“He murdered my veana.” He cut her off, but the words were no longer impassioned on his tongue. It was simply a fact. There was good in having his emotions bled, even if it kept him from the ability to love and care for others. “He stole her, kept her in a cage like an animal. Lucian Roman, too. These were Pureblood vampires. The ones you claim to care about, wish to fight an innocent group of shifters over.”
Feeyan didn’t like this line of conversation, and down the row of Order members there was a stirring, questions and chatter. Feeyan hissed at them, then tried to steer Syn in another direction. “You were instructed to bring the veana, Petra.”
Where there had been little emotion before, there was a small tidal wave now. “The mother of my balas is resting, as she should be.”
“Then you may tell me,” Feeyan said far too graciously. “Were you or were you not held by the shifters?”
“Not.”
“Do you consider them a threat?”
“Far from it. They seem a right peaceful lot. The opposite of us.”
She tossed him a death stare. “That’s enough. You may go, Mr. Wise.”
He grinned coldly. “Lovely. So you’ll leave the Rain Forest and its inhabitants alone.”
“Not yet.”
Synjon drew closer to the table, his eyes pinned on her frigid white orbs. The Order members around them started whispering. “I just told you—”
“You may be out, you may have been freed, but there is another there who has not.”
Shite. That bloody prat.
Syn eyed every member at that table, his tone ultraserious now. “If you allow Cruen to force you into a war with a peaceful tribe, you’ll regret it. The Breed will regret it.”
“No one forces me, Mr. Wise,” she practically snarled. “I am the leader of the Order. I make the decisions.”
“You sound as though you’re trying to convince yourself of that fact.” He cocked his head to one side. “Having a little trouble living up to the title?”
As the whispering intensified, Feeyan pushed to her feet, her eyes boring a hole in his head, and waved a hand at him, sending him back to the Hollow. She wanted him gone. She wanted his words, ideas, concerns, and truths cut off and buried before the other Order members started developing minds of their own.
And before they realized their leader was not as secure in her position as she wanted them to believe.
Petra paced back and forth before the glass doors, feeling like an asinine teenager. The Order was purported to be cruel, vindictive, and unpredictable. Which would they be with Synjon?
She heard Dani’s voice in her head. Her best friend’s warning was a completely legitimate one. Worrying about, caring about, maybe even falling for Synjon Wise might be the greatest mistake of her life. But she couldn’t help herself.
“Tearing up my rug, are you, love?”
She gasped and whirled around to see Synjon standing in the frame of the sliding glass door, snow dusting his clothes. “What did they say? What did you say?”
He stepped inside and closed the door. “Everything’s fine.”
“‘Fine,’” she repeated with mild irritation. “That’s all you’re giving me?”
He brushed the already melting flakes from his jacket. “You look worried.”
“I am.”
“About the shifters?”
“Of course. And the Rain Forest. Is the Order still threatening to go there and make trouble, or are they satisfied that you’re no longer being held prisoner?”
“They are.” He walked past her over to the couch. “They have a new issue.”
She followed him. “What now?”
“Seems there’s a Pureblood paven still in the forest. His whereabouts are unaccounted for since he left the party he came there with.”
Her gut twisted. “Cruen.”
He nodded.
“Maybe he went there for me, to make sure I was okay. Maybe he heard about how I was feeling this past week and . . .” She stopped talking. Even as she said the words she didn’t believe them. She wondered why he was really there. Whether he was once again trying to get something from the shifter community—something more than their DNA this time.
She hung her head. Her father just continued to be a disappointment.
“And for a moment I thought some of that manic pacing might be for me.”
Her eyes came up, swept over the gorgeous male vampire sitting with cool casualness on the leather sofa. “You can handle yourself, Mr. Wise.” She itched to join him. Maybe snuggle up against his side while he whispered things in her ear. Dirty things. She mentally rolled her eyes. “You don’t need any help or worry from anyone.”
His gaze locked with her own. “I told the Order I went and stayed in the Rain Forest of my own free will.”
“Thank you.” She bit her tongue against asking him why. Who was that act of kindness for? What did he have to gain by helping the shifters?
“And if Cruen doesn’t fuck things up royally, you and the bear shifter can set up house without any fear of intrusion by the vicious and calculating vampires.”
“Vicious and calculating.” She grinned at him. “Are we talking about the Order or yourself, Mr. Wise?”
“The Order, of course. Why would I interfere in that budding romance?”
A sudden pain shot through her abdomen and she gasped. She reached out for a nearby chair, curling in on herself.
Syn was off the couch and at her side in seconds. “What is it?” He eased an arm around her waist. “Petra?”
She licked her lips, stared straight ahead and waited. When no other pain surfaced, she gingerly straightened. “Nothing. It’s gone.”
Syn heaved a great sigh. “Bloody hell, veana. How long have you been on your feet tonight, wearing down my rug?”
“I’m fine. It was just a little twinge.”
But he wasn’t listening. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the living room.
“Seriously, I’m fine,” she assured him.
He didn’t say anything, just kept going. Jaw tight, eyes trained forward, he took her into her bedroom and placed her gently on the bed. When she lay back against the pillows, he sat beside her.
“Where’s the pain?”
“There is no more pain,” she said. “It’s gone.”
“Then where was it?”
What was he doing? Why was he acting so concerned when he didn’t have the capacity or the ability to feel that emotion? Then she realized with a deep sense of melancholy that he did have ability, or the instinct. Not to care for her, but to care for the balas.
She pointed to the underside of her belly near her hipbones. “Here. But it’s gone now.”
Before she could even get that last part out, he had the edge of her black lace pajama top between his fingers. His dark eyes met hers. “May I?”
She nodded. “All right.”
He lifted the material just a few inches, to the very top of her belly, then placed his warm hand on the spot where her pain had been and began to rub in slow, gentle circles. Mesmerized, entranced, confused, Petra watched his large, strong hand massaging her swollen belly. Would her child’s hand look like this someday?
Oh, gods.
She lifted her gaze to his face. His stunningly handsome face. If she had a male balas, would he look like Syn? Would he have carved cheekbones and a full mouth? Deep, soulful eyes that pinned a female where she stood, then made her melt?
Her chest went tight and she bit at her lower lip. Would she really go through her life seeing Synjon Wise in every expression or movement her child made?
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his hand stalled, his eyes burning a hole through her. “Is the pain back?”