“Perhaps Petra doesn’t either,” he said. “Perhaps it’s time for her to learn about her own kind.”
“She’ll make that decision, not you.”
Cruen nodded. Yes, he’d chosen well with this female. Protective, but in a quiet way. He’d heard of her desire for a daughter, and her failure to produce one. She’d been so grateful.
“Don’t you have some Frankenstein monster to create back in your lab?” Helo asked him.
Cruen’s gaze shifted, ran over the water beast, who had once called him father. “I think I made enough monsters for one century.”
Helo’s expression darkened.
“Now I come directly from the table of the Order,” Cruen said in the calmest of voices. “Unless you want Feeyan here in my stead, I suggest we get on with this.”
Both Roman brothers turned to Dillon with an incredulous look.
“Gahhhh, I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Dillon rattled with a sigh, “but he’s right.”
The guard behind Cruen leaned in and spoke directly into his ear. “Shall I go with you or wait outside the stones, sir?”
“Wait outside.”
“Very good. Sir.”
Was he imagining things, or did he detect a thread of disrespect in the guard’s tone? Cruen mused as he walked past the Romans, the mutore, and Wen, and into the circle of stones. The male had been with him for only a few months, and had always acted completely servile. Perhaps, with the circumstances being what they were, with his power nearly gone, he himself was projecting that feeling of insolence.
“Let’s get started,” Dillon said, following him.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Petra?” Cruen suggested, sitting down opposite the rest of the group. “And the paven she holds hostage?”
“No one’s being held hostage,” Alexander said through gritted teeth.
“So you all keep saying.”
“You know exactly why Syn’s here, Cruen,” Lucian snarled, his body ready to spring. “I’m surprised you can’t feel it, seeing as how you sucked down all his emotions a few days ago.”
Cruen fought the urge to drop his fangs and hiss. Existing in a weakened state was acute misery, but being reminded of the act by Lucian Breeding Male Roman was a complete and total embarrassment.
This could not continue a second longer.
“Cease this game,” he said with forced authority. “Where are they?”
“Petra’s not coming,” Wen informed him.
“Syn either,” Alex added.
Cruen’s blood began to heat. He tried to stop it, knew it would steal his energy, and what little power remained inside him, but he couldn’t. He whirled on Dillon, fangs bared. “I suggest, Order Member Nine, that you take control of this situation. Unless you want the destruction of this lovely shifter world and every heartbeat in it on your conscience.”
• • •
Home.
New York City.
Wraparound balcony with a view of the park.
That’s where he’d wanted to go, where he’d aimed his flash. Where he should be. But something inside him had refused the call. Instead, he’d ended up in the last place on earth he’d ever expected to be again.
He bent and stepped inside the cave. It was dark, only the spent light of the moon illuminating the first five feet or so. As he moved inside, scented the familiar dank odor of the walls, he remembered the day he’d been saved. He should’ve died. Gone with Juliet into the sun. Instead, he’d not only been rescued against his will, but had gone on to create life.
He felt no emotion with this memory. Not even a twinge at the thought of Juliet, her death, his grief. And yet, not long ago, standing beside the river, watching Petra and the bear shifter float naked below the water as they discussed the future of the balas, he’d felt something.
He’d gotten angry.
Or was it possessive?
He didn’t know. Without past emotions to guide him, he couldn’t decipher what was what. But he did know, did understand, that with that small, poignant surge came a reason to worry.
How was it possible? He’d had every emotion bled from him. He’d made sure of it. Bloody hell, after the Romans had held him down, made it clear what was about to happen, he’d made sure it all left his body, went inside that mad vamp prat, and stuck like flypaper.
Forever.
Or at least until it strangled the energy and sanity from him, then led him straight to Synjon for help.
He pushed away from the wet rock wall. He had to go. Now. No matter how his body seemed to wish him to remain, there was only destruction here. And truly, the only one who was meant to be destroyed in all of this was Cruen.
“You goddamn British bastard.”
He whirled around, and instantly his skin tightened and his insides flared with heat. How the hell hadn’t he sensed her? Scented her? What the bloody hell was going wrong inside him?
Standing directly in the mouth of the cave, backlit by the moon, Petra looked gorgeous and appetizing as she glared at him. “Here. Of all places. Seriously?”
Yes, he’d said the same things to himself. “It’s not where I had intended to be.”
“And where is that? On the balcony of your penthouse or pressing some idiotic female up against the piano?”
His mind went rogue and conjured that image, but it wasn’t some foolish chit whose hips he fisted as he moved behind her. In fact, in his mind it never was. “Your feathered friend tell you about that?”
Petra moved into the cave. “Either that or you’re just so grossly predictable.”
He glanced past her.
“Yes, I’m alone.”
Syn couldn’t help but find that strange. After all that had happened, past and present, wasn’t she worried about her safety around him? Even with her shocking strength, she was no match for him in the dark. And where was her little army? The pussy brothers and the hawk? Following her every movement, fighting to bring back her blood meal.
“Why did you come here?” he asked. “Why would you think to come here?”
“Don’t go there in your head. This was anything but sentimental. You were spotted. By my feathered friend, no less.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “The question is, why are you here? Still here. And at the site of the first of many mistakes on my part.”
“If you mean to force another emotion out of me, that’s not the way to do it.”
Her eyes widened. She dropped her arms and moved toward him. “So you admit it. You felt something back at the river?”
He didn’t answer.
Which, in truth, was probably an answer in and of itself.
“But how is that possible?” she said, coming to stand before him, her belly nearly brushing the waistband of his jeans. “I saw Cruen take all of your emotions. Did he leave something behind?”
Impossible. Fuck, it had better be impossible. He knew what he was doing, had been meticulous in his actions on the floor of that dungeon. He’d made sure every thread of emotion was gone from his mind and superglued elsewhere. He held her gaze. “What happened by the river was nothing. A moment’s irritation for your bear shifter.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Perhaps you don’t want it to be so. Perhaps you’re looking for something that isn’t there, will never be there.”
Her face contorted into a mask of disbelief and then after a moment she broke out laughing. “Oh, Syn. What do you think I want? What do you think I’m looking for? For you to care about me?” She placed her hand on her belly. “About us? Fall in love with us? Be bonded to us?”
Her words sank deep into his gut, and they seemed to want to remain there. “That would be the logical desire for a female in swell, yes.”
Her laughter died, and the light he’d always seen glowing within her incredible pale blue eyes went out. There was nothing but emptiness. Not unlike his own, he imagined.
It bothered him.
In fact, he had an irresistible urge to take her in his arms, kiss her, tease her—anything to bring that light back. It didn’t have to be happiness or curiosity. Anger and hatred would do just as well.
“Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to hope for such a thing?” she said after a moment. “Believe that you’re a worthy male, emotions intact or not?” She stepped forward, got in his face, the curve of her belly now pressed against him. Her eyes locked with his. Dispassionate to detached. “I think there’s something happening inside you. Some kind of reaction to the baby.”
The cool night air rushed into the cave, moved over Syn’s naked chest. He wanted to deny it, her suggestion, but even as he attempted to summon the words, his hands itched to reach out and touch her swollen belly.
“What are you feeling right now?” she whispered.
His eyes met hers. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
He couldn’t stop himself. The urge was the greatest he’d ever felt. Yes. Felt. In seconds, before he could say a word or defend himself, his hands were on either side of her stomach. For a few long seconds, he held her, felt the firmness of the world that surrounded the growing life inside her. Was that how he’d begun? How she’d begun? It was bloody amazing to—-
His fingers froze, his body too, and his skin started to heat up again. His mouth going dry with shock, his gaze dropped as under his hands he felt movement, a stirring. Then, almost in slow motion, he felt something small and hard press into his left palm. Petra must’ve felt it too, as she groaned and shifted her position.
Inside him, his chest, his lungs, air seemed to hold, then expand, making him feel as though he couldn’t catch his breath. His mind warned him this was dangerous, warned him to pull away and never touch this female again. But he couldn’t. He just bloody well couldn’t. His hands, fingers, skin, muscles . . . they all refused to move. It was as if his body was beyond his mind’s control.