He'd thought her beautiful asleep, but awake, she was a goddess. Tall, with long ink black hair, an athlete's body, and a face that exuded strength, she commanded his gaze. Not to her curves, which were pretty bloody fantastic, but to her eyes. They were the palest of blue and sharp as shite.

He tracked her as she went over to the dining table, lit a match, and touched the flame to each of the four candles huddled in the center. The combination of her scent growing ever closer and the hit of sulfur made his gut scream with hunger. He wanted more of that rich blood on his tongue, in his veins.

"Who are you?" she asked softly.

Her voice had an affect on him, reminding him of his days in the medical facility and how she'd fought for him. "My name or my species?"

She pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. "Let's start with the name."

"Synjon Wise." He saw no reason to lie.

"And what species do you belong to, Mr. Wise?"

"Same one as you, Petra."

He saw the vein at the base of her throat pulse. Yes, I know your name.

"You're not a Shifter," she said, doing her very best to act impassive.

"Bloody hell." He chuckled softly. "No. I belong to an ancient, respected, deadly species. As do you."

Her nostrils flared. "What I am hasn't been determined yet."

"I've determined it. The moment I scented you."

"What am I then, Mr. Wise?" Her pale blue eyes flashed with fire-fueled curiosity. "And where is your proof?"

Synjon brought a hand up and cupped his ear, pretended to listen. "I hear nothing."

"It's night," she said dismissively. "The Avians don't wake until-"

"No," he interrupted almost caustically. He was growing tired of playing games. There was work to be done outside this strange oasis, but he needed the veana's blood first. "What I am listening for is a heart that doesn't beat." He raised an eyebrow. "Your heart is dead, Veana, just like mine. It's the first and best way to identify our species."

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide.

Irritated, Synjon pushed away from the wall and strode toward the table. "Is this an act, or do you truly not know what you are?"

She closed her mouth then, not answering him.

He stopped inches away and coiled over her. "Why are you here? In this land, in this place?" His head cocked to one side, and he knew he must look hideous, his burns beside her beauty, but he didn't give a shite. "Our kind doesn't belong here. You don't belong here."

"My family is here," she retorted. "My family whom you attacked."

"Bullocks," he mumbled, yanking back a chair and sitting down beside the raven-haired veana. "I didn't mean to get into it with your family, or whatever you believe them to be. I was looking for you."

"For my blood," she corrected, her wary gaze searching his. "Right?"

He shrugged. "They're a package deal, really."

"Well, you already have my blood-taken without asking, I might add." One black eyebrow lifted. "You won't be doing that again."

His lips thinned. He didn't envy the male who took on this steely firecracker of a package. He liked his females like he liked his blood; warm, soft, and uncomplicatingly sweet. Like Juliet.

His gut clenched with pain. With hunger. With grief . . .

He had to get out of here. Find the murderer Cruen and let him feel the unrelenting pain of the sun's justice.

"Does my face look different to you, Petra?" he asked, moving closer to the candlelight.

"You've healed some," she acknowledged.

He nodded. "That's right. But there is more work to be done."

"Then why are you here? Why are you wasting time seeking me out? Not just because you're still thirsty. Or is it hungry?"

"You tell me. It's different for every one of us."

She jerked back in response, but continued as if he hadn't said a word. "Why don't you go back to the medical facility, let Brodan continue the treatment-"

Synjon's laughter brought her suggestion to a halt. "This wasn't in reaction to anything your lover gave me or did to me, Veana."

Her jaw tightened. "Brodan is not my lover."

"He's working his way there. Give him another couple of weeks, and those capable hands will be looking to heal the most intimate parts of you, Veana."

She looked horrified. "All right, that's it." She stood and pointed toward the door. "You need to leave. Go back to the medical facility or return to whatever rock you crawled out from under."

Synjon's nostrils flared as he leaned back in his chair. Her blood grew hot with her anger. "I want to leave, Veana. I do. But I have the revenge job of a lifetime waiting for me outside your strange little paradise, and I can't go looking like this. It'll blow my cover."

"Not my problem."

"It's more than your problem. You owe me."

She sniffed. "How do you figure that?"

"The cave," he said, his hands lifted. "You dragged me in there, out of the sun."

Hovering above him, she narrowed her eyes. "I saved your life."

"Precisely."

Her derision turned to quick laughter. "Wouldn't that be you owing me?" she said.

"I didn't ask to be saved," he said. "In fact, I believe I requested several times that you back the fuck off and let me bloody die."