“Fine. Something that would be acceptable standing next to Synjon Wise, International Male Model.”
“That does it.” He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You, my dear, are the most exquisite creature on this godforsaken planet. I drool every time I look at you. My cock is stiff as we speak. And yet, unfortunately for me, I’ve made a vow to keep my twitching hands off of you.” He grinned. “For tonight.”
Petra just stared at him, her mouth open. She was pretty sure everyone in the very beautiful store had heard him. Stiff cocks to twitching hands. She just wanted to burrow into the floor.
“Good evening, Mr. Wise.”
Perfect.
Syn greeted the pretty saleswoman with a polite but cool nod. “Take care of her. Give her whatever she needs and fancies.”
The woman fairly beamed. “Of course, Mr. Wise.”
“I’ll be back in, say, an hour and a half?”
Petra turned to him. “You’re going?”
“I have something to take care of.” His voice suddenly took on a rough, sexy timbre. “You don’t want a male hanging around here helping you pick out knickers and the like, do you?”
Petra heard a few feminine giggles behind her. “Well, not a male who says ‘knickers’ with a straight face.”
His mouth twitched. “Cheers, love.”
Along with every other set of female eyes in the place, Petra’s watched him walk out the door and head for the limousine. She wondered where he was going. If he was going to meet someone. A female someone.
Oh, gods.
There was no end to her ridiculousness. She needed some clothes. That was it. End of story.
“What shall we start with, Mrs. Wise? Undergarments? Casual day wear?” The saleswoman grinned. “Or should we go straight to the fun stuff? Evening gowns?”
Petra was going to correct the woman. Tell her she wasn’t a Mrs. Anything, but before she could utter a word, three women came forward with three of the most beautiful dresses she’d ever seen.
She sighed at the wondrous sight. “I’m thinking we start with the fun stuff.”
12
“Do we have a new plan, sir?”
Cruen didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge the guard beside him as they moved through the forest by way of the river. His strength was waning, and he had to fight to keep hold of his mental state. It had taken all his reserves to keep himself hidden from the Romans, particularly Lucian Roman, as they searched the river cabin.
But one thing was certain, confirmed by the brothers as they worked out their next move. Synjon had taken Petra from the Rain Forest and brought her home to Manhattan.
Back to New York City.
Cruen felt the frustration all the way inside his bones. This had been a pointless, fruitless trip. A waste of everything. And now the paven was on his home turf. Cruen knew he didn’t have the strength to deal with Synjon there. Not with just the one guard. And the more vampire flesh he brought into this problem, the higher the body count would be later.
But what choice did he have? The Order would be of no help to him now. He must flash home, gather his small army, and attack. If he didn’t, he wasn’t going to survive. Not in body or in mind. He could feel it. And he had to survive. For his work, his never-ending goal of bringing about the ultimate vampire. He had been so close. The power of the Devil, Abbadon, within his grasp. Now the male was dead by his daughter’s hand, and Cruen had been stripped of the mediocre amount of magic he’d had left.
No. He had no choice but to take on Synjon Wise anywhere he could get to him.
He heard a splash to his left, and then something darted out in front of him. His reaction time was slow, but his guard had already rounded the creature and had a blade to the young male’s neck in under a second.
Pale brown hair was pulled back in a tie, and dark green eyes found and held Cruen’s. The young male didn’t appear frightened by what he saw. On the contrary. He seemed quite eager.
“What do you want, shifter?” Cruen asked. “Why do you jump upon us as though you wish to attack?”
“I can’t believe it’s you,” the male rasped, his tone high and excited. “I thought I recognized you when you traveled the river earlier.”
A small thread of unease moved through Cruen’s already tired body.
The young male grinned. “Don’t you remember me?”
Cruen inspected the male. “No. What is this? What game do you play?”
“You took samples from my mother a long time ago.” The male waited for that to sink in, then continued. “I helped you, remember? I was very young. No more than three. You gave me a small dagger to play with.”
“Water shifter,” Cruen uttered, his mind darting backward, all the way to the first set of shifter samples he’d taken.
“That’s right,” said the young male happily. “What are you doing here?”
Cruen motioned for his guard to drop the blade and step back. “Looking for one of my kind.”
The male nodded sagely. “The vampire male. Petra’s.”
“You know about that?”
The male shrugged. “Everyone knows. But they’ve left.”
“Yes,” Cruen ground out. Clearly, it was time to go. There was no reason to remain here. Not to hike around aimlessly, or catch up on the past.
“But you don’t have to,” the male said as if hearing his thoughts. He stepped forward. “My family, my faction, would love to see you.”
“Would they?” Cruen said with disinterest.
The male nodded. “My faction is also interested in science. In fact”—he lowered his voice—“we believe we may have found a way to slow aging.”
“Interesting,” Cruen said without much enthusiasm. “But unless you’ve developed something that infuses the body with power, magic, or strength, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a rain check.”
Cruen motioned the guard to leave. The male had claimed he couldn’t flash inside the shifters’ forest, so they needed to return to the gathering stones. He started to walk away, but the young male called after him.
“We have something! Something like what you describe!”
Cruen stopped, turned around, his skin suddenly prickling with keen curiosity. “Go on.”
“It’s very new, and has a short shelf life, so to speak. But it has intense power.” The male lifted his dark brows. “Interested now?”
“I believe I am,” Cruen said. “Take me to see your family, shifter. A reunion is definitely in order.”
• • •
Synjon stepped out of the limousine, glanced around, and righted his cuffs.
The plans he’d made had taken only an hour, and though he didn’t want to barrel in and interrupt the party, he had this unstoppable need to see Petra.
No. That wasn’t right.
What he had was an unstoppable urge to know she and the balas were all right. He blamed it on instinct. Protecting his young and all that. Instinct was the best excuse he could come up with lately for the way he was acting, reacting. The alternative was simply inconceivable. Something about emotional attachment, falling in love, seeing a future.
The door made a quiet trilling sound as it opened. He hadn’t noticed that before. He moved inside the store, looking for life. Looking for her. When he found neither, he felt a sudden punch of concern compress his gut. What would he do if she’d been taken somehow? If her brothers or the Romans had come, to return her and the balas to the Rain Forest?
He moved deeper into the shop, heading toward the back, and was about to shout Petra’s name when he saw her emerge from a dressing room. Someone followed her, but Syn took absolutely no notice of the other being. His breath had left his body, and inside his chest something squeezed. Something he’d thought would never stir again.
Standing in the center of a veritable swimming pool of tissue-paper-lined bags was Petra. Her long, thick, straight dark hair framed her exquisite face, but it was her eyes that made his chest constrict once again. Lined with a thin smudge of coal, her ice-blue orbs popped with color and life, and when she looked up and caught him staring at her, she smiled.
Instinct, you ruddy bastard, he warned himself. Nothing more. Can’t be anything more. You don’t have it to give. You already gave it away to her father on that cold stone floor.
“You like?” she said, her voice uneven, as if she were a little nervous.
His gaze traveled the length of her. The dress she had on was nearly the same color as her eyes and hugged every inch of her extraordinary body, including her swell. She looked like a fucking princess. He’d never seen anything so beautiful, or so sexy, in his life.
“You’re a stunner, love,” he said, walking toward her.
Her smile widened. “Well, thank you.”
He’d spent an hour on their evening plans, and yet all he wanted to do now was take her home and remove that dress. Slowly. Kissing every inch of skin that was revealed to his hungry gaze.
“They said I needed to wear a cocktail dress for tonight?” She narrowed her eyes at him, but in a playful, sensual way that make his cock twitch.
Yes. Home, bed, naked, kisses, sounds good. And in that order, if you please.
“They even had shoes brought over from Barneys,” she continued. “What’s going on, Mr. Wise?”
Synjon first turned to the saleswoman, thanked her for her help, then addressed his driver, who had followed him in. “Take care of the bill, then put the bags in the car, please, Tom.”
“Very good, sir.”
Petra also thanked the saleswoman, who made a beeline for the register, and then she continued her quest for information. “Come on now,” she urged, meeting Syn halfway. “Tell me what you’re up to.”
“I suppose one could call it a gesture of goodwill.”
“And what would you call it?”
A date.
He took her hand, laced his fingers through hers. “You look fucking incredible,” he said, his eyes locking with hers. “Breathtaking.”