Born of Fire

It didn’t come.

The tracker scowled at them—something that was truly eerie given the black eyeliner that emphasized his merciless steel-gray eyes. “Wade?”

Syn returned the expression. “Scalera?”

A slow smile spread across the tracker’s handsome face. The dot vanished off Syn’s forehead. Scalera shook his head. “Leave it to you to be neck deep in this shit.”

“Fuck you.”

Shahara had no idea what was going on, but as more soldiers headed for them, Scalera shielded them with cover fire.

“Go, Wade.”

Syn didn’t hesitate as he took her arm and obeyed, all the while shooting at anything that moved.

“This is suicide,” Shahara said, aiming at her own targets.

But as they ran, she realized that Scalera was Trisani—and a powerful one at that as he threw their attackers to the ground with nothing more than a hand gesture and used his telekinesis to cover them. He caused some of the trackers to fire on each other, while he slammed others into the walls, transports, and other objects.

Man, to have those powers for five seconds . . .

As they started for their shuttle, Scalera teleported to cut off their escape and stop them. His ankle-length black leather coat rippled around his body with fluid grace. “Your ride’s compromised.” He jerked his chin to their left. “Head to Bay Eight. We can commandeer another one.”

Syn looked as doubtful as she felt, but he did as Scalera suggested. When a guard moved to confront them, Scalera held his hand out and threw him to the ground.

They kept moving until Syn stopped next to a green ship. “Vik? You better get here now.” He pushed the controls to extend the ramp while she and Scalera covered his back with drawn weapons.

Vik flew in over their heads. “They’re getting reinforcements. You bonebags better tel-ass or lose them.”

Syn ran in first with her and Scalera coming in behind him. Scalera retracted the ramp while Syn went to the bridge to start the launch sequence.

Still not sure if they should trust Scalera, she went to help Syn.

She took the navigator’s seat while he fired the engines and ran a preliminary check.

“Nero,” he said into the intercom, “I need a cover blast at four o’clock and you better use your powers to open the bay’s door or this is going to be a fatally short ride.”

Shahara watched as the bay doors stretched open slowly. It was obvious they were locked down and fighting Scalera’s efforts. Syn didn’t wait for them to open. He put the throttle down and gunned the engines.

The ship lurched forward at a velocity that plastered her against her seat. Unlike her, the ship had no idea they were about to impact with that wall and burst into flames.

Syn’s gaze narrowed with a deranged glint. “Do or die, baby. Do or die.”

Her heart hit the floor as she realized they really were going to slam into the closed doors. Nothing was moving.

This was it . . .

Bracing herself, she prayed.

Syn didn’t slow even a bit. He went forward without hesitation.

She bit back a scream.

Just as they reached the doors, they snapped open with only the lower section scraping against the bottom of the ship. The sound of steel on steel was painful but at least it wasn’t fatal as they popped through and soared into the atmosphere.

She leaned her head back and took a deep breath in relief. “I seriously hate you, Convict.”

Vik snorted. “I just oiled myself, boss.”

Syn gave them both a droll glare. “Stop your bitching. We made it.” Then under his breath, he added, “Granted it was by our short hairs, but I haven’t killed us yet.”

Scalera joined them, his face white as he collapsed into the gunner’s chair.

Syn glanced over at him. “You all right?”

He nodded weakly as he breathed in ragged gasps. The one bad thing about Trisani was that the use of their psychic powers also drained them physically. If they overused it, it could cause them to lapse into a coma, have brain damage, or die.

His dark blond hair was streaked with black in a becoming tousled mess that fell around an angelicly perfect face. Every feature appeared to have been chiseled by a master artist and yet there was nothing pretty about him. He held a raw masculine grace that was ruthless and angry.

Stubble marked his face, adding an even more rugged air to him. It was obvious he lived the same way Syn did.

By his wits, strength, and brutality.

Nero draped one long arm over the chair and rested his hand next to Syn’s shoulder. “I have to be a raging idiot to cover your ass, Sher. Damn, why did it have to be you?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

Nero made a mocking sound. “When did you change your name, anyway?”

“A while back.” Syn set their course and introduced them without looking at them. “Shahara Dagan, meet Nero Scalera. Nero, Shahara.”

One finely arched brow shot up. “As in Seax Dagan?”