Without a thought, her mouth dry with concern, Petra got out of bed and grabbed her robe. She was just slipping her arm in the fuzzy sleeve, when the door burst open. The earsplitting sounds of about forty retreating partygoers spilled into the room, along with one very pissed-off female shifter.
“You have got to be shitting me.”
Petra stared at her best friend. “Dani?”
“Glad you remember my name,” she said, glancing around the room. “Thought the evil vampire douche bag might’ve erased your memory along with your rational thought.”
“What are you doing here?” Petra asked, slipping her other arm into the remaining sleeve of her robe.
The hawk shifter walked into the bedroom and slammed the door. “Oh, you know, saving you from making mistake number freaking two, Pets.”
14
Lucian tossed him a cue, lifting one pale blond eyebrow. “We do this over pool, Brit Boy.”
Synjon caught the stick easily, then rounded the table, which was positioned on the far side of his living area. “Do what exactly, Frosty?”
Lucian’s eyes widened. “What the fuck did you just call me?”
Synjon grabbed the chalk and said nothing. He was thinking about Petra, and all that was being discussed in that spare bedroom. He didn’t like leaving her alone with the hawk shifter. That female hated him. With good reason, but still . . .
“Frosty?” Lucian repeated. He turned to Nicholas and Alexander, who were standing around the large billiard table with sticks of their own, waiting their turn. “Hey, boys. Did Brit Boy here just insult me?”
Nicholas grinned. “Don’t get emotional, Luca.”
“Please,” Alex agreed. “That would be embarrassing for all of us.”
Leaning over, Syn adjusted the shaft of his cue stick, aimed, and with an audible crack knocked the cue ball into the stripes and solids.
“You’re changing,” Lucian said, leaning over directly across from him, setting up his shot while inspecting Syn. “How?”
Syn’s eyes flipped up. “There’s no change. I’m an emotionless bastard. My desires and plans are the same as they always were.” Just waiting for Cruen to come to me, beg me to put him out of his misery. Except maybe that wasn’t his first thought anymore. His gaze shifted toward the spare bedroom. They were taking forever.
“You want Cruen,” Lucian said, then sent his cue into the ball, dropping a solid in the right side pocket. “We want Cruen.”
“What?” Syn glanced at the other two pavens. “What are you talking about?”
“That stupid piece-of-shit paven,” Alexander said. “As usual, he’s made a mess of things. This time in the shifter community.”
“He’s still there?” Syn said before leaning down and sending a striped ball into the far left corner pocket.
“Still?” Nicholas said, his sharp eyes locking with Syn’s. “How did you know he was there at all?”
Bloody brilliant, Mr. Wise. Get your head out of your arse and think before you speak. “Petra made a phone call home, remember? Now. Is he being hunted or made a guest?”
Though his gaze remained curious, Nicholas shrugged. “Not sure. Helo, Phane, and Dillon are speaking with the leaders of the factions now, trying to persuade them to go on a little search and capture.”
Syn didn’t mind the search. It was the capture he was worried about. If the shifters, the Romans, the pussy brothers, or whoever caught Cruen, that would mean a different plan. One that utilized his past skills as a spy.
“And what?” Synjon began. “You’re here to ask for my help in tracking him.”
“No,” Alex said, his cue aloft, his focus no longer on the game. “We need you and Petra to go before the Order—”
“Petra’s not going anywhere.” The words were far too quick exiting his mouth. He’d have to watch that.
All three Roman brothers stared at him, studied him.
“We need you to tell them you were never held against your will,” Nicholas said.
“You want me to lie?”
“Fuck, yeah,” Lucian snorted, leaning over the table to try a difficult shot. He was the only one still in the game. “Unless you want a war brought to the Rain Forest.”
Synjon once again ventured a glance at the hallway leading to the spare bedroom. “Why would you think I’d care about the Rain Forest and its occupants?”
Alexander eyed him, the corners of his mouth kicking up. “I don’t know. Maybe because that’s the home of the pregnant veana you stole and brought here because you’re feeling . . . ?”
A curl of annoyance went through Syn, but he kept it in check, kept it hidden. For all the things they thought they knew or had noticed about him, they didn’t know shit about what was going on inside him, or with him and Petra, or with him and the balas. Or how he couldn’t stop thinking about her, wanting her, wanting the balas, and how with each passing minute he grew more and more protective of them both.
“So?” Lucian said, after sending two balls into the left side pocket. “You gonna be a help? Or are you gonna be a total dickhead with no conscience?”
Without even looking at the table, Synjon smacked his cue into the ball. But instead of hitting one of his own, he sent the eight ball into the far right pocket. “That’s a knobhead with no conscience, Frosty.”
Luca grinned, broad and excited. “I’ve missed you, Brit Boy.”
Cruen stared at the pale gray flesh and sneered. “What do you call this exactly?”
“Cacuba,” said the young water shifter. “It’s a type of eel.”
They sat in the low rock caves near a waterfall spring. Several water shifters swam or sunbathed on the rocks like mermaids, while Robes, the young water shifter, and his older sister, Nore, cut up pieces of what they claimed to be magic-infused flesh.
“And why do you believe this gives one power?” Cruen asked, wondering if he’d made a grave mistake in remaining in the Rain Forest, expending his last shreds of mental and physical strength on a hope.
“We have used it,” Nore said, her dark eyes wide with excitement. “In hunting. In our rituals.”
Cruen took stock of his surroundings. He’d been to this very spot many moons ago, had taken samples from this same species, and yet, as he turned back to the plate of rotting gray flesh that was to make him powerful again, he felt no delight in being here once again. If this was a mistake, if nothing came of it, how could he return to the gathering rocks? Have the strength to return? His guard hadn’t been allowed to follow, and was waiting for him there. To flash him home, or to the table of the Order.
Flash him.
Oh, gods, the humiliation at his loss of power grew worse with every breath.
“Go ahead,” urged Robes, pushing the plate closer to Cruen. “You will see.”
He had fallen. Far and painfully. He grabbed the slimy eel flesh and stuffed it in his mouth. The taste was one of the most vile he’d ever experienced, and instead of chewing, he swallowed it whole.
“Now you will see,” Nore said, clasping her hands together.
Yes, Cruen thought, but will I feel? Will I feel power racing through my veins, my blood? Will I be able to flash to the balcony of one Synjon Wise and force him to remove his emotions from my mind?