Lucian muttered. Merry fucking Christmas.
We should go, find another way to help her, Nicholas said tightly. This paven doesnt give a shit about anything. And its our fault. We made him that way.
Cruen made him that way, Alex amended.
We forced him, held him down and allowed that ancient bastard to drink the emotions from his blood.
We had to. Alexs gaze slid away from Synjon. He was unreasonable and dangerous. We couldnt risk having Petra or the child harmed.
Lucian growled, pushed away from the piano. Well, now he feels nothing for them, and Cruen got to run free.
Not free, Synjon mused, closing in on the seven-measure coda. Well, gentlepaven, it was a successful plan all around. Ive never felt better.
You feel nothing, Lucian returned.
Oh, I feel quite perfect where it mattersall things physical. Im not burdened with tedious, irrational emotions. Its all very civilized, really. Rachmaninoff ceased to exist, and Synjon glanced up at Alexander. I appreciate what was done to me.
What about all that is being done to Petra? All she cant control? Alexander returned with barely disguised menace. She needs your blood. Now.
Thats unfortunate for her. Syn jerked his chin in the direction of the great room. As you can see, I am otherwise engaged.
Hes lost, Luca muttered. Fucking lost.
Synjon stared at the three faces, all twisted into ravaged masks of worry. It suited themthat intensity, that feral, predatory glare. But it held no interest for him. He was rather relaxedthough he could use a pint or two, perhaps a quick, hard fuck as he continued to wait for the inevitable. The one guest he wished to see above all others. The one who would come begging.
Alexander spoke through gritted teeth, Syn, your child and Petra . . . they could both die without your help. Your blood.
Done with this repetitive, pointless conversation, Synjon replied smoothly, Then I suppose they will die, before he returned to the cool white keys and another song from his past: Nirvanas Drain You.
2
Cruen despised being laid out on his back.
Even if hed been the one to request it.
Near his ear, the one that was still intact, the one Synjon Wise hadnt gotten around to slicing off with his razor-sharp blade, the female bloodletters breath came quick and sharp as she sucked. Shed been at it for over an hour. Retrieval and extraction being the primary goal. But it wasnt going well. Bruises painted Cruens wrists and thighs. The vein in his neck was her final resting place.
He was starting to grow concerned.
Freedom was nothing to a vampire without power. And he was becoming weaker with every moment that passed.
The bloodletter pulled her fangs from his vein, her head from the curve of his neck, and turned toward her metal spit bowl. She deposited a mouthful of blood with a cough and a sputter, then returned to him. Framed by a cap of short black hair, her ashen face and deep-set blue eyes held an almost wry concern.
You embedded them too deep, she said, blood staining her teeth.
Cruen eyeballed the extractor, his skin itching, attempting to heal. I didnt embed anything. I removed and released only.
I dont know what you released, but it wasnt emotion. She snatched a cloth from the table and wiped the blood from her mouth. That cluster of bubbling intensity inside your mind remains. And its too far for me to reach.
With excruciating effort, Cruen forced his weakening body to sit up on the stained pallet. Rising anger fueled his thoughts. Ive taken and released emotion hundreds of times. It is a simple procedure.
The bloodletter stood, grabbed the bowl, and walked over to a nearby sink. Not always.
What does that mean? Cruen demanded to her back, his voice sounding fearfully thin.
Most of the time, the extraction of emotions is transient, she called over her shoulder. In and out. There and gone. But sometimes it can stick, become a permanent fixture within the mind.
Apprehension washed over Cruen as he watched the female dump his blood into the sink. Permanent? That couldnt be. All he had performed was a basic emotional extraction in Erions dank dungeon. Taking Synjon Wises passion to kill in exchange for walking free.
The one you drained, said the bloodletter, was he familiar with this type of grab?
I dont know, Cruen said tightly. He used to be a very competent spy for the Order. And a military operative for the government.
The female released a weighty breath, then turned and came to stand before him. Her gaze remained serious. I dont think this was an accident. Not with the depth of those implanted emotions.
What? His nostrils flaring, Cruen growled, a sound that used to have anyone who heard it shaking. Now it felt as feeble and nonthreatening as that of a balas. Are you saying the paven whose blood I extracted did this to me on purpose?
That is my belief, yes.
Cruen stared at the female, his lips parted. This was madness. Why would Synjon Wise permanently implant his emotions inside Cruen? Yes, the paven wanted revenge, had ever since hed found out that Cruen had not only taken and caged his beloved veana, Juliet, but had taken her life as well. But why wouldnt he have just continued with his torture? The bloodletters assessment had to be wrong.
Does this paven have a beef with you? the bloodletter asked, as if reading his thoughts.
A beef? Cruen sniffed with lackluster humor. The paven whose blood and emotion I ingested wanted me laid out in the sunafter he made sure I suffered first, of course.
The females eyes narrowed, her expression tight and resolved now. You were hoping that by taking his emotion you would be taking his desire to kill you?
Lets just say it was a bargain struck. A bargain that was intended to benefit all. Protect us all. Cruen, Petra, and the balas as well. Even that bastard Synjon Wise. If he had truly hurt Petra or the child, he would no doubt have suffered gravely for it.
The bloodletter was staring at him, her lips rolled under her teeth.
What? Cruen demanded, his skin now healed, his mind jumping. His body being stripped of energy with every breath. He needed to find strong, pure blood to bring back his power and his strength.
The paven has done this to make you suffer, she said in a quiet voice. But also to make you his prey.
Prey? Cruen ground out. How absurd. He feels nothing for me now. No anger, no hunger for revenge. He wont come after me.
He wont have to. Because youll be going to him.
Cruen lifted his upper lip, flashed his fangs. Never.
The female shrugged. You might even fall to your knees before him and beg.
The insolence! Cruens fangs dropped and he hissed. He had limited strength, but there was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to rip the vocal cords from this females throat. Clearly, she was taunting him now. Perhaps trying to extract more money.
Pulling on every fiber of strength he possessed, Cruen leaped from the table, and with a fearsome snarl, headed for the door, and for his guards on the other side. The guards that would have to flash him home, as he was quite without the power to manage it himself.
He pulled the door wide and was almost through it when he heard the bloodletters words of doom on the air behind him.
One final word, my lord. If you ever want to find peace or strength, if you ever want to function normally again, youll have to find this male and give back what you took.
* * *
Despite whats occurring with your mental and emotional state, everything within you is working well and is healthy.
For now, Petra said, pulling her eyes from Brodan and shifting on the bed in her room at her mothers house. Unable to keep herself still for any length of time, and hating to be around groups of people, shed refused to go to the clinic when her mother had insisted that she see Brodan for a checkup.
The doctor, who was also a bear shifter and one of Petras closest friends, placed his warm hands on her stomach and gently prodded around the balas. I wish youd come stay with me, Pets. Id feel better if I could watch you full-time.
Thats a good idea, Wen agreed, hovering somewhere near Petras head, along with Celestine. Its not far, my dear, and with you a few months from your time . . .
I dont want to be watched. Petra closed her eyes and attempted to breathe through the waves of misery and depression threatening to consume her. Im sorry, Brodan. For acting like a complete asshole most of the time when youre just trying to help me. I appreciate the offer. I just . . .
Pets, look at me, he said, his voice clear and strong through her haze. Please.
It took everything she had to turn back and face him. He was such a great male, handsome and strong and caring. And if her luck didnt completely run out, the male she would turn to when the balas was born. But, right now, if she continued to engage with him, be touched by him, scent him, she was going to bite him. Hard. And not out of hunger. Out of irrational anger. Her fangs were already dropping and saliva was pooling in her mouth.
Tell me what you need, Pets. His eyes implored her. You know Ill do whatever you ask.
Can you find a way to stop this? she said, her tone pathetic even to her own ears. Turn off this insanity inside me before I explode or lose my mind? Or gods help me, do something terrible. Hurt you or my family. I dont know how long I can keep this anger and sadness and manic energy penned.
He reached out and brushed a few strands of hair back from her face. The gesture repelled her. Like every touch shed experienced in the past week: her mother, her brothers, her best friend. It all made her recoil.