She didn’t move. “A little premature, don’t you think?”

His nostrils flared. Perhaps he’d chosen wrong with this one. Perhaps he needed to fill her mouth with something.

“I want to see where you sleep,” she said, her tone close to defiant as she started walking toward him.

“I don’t sleep. And no one enters my bedroom.” Or my bed. It was sacred space. As was the room that lay beyond. The one he’d constructed for a very special, long-term guest he hoped would be arriving soon.

“Turn around and put your hands on the piano,” he commanded.

Her eyes flashed and her nostrils flared as she drew nearer. “So you don’t have to look at me? Is that it?”

With every look, every word she uttered, this female was growing more tiresome. In fact, Syn was wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. With all the willing and wet hopefuls, why had he gone for curt and derisive? Both were heavy with emotional undertones—and he didn’t do emotions. Only physical, animallike need. Hot, hard, release-filled fucking.

He regarded her with a lift of one dark brow. “Your choice, female. And it’s a very simple one. The piano or the door.”

Her mouth twitched. “You’re really something—you know that?”

He glared at her. Was that humor in her expression? He didn’t think so. In fact, he was starting to believe this encounter was a grand mistake. He cocked his head. “I’ll walk you out. My driver’s downstairs. He’ll make sure you get home without a problem.”

“I don’t need a driver, asshole.” She grinned wide. “I’ve got wings.”

Before Synjon could draw his next breath, two males rushed him from opposite sides of the room. Growling and snarling, they bodychecked him so bloody hard he lost his vision for a few seconds. What the hell . . . ?

Widening his stance, he shook his head, trying to clear his vision. He was a natural fighter and a seasoned killer, but over the past week, ever since Cruen had bled his emotions, his instincts had been slightly off. He was slower to react. And it showed now.

“I want to kill him,” he heard the female say.

“We can’t,” said one of the males.

“No,” said the other. “But we could hurt him a little.”

Even without full use of his sight, Synjon felt the steady heat come up behind him. He whirled around and shoved his elbow into the neck of one of the males, followed by a fierce head butt to the face. He heard a whoosh of air, and the male’s bloodscent rushed into his nostrils. Familiar. Not vampire.

But whether enemy or estranged ally he wasn’t sure.

Someone grabbed his arms, pinned them behind his back. Syn growled and slammed his head back, meeting flesh and bone.

“Fuck!” cried one of the males.

“Don’t let go!” yelled another.

Cuffs were snapped around Syn’s wrists and he was hit from behind by something hard, maybe metal. Not once, but twice. Then something smacked into his skull, and his vision went gray. He went down, knees, belly, head. Again he shook his head, willed his eyes to open and focus. His vision returned just as he was flipped over onto his back. He was about to shoot to his feet when one dirty, black boot clamped down on his windpipe while the other slammed him mercilessly in the groin.

Stars glittered on his retinas as one of the males loomed over him and uttered tersely, “Do you remember us, vampire?”

“Cats,” Syn hissed through gritted teeth. “Fucking pussycats.”

“That’s right. Val and I are taking you back to where it all began.” He pressed harder on Syn’s throat. “You’re going to feed our sister.”

No air was getting through. He fought to keep his eyes open, his brain functioning.

“And your cub.”

The glass door opened and Synjon felt a blast of cold air move over him. Weight lifted off his airway, and he was shoved to his feet.

“Ready to go for a ride, asshole?” the female said, moving out onto the terrace.

“Not interested anymore, love,’ Synjon rasped. “Not sure if I ever was.”

Suddenly Synjon dropped down, and in a series of quick, powerful moves, he sent his foot into the gut of one male and his knee into the other.

The pussy brothers were bloody well kidding themselves. Even with the fucked-up vision and the slow reaction time, he wasn’t going anywhere. He had a very important guest arriving soon. A guest who would beg him for mercy, and a quick death before he baked slowly in the sun.

A needle slammed into his neck then, cutting off all thought, all fantasy. Instantly, the room started spinning. Bloody bastards . . . Synjon braced for a fall, forced his fangs down and a growl from his throat.

The female on the terrace sneered at him. “I can’t believe she wasted her time on you.”

Seconds before Synjon blacked out, he saw the blond female leap from the ledge of his penthouse balcony and shift into a glorious, massive, and highly pissed-off hawk.

3

With the sun warm on her skin, Petra circled the tree, then raced toward the stream. Thank the gods for her mother’s suggestion to get some air, some exercise. It was how pregnant shifter females brought on their labor. Hours of sprinting through the Rain Forest. Granted, Petra was no shifter and she wasn’t trying to bring on labor, but the running did something for her. Something miraculous. It released some of the intense and debilitating emotion that had been holding her hostage for a week.

When she reached the stream, she leaped to the other side and continued along the water’s edge. As she ran, she spotted creatures moving, courting, and mating under the surface of the shallow water. It was a sight she’d grown up with and was used to. A sight that meant a new year approached. New beginnings . . . new life.

Ever since she’d woken up to the understanding that she lived in a rain forest with an entire species of shape-shifters, Petra had wanted to be like them. She’d been somewhere around ten years old when she’d realized she wasn’t. Even the young who hadn’t shifted yet could run like the wind and scent prey. It hadn’t made her feel like an outcast exactly, but like she was missing something amazing.

And then, just seven months ago, everything had changed. When he came. He came and made her feel understood, not like a freak. He unleashed the truth, showed her what she was capable of if she embraced it, trained it—fed it.

Her fanged nature.

And in some odd way, embracing her vampire had made her feel closer to her family, as though she had more in common with the shifters than she had ever thought possible.

Breaking into a sprint, she passed a bear shifter who was trying to climb a tree and get to a nest tucked into one of the branches. It growled playfully at her, then returned to its task. Petra found that the faster she moved, the less pain she experienced. It was as if the overwhelming feelings didn’t have time to fully fuse to her insides.

And the balas liked it.

She wasn’t sure how, but she could sense it. And moving so quickly provided one of only a handful of times when she’d been able to connect with the little life growing inside her. If she could just give it nourishment now . . .

If she could just give it blood.

Bile rose in her throat as she picked up speed, leaving the stream behind and taking off across the flat land toward her lion shifter family’s sprawling one-story compound. Somehow she would find a way to protect her balas, feed her balas, give her balas the loving and proper family it deserved.

Even if she had to spend the remainder of her swell running.

Just a foot over the property line, she nearly collided with a massive blond male.

“Damn it, Val,” she said, jerking to a halt. “You could’ve hurt the baby.”

The blond male with shoulders as wide as the doorframe of their family house backed up a foot just to show he wasn’t in her space. His dark eyes moved over her curiously, concerned. “You’re sweating. Breathing heavy. What are you doing?”

“Whatever I have to do to keep sane.”

He frowned. “My poor Pets.”

“What do you need, Val?” She jogged in place. She wanted to hold on to this moderately contented feeling for as long as possible. Maybe she could try drinking blood as she ran. Maybe the movement would curb her disgust.

“I need you to come with me,” Val said, his mane of blond hair escaping the tie at the nape of his neck.

“Where?”

“Back home. I have something to show you.”

“I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to stop, talk, look.” She shook her head, pain rising within her, clenching her belly. “The speed makes me feel better. Or maybe it makes me feel nothing, I don’t know.” Tears choked in her throat. Goddamn it. “It’s starting to come back, Val. I gotta go.” She began to move past him.

He blocked her way. “Pets, wait.”

She snarled at him. “I can’t.”

“We have something for you,” he insisted, his eyes shifting from her chin to her ear. “Something we think might help.”

“Nothing helps. Don’t you get that? Except for this. Moving, sweating. It’s just going to have to be pure survival mode until Little Fangs here is born.”

He made a face. Disgusted or embarrassed, she couldn’t tell. “You’re not really going to name it that, are you?”

“I’m going.” Groaning, she took off again at a fast jog.

“Pets, wait. Please.” In seconds, Val was at her side. But this time he was in his lion form. He kept pace with her, snarling, tossing his incredible mane, giving her the “cat eyes” that as a child always got him what he wanted.

That wasn’t happening today.

“Go home, Val,” she called out. “I appreciate your concern, but this is my problem to deal with.”

She sped up, hoping he’d get the message and take off for home, but he was clearly determined. With a massive roar, he shot out in front of her, and the minute she slowed to avoid crashing into him, dipped his head, pushing her off balance.