“For the balas,” she nearly shouted at him. “For your blood, for the balas.”
“This is also for the balas.”
“Bullshit.”
His brow lifted and his voice dropped. “Please don’t curse.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” This wasn’t happening. She was not going to be kept here against her will. She headed for the open glass door, went out onto the balcony and stood directly in the rising sun. The cold air chilled her to the bone, so completely unlike the Rain Forest that she instantly started to shake.
“Take me home,” she said through chattering teeth. “Now.”
Remaining in the shadows, Syn crossed his arms over his chest. “Come back in here before you freeze.”
“Everything I have is there!”
“Not everything.”
“My family, my friends, a male who cares about me.”
“And what about what you need?”
She shook her head, hissed at him.
“What you need is here, and you know it. Inside my veins. Red. Sweet. Hot.”
Around her, the wind picked up, sending her hair one way, then the other. His words made her mouth fill with saliva and her fangs dropped farther. She hated her vampire self in that moment because it made her weak. To his words, to his offer, to the imagery he had just plastered on the canvas of her mind. Maybe even to the thread of possibility that had been lying dormant inside her since the night in her tree house.
The night they’d made the balas.
“You don’t want to go,” he called out, his eyes locking with hers. “Look at you.”
“Don’t tell me what I want,” she said, weakly now, her tongue running over the surface of her lower lip.
“You’re hungry, Petra.”
“I’m always hungry.”
“So stay and feed from me.”
She shook her head, her chest tight with emotion—something she’d been relatively free of for the past twenty-four hours. “Why are you doing this?”
He seemed to struggle with the question. Even more so with a response. Finally he just shrugged. “Instinctual reaction. My balas is inside you and my instincts call for me to take care of it.”
“How clever—and convenient.” She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbed her exposed skin. “And when did this new and exciting reaction kick in?”
“Come inside,” he said.
“When, Synjon?”
“When I fed you, and perhaps even when the balas moved under my hand. All right, love? There it is.”
She stilled. Even in the cold air, her entire body stilled.
He tossed his hands up and turned away, calling out, “Yes. I admit it. A connection was forged.” He turned in a small circle, faced her again, his body still in shadow. “Not emotional. That is an impossibility. But instinctual.”
Her teeth started chattering again. “You sound like a shifter.”
“Well, perhaps we all have animal in us.”
“I won’t be your prisoner.”
“Then be my guest.”
This was madness. That she was even standing here, having a conversation about staying with him in his penthouse in the sky. If he wouldn’t take her back in a flash, she should walk straight past him to the door. Leave. Leave him again.
He moved to the very edge of the darkness. “Please come inside, Petra.”
She wasn’t sure, couldn’t swear to it, but there might have been a brief glimmer of apprehension within his gaze. As if he’d heard her thoughts, her plans. But was the apprehension for the balas alone?
Snow began to fall the moment she left the terrace. She walked back through the glass doors, closed them behind herself, then moved into the shadows with Syn.
Instantly, he threw something black and warm and soft around her shoulders. She wanted to melt into it. Into him. And she despised herself for all of it, for being so weak.
“Stay,” he said, his voice soft near her ear. “Stay until the balas is born.”
“This is insane,” she whispered as much to herself as to him.
“I will give you my vein whenever you need it.”
“So obliging.”
“No. I just realize my duty now.”
Why was she doing this? Standing here, listening to him? “Maybe it’s too late.”
“Don’t sacrifice the balas’s well-being for unnecessary pride.”
She whirled on him, nostrils flared. “Don’t do that.”
He had the audacity to look confused. “What?”
“Go the manipulative route with me. I’ve been caring for this child since its conception.”
With a slow release of breath, he sat down on the arm of a rich brown buttery-looking leather couch. “You’re right. I apologize.”
Still bristling, Petra stared at him. What the hell? An apology from Synjon Wise? Was the world coming to an end? Or did he truly have a change of heart? Had this connection he believed he had with the balas altered him somehow? And so much that he was willing to feed and keep her until it was born?
She didn’t know what to think about that. What to believe. What to hope for. She had so much anger and resentment inside her for him, for what he’d done to her father in the dungeon of Erion’s castle. Gods, what he still wanted to do to her father.
Her breath caught as, inside her womb, the balas moved, stretched, warned her that if she didn’t give it what it required soon, things would return to normal.
And that normal had been pretty much a living hell.
She pulled the blanket closer around her, keeping out the chill and the strange notions of a male changed. But notions still managed to push through, their hopeful warmth poking at her to believe, to accept. “This would be only until the balas is born.”
Syn nodded, his eyes flashing with momentary satisfaction. He’d won.
“After that, I’m going home.”
He nodded again. “To the Rain Forest.”
“Yes.”
“To the bear shifter.”
She sniffed with melancholy. “If he’ll have me.”
Synjon’s gaze moved over her face. From lips to cheeks to eyes. “Oh, he’ll have you, love. Who in their right mind could resist you?” Then he stood and gestured for her to follow him. “Come. I’ll show you where you’ll hang your hat.”
10
Synjon knew as he led her through the penthouse that what he’d just proposed, what he’d just done by stealing her away and offering her his home and his blood, was practically begging for trouble.
The one and only goal he’d had was to bring Cruen here, and instead he’d brought the paven’s daughter.
Forget emotions. Clearly he was without intelligence as well.
When he reached the door of the spare bedroom, he stayed where he was and let her pass. “You should find everything you need here, except of course for clothing and personal things. But we’ll get that tonight, yes?”
She stared at the large, modern bed in the center of the room, with its steel frame and pale gray linens, then turned to look at him. “We’re going back to the Rain Forest?”
He didn’t like the shimmer of eagerness, of hopefulness, in her blue eyes. “No. We can get it all here in Manhattan.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t want you buying me anything.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, love,” he replied, laughing at the absurdity, “I have more money than I could spend in a thousand lifetimes. Don’t put a meaning on it that’s not there. I took you from your closet—you’ll need another.”