“Syn?”

Syn’s eyes rose, locked with Adrian’s.

“Tomorrow?” asked the paven. “At first dark?”

A flash of Juliet’s face moved across Syn’s mind, and he winced. Her death, her murder, had to be avenged.

He gave the male a quick nod. His deal with the devil had been made a long time ago, his seat in Hell kept warm by just the idea of being the one who rid the world of that sodding bastard Cruen. It was time to end this—end him—once and for all.

21

“I think I’m set on onesies until the balas is in college.” Under the cool, crisp light of the midday sun, Sara tossed Petra an overwhelmed expression. “How about you?”

Petra couldn’t help but laugh as they walked down the busy street toward Syn’s apartment. “Not sure about the onesies, but I have diapers to last until then. Or for a month, depending on how many times I have to change him or her per day.”

“How many times you have to change . . .” Sara narrowed her eyes, but said playfully, “Come on now. You know that’s the dad’s job, don’t you?”

“Diaper duty?” Petra asked.

“Dealing with all the shit.” Sara’s face broke out in a wide grin.

Petra laughed again and sidestepped a mom and her stroller. When Sara had called this morning, Petra hadn’t been all that sure if the veana’s suggestion to do a little baby shopping was a good idea or not. For one thing, Petra had all those baby things that Syn had gotten her, but for another—and maybe this was what concerned her the most—she hadn’t had any true interaction with her half sister since she’d found out the truth about their mutual parent. She had no idea what to expect. Would the veana be outwardly friendly, but unable to mask a cool distrust behind her eyes? Of course, that worry couldn’t have been further from the truth. Sara was welcoming and kind and funny, and cool in a good way. And damn if they didn’t have several things in common besides their bellies.

The morning had been a mass of sunshine, but now gray clouds were starting to move in and it felt like snow was on the way. As they walked, and as the air grew colder and the holiday lights and decorations winked at them in their merry way, Petra felt a deep sense of connection move through her. And yet she didn’t want there to be any confusion about other members of the family. Particularly Sara’s mother.

“I’m really glad you called,” Petra said as they came to Syn’s building.

Sara’s smile was brilliant. “Me too.”

“But I need you to know, I’m just sort of coming to terms with where I came from and how. Being the offspring of blackmail, and all that.”

The truth in her words, and no doubt the memory of learning that her mother, Celestine, had gone to Cruen, slept with Cruen, only to get her mate released from imprisonment and impending castration, made Sara’s face fall a little.

“Petra, you don’t have to explain any of this to me,” she said sadly.

“No, I want to. I want to have a relationship with you. I’m just not ready to call anyone else mom. Don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

Sara nodded. “I totally understand.”

“Okay, good.” Petra nodded too and smiled. “Thank you.”

“But maybe we can bring Gray along next time?” Sara’s eyes, so similar to Petra’s, widened with hope. “I know he’d love it.”

“More baby shopping?”

Sara laughed. “Totally. He’s about to be an uncle to two balas, after all. We’ll make him try out toys and hold our breast pumps and carry stuff.”

“You’re kind of evil,” Petra said with a slow grin. “I love it.”

Still laughing, Sara embraced her. It was a nice feeling. All her life, she’d had brothers—and she completely adored them—but this . . . this was something special, female . . . And she wanted it to last.

“Hey,” Petra said, “are you getting nervous?”

“You mean, for the birth?”

Petra nodded.

“A little.” She shifted her bags to her other hand. “But I have Alexander. He’s going to get me through it, deal with my cursing and my death grip on his hands during contractions.”

Petra laughed.

“And you have Syn. Right?”

Her laughter softened, then downgraded to a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Above them the sun had been overtaken completely, and the world was suddenly plunged into a cold shade of gunmetal. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m happy . . .”

“But you’re worried something will screw up that happiness?”

“Pretty much.”

Snow started to fall as Sara dropped her packages and took Petra’s hand. “Listen, I know this didn’t happen right, and I heard all that you said about the past and the present and my mother, but I want you to know I care about you. I’m here for you if you ever want to talk, or bitch.” She grinned. “Or just hang out. I really want us to be friends, and maybe someday”—she shrugged—“sisters.”

“I’d like that too.” Petra gave her a quick hug, then eased back and smiled. “I’ll see you later?”

“You got it,” Sara said with a smile of her own. She picked up her bags, gave a wave, then headed down the street.

Petra entered the building and seconds after she hit the elevator button realized she’d forgotten to get a key from Synjon before she’d left. Thankfully the concierge remembered her, took one look at her belly and all the packages, and supplied her with one.

The ride up to the penthouse was quick, and after she battled her packages to the door, she entered the apartment with a thankful sigh. It was dark and quiet, and after dropping the bags in the living room, she went to look for Syn. But the rest of the place was just as dark, just as quiet. Strange—he hadn’t said anything about going out when she’d left this morning. And it was daytime.

Maybe he was downstairs at the gym, or maybe he knew about the tunnels below the city that Sara had told her about today, and was hanging out with the Roman brothers. He seemed to have a relationship with the very blond, sarcastic one, Lucian.

Gathering up her packages again, she headed into her room. She set them on the desk, glanced at the bed and thought about grabbing a nap. It was good for Syn to have some normal chill time with friends. She couldn’t imagine he did that often. She looked for her robe, the soft, black silk one she liked to sleep in when she wasn’t sleeping naked with Syn, but it wasn’t where she’d left it. Or thought she’d left it.

Tossing her coat over the end of the bed, she left her room and headed for Syn’s. No doubt she’d left it in there, and maybe she would just take her nap in his bed instead of her own. She grinned as she entered his room, which still held the scent of their lovemaking from the night before. Yes, definitely in here. And when Syn came home, he could just strip and crawl under the covers with her.

Her body instantly went hot at the thought.

“That’s what he does to you, girl,” she mumbled as she entered his bathroom. She didn’t bother with the light. Her robe wasn’t on the hook beside the shower where she’d expected to find it, and she was about to return to her room and just sleep in the buff, when her gaze fell on the walk-in closet. Hanging up there, next to his suits and sexy black shirts, jeans and robe, was her lovely piece of silk.

Had he put it here? With his own clothes?

She went over to it, but didn’t pluck it off the hanger right away. Instead she fingered the charcoal gray sweater next to it. The fabric was so soft. She knew what this would look like on him, feel like on him, hard, unyielding muscle through soft cashmere.

She brushed the sleeve against her face and nearly moaned, but at that very moment, she heard a sound. Strange, unnerving, and coming from beyond the closet. Her instant thought was that it was the neighbors, but Syn didn’t have any neighbors. Or an animal burrowing in the walls? But the sound wasn’t animal-like at all. It was more of a metallic whine.

She let go of the sweater and ventured deeper into the closet. The sound was probably coming from outside. Maybe they were erecting another building close by or something. But when the sound came again, louder and stranger, her skin prickled with fear. At this point, she was really hoping it was an animal.

She moved her hand through a row of heavy coats and jackets, feeling for the back of the closet, or gods, an animal’s sharp teeth. When her fingers touched wood, she shook her head at her silliness and sighed with relief.

Then the wood moved.

Petra gasped, her gut clenching terribly. Instead of being solid, it gave way. Like a door.

Her breath now coming in quick, shallow pants, she told herself to turn around and walk away. But the rational part of her brain refused the call, and her curiosity and instinct propelled her forward, almost maniacally compelling her to part the jackets and step inside.

Everything happened unbelievably fast after that. One moment she was amid waves of wool and leather, and the next she was being pulled inside a dimly lit room by a shocked and pissed-off Synjon Wise.

“W-what?” she stuttered, looking from him to her surroundings. “What is this?”

He growled, hissed, turned away from her, then turned back with a ferocious glare. She’d never seen him so angry. “Bloody hell, veana. What are you doing here? How did you get into the apartment?”

She gasped, her hand jerking up to cover her mouth. At first she thought her eyes were fooling her. Or that maybe she was actually napping and this was a nightmare. The room she stood in had no windows, but the ceiling had the same black covering that was on all the windows during the day, so she suspected the entire thing was glass. But it wasn’t the ceiling that disturbed her or made her gut twist and ache. It was the contents of the room. Whips, knives, machines—all things that were designed to torture, kill.

She whimpered against her shaking hand, her eyes moving over the scene again, back and forth. She didn’t even have to ask. She knew who this room was meant for.