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problem.
    She looked up at him then, her pale lavender eyes peeking out from yards and yards of wet blond hair. She was begging for relief.
    “It won’t be long now,” Cruen said with a gentle voice. “His body will please you and his seed will calm you.”
    Her head dropped forward and she whimpered, her hands covering her core.
    Cruen nodded, smiled with the deepest of pleasure. She was the elusive diamond, priceless, and she would be the mother, the dam—the queen of a new class, a new order.
    Vampire royalty.
    The Breeding Female and the Breeding Male: a union of purest blood. And Cruen would be their adviser, the mind behind their actions, just as he was their creator—their god.
    All that remained was turning
paven
into predator, and Lucian Roman was nearly united with his prey.

4
     
    T he soporific sounds of happiness and celebration dissolved inside Synjon’s head and were replaced by a hard, rhythmic pounding. Like a hammer smacking thick, steel nails, one after the other. He’d seen her go, seen her being ripped out the back door and flashed away in less than five seconds. The flash—the fucking flash, like a firecracker in the night—and Synjon had nothing on him to protect his
veana
. No guns, no blades—nothing but his goddamn legs.
    He ran at hyperspeed down the corridor, but by the time he hit the open door, there was nothing but
credenti
landscape, melting ice and snow, and night air heavy with the scent of Pureblooded
paven
.
    Synjon wasted no time. Once outside he flashed: to the back of the building, to one side, then the other, searching for that piece-of-shite Roman brother who had the bollocks to take someone who didn’t belong to him.
    Lucian had sent his big brother, Nicholas “soon to be dead” Roman, to do his dirty work for him—Synjon just knew it. Christ, to steal away the
veana
who’d refused him. What a sodding git. Both Romans would be husks of dried skin when Synjon caught up with them.
    Again he flashed, this time to Bronwyn’s house—dark and empty—then back again to the front of the Veracou Hall. His eyes moved over every inch of the
credenti
landscape. Not that he expected that Breeding Male mongrel to be hanging around anymore, but Syn would make sure. Just as he’d make sure he flashed to every square inch of earth until he found her.
    He was just about to hit the airway when his eyes skidded to a stop. Ire flared within him, and in that moment, the Boston
credenti
winter wonderland went from wide-angle-lens landscape to pinprick-hole focus. And in the very center of that hole? Leaning back against a tree that was as white as the
paven
himself?
    Lucian Wanker Roman.
    Synjon growled low in his chest and flashed directly in front of the
paven
, his arm already yanked back, his hand already clenched into a steely fist.
    Crack
. Right across the
paven
’s jaw, nothing but power and pain.
    Lucian’s head snapped back into the tree and he cursed loud and dirty.
    “Where is she, arsehole?” Synjon demanded.
    Lucian heard nothing inside his rapped skull, but he sure as shit saw red. Blood red—and the sudden death of this vampire who had sucker punched him like a little bitch. Recovering quickly, he shoved the
paven
back, followed up by pummeling him with a quick setof jabs to the abdomen, then one clean, hard shot to the face.
    Pow
.
Crack
.
    The
paven
’s dark head snapped back and he staggered a couple of steps like a drunk.
That’s right, dickhead,
Lucian mused blackly, his nostrils flaring with deep intakes of breath. Fall down, drop to your knees, and take a few more knocks to the skull like a good little bloodsucker. But the vampire wasn’t into taking. Clearly the giver, he shook the fog off and leaped in the air, just a few inches, cocking one knee back. Before Lucian could sidestep the coming blow, a foot shot straight into the flesh below his left knee.
    Fuck
.
    The pain exploded inside him, and the blow sent him flying back, past the tree. He dropped