Born of Fire

“I don’t play the odds, love. Never have.”


She rolled her eyes and wanted to beat him until he bled . . . more. “And if the statue’s gone?”

“We’re screwed.”

She let out a long, irritated breath. “That’s what I like about you, Convict. You always keep things interesting.” Meeting his gaze again, she frowned. “How did you get the map, anyway?”

“I drew it once I escaped jail.”

“Then I was right—you did intend to one day clear your name.”

A strange look crossed his face an instant before he rolled over and got up.

“Why did you wait, Syn?”

He growled as if aggravated by her interrogation. “Things came up. I didn’t have the time nor the inclination.”

Her frown deepened. That didn’t make any sense. The Syn she’d grown to know wouldn’t have been so lackadaisical about his freedom. “Like what?”

Syn sighed as he remembered all the reasons he’d made for not exposing Merjack. In the end, it came down to one thing—who would ever believe the son of Idirian Wade accusing the man who was credited with bringing down his father? Sheridan Wade was filthy trash, and if his stints in prison had ever taught him anything, it was that people like him got screwed while people like Merjack screwed everyone else and got away with it.

Had he even tried to clear his name, he would have probably been executed for it. The way the media skewed things, they’d have called it a vendetta accusation and crucified him over it. The only reason he was trying to set the record straight now was that Shahara’s sterling reputation as a seax might negate the stigma.

Maybe.

But he didn’t want to share that with her. She would dismiss it and call him paranoid—because in her world, honesty prevailed. In his world, it got people killed.

“Forget it.”

Shahara wanted to curse. His tone told her that it’d be wise to heed him. This time, anyway.

Still, the mystery tantalized her.

How she wanted to understand his reasoning. What would have caused him to continue running when all he had to do was turn the chip over to the authorities? That had to be simpler than living with all the people who’d been sent to track him down over the years.

Maybe she didn’t know him so well after all.

Once they were showered and dressed, they joined Vik and Nero on the bridge. Nero didn’t say a word, but Shahara had a feeling he knew exactly what they’d done.

“We’re coming up on Ritadaria,” he told Syn. “Bet you never thought you’d be back here.”

“Not alive, anyway. What about you?”

“As a tracer and tracker, I bill them, but it doesn’t mean I like it here any more than you do. I try to avoid coming to the planet as much as I can.”

Shahara frowned. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll arrest you?”

Nero snorted. “I wasn’t a convict, Dagan. I was an illegally purchased slave. My owner”—he sneered the term—“has no legal claim on me. And I’m no longer a kid learning my powers. I’m a full-grown man with an ax I want to bury in the forehead of anyone dumb enough to come at me. I defy the bastards to try something now.”

A chill went down her spine as she realized he was every bit the predator Syn was. And she never wanted to be on the bad side of either man.

Syn took the copilot chair to help guide them in. “Any of the people you work for know what you are?”

“Nope. I kill anyone who learns.”

“Good.”

Yeah, but not for the ones they killed. Shahara made her way to her seat. Vik, back in his bird form, came over to sit by her.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“I’m hanging with you ’cause you seem to be a little more sane.”

Syn made a sound of irritation. “Traitor.”

“Luntic,” Vik shot back.

Shahara laughed as she put Vik in her lap in preparation of their landing. “It’s all right, sweetie. I’ve got you.”

He manifested two arms to give her a hug.

She had no idea why, but his actions touched her. “Thank you, Vik. I needed that.”

He walked himself up to sit in the chair beside her before he laid his head on her thigh.

A few minutes later, they docked in the main city on Ritadaria in broad daylight. Syn cursed their luck as he locked down the ship’s systems.

She scanned the security that was milling around the bay. “Do you think Merjack’s trackers are here?”

Syn shook his head. “Probably not. The prison’s on another continent. But considering how well known my father was and how many people still remember him, it’d be easy for someone to ID me based on looks alone—which was how that fucking reporter found me. Her father was being treated in my hospital when she saw me in the hallway. She put two and two together and then came at me. I’d hate for that to happen again.”

Her, too.

Looking at their borrowed uniforms that didn’t really fit, she smirked. “And we’re not really dressed to blend in here.”