Born of Fire

Syn came up behind her again, silent as a ghost, and pulled her back against his chest so that she could tell the interruption hadn’t dampened his mood a bit.

She realized then that he always moved that way. Graceful and quiet like a feral hunting beast. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he had assassin training. But then, given his father, his training had probably been even harsher.

He looked at the food, then back at her. “I don’t know which aching need to quench first. I think I’d rather take a bite out of you.”

Catching his chin in her hand, she laughed. “Take care of the food first. I assure you I won’t get cold.”

His deep laugh joined hers, and he gave her a kiss of promise and a tantalizing stroke between her legs before taking a seat at the table.

Shahara went for their drinks before she joined him.

Sitting down, she stared at all the cutlery the waiter had brought them. There were three different forks—obviously for different foods. Which one should she use? It was a foolish concern, she knew, but after what he’d said about Mara, she didn’t want him to find her lacking in any way.

As she struggled to put her peas on her fork the same elegant way he did, he reached over and touched her hand. Looking up, she was captivated by the tenderness in his dark eyes.

He took the fork from her grasp and stabbed the peas with it. “I quit caring about such stupid things a long time ago. Manners don’t make you decent and it doesn’t make you a better human. Trust me. Eat your food in peace and know that you’re more of a lady than any noblewoman I’ve ever met.” He handed her the fork.

Swallowing the bite, she watched him from under her lashes, somewhat embarrassed that he’d noticed what she’d been doing. And that she’d failed so miserably at having etiquette.

A painful lump settled in her stomach. “When I was little, I used to sit in the market down the street from where we lived and watch the upper plebs come in to shop. They were always so elegant and beautiful. I used to pretend I was one of them. Did you ever do that?”

“No. I used to pretend I was Vik. I’d send him out to fly, and I’d wear vids so that I could see and hear what he did. I wanted his freedom so badly that I don’t think I’d be sane today had I not made him.”

She sighed as she remembered her own childhood. While bad, it was nothing compared to his. “Did you move a lot?”

“Constantly. We weren’t allowed to keep anything that couldn’t fit into a pack that we could grab and go whenever the authorities got too close to my father. I can’t even count how many times Digger would wake us up in the middle of the night to run.”

She sucked her breath in sharply. “I always hated that feeling of panic most.”

He cocked a brow at her words. “You ran, too?”

“From creditors. My dad would wait until the day before eviction and we’d have to flee before they arrested him. I remember when I was ten, my pack got left behind because I was helping Caillen.”

Syn paused as he heard the raw hurt in her voice. “What was in it?”

“Stupid girl stuff. A diary, my clothes, but what I missed most was my Agatha doll. She was the only thing new I’d ever gotten.” She shook her head. “Ridiculous, right?”

“No. It’s not. Objects are the markers of our humanity. Everything we hold onto has meaning for us. Those things are a souvenir that can transport us to that exact moment in time and make us feel that emotion all over again. Take Vik, for example. He reminds me of the need I had to be free, but I also remember the beatings I took while I worked on him. One in particular was brutal because I was so focused on him that I didn’t hear my dad call me.”

“Is that why you left him behind?”

“Yeah. I wanted nothing to do with my past. It wasn’t until Mara left me that I had Digger send me the picture of me and Talia. It was only then I came to terms with the fact that my past, for better or worse, has made me who and what I am. My father and the anger I will always have for him gave me the ability to kill anyone who ever came at me, but it was my sister and Digger who made me human. Without them, I would be my father’s son. And because of them, I can never victimize someone like them, no matter what it costs me.”

Shahara took his hand in hers. “You are a good man, Syn.”

Syn froze at the only thing no one had ever accused him of before. Coming from her lips, he wanted to believe it.

But he knew better.

“I’m just a piece of shit, Shahara, trying to survive.” He pushed his chair back and left her to finish eating in peace. He knew he couldn’t stay there anymore and watch her. The pain stabbing his groin was too ferocious. But it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest that wanted things to be different.

That wanted him to be different.

Tossing back a deep gulp of wine, he walked over to the music console and chose a soft melody.

Instead of distracting him, it only made him crave her more.