Born of Fire

Changing course, she headed for it.

She tried to calm the pounding beat of her heart that sent even more sharp pulses of pain to her head and played havoc with her eyesight. Damn him for that particular misery. She gripped the bottle in her icy, clammy hands and slipped inside the bathroom.

It was empty.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she crept toward the door on the opposite side which also had a knob. So far, everything looked good.

As silently as she could, she pushed the door open, relieved the hinges didn’t creak.

She took a step into his room, then froze in shocked disbelief. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it definitely wasn’t the sight greeting her.

On the opposite side of the room, Syn knelt on a red, embroidered prayer cloth, his head sedately bowed, his eyes reverently closed. His ebony hair, pulled back into a ponytail, hung just past his wide shoulders.

He wore a pair of black leather pants and a loose, black silk shirt, the cuffs rolled back from his wrists. She could see the tiniest bit of white bandage on the arm where she’d cut him earlier and a bit of scroll work from a tattoo it covered. His gloved hands rested on his knees, turned palm upwards, and before him lay an opened prayer book. The light glinted off two silver hoops in his left ear.

Even while he rested she could detect his aura of restrained lethal power. See the outline of steely muscles beneath the leather and silk, and for some unknown reason she wished she could hear the masculine, musical cadence of his voice while he whispered a prayer.

What are you? Insane?

He’s a felon.

She tightened her grip on the bottle. Pray? How could anyone with his brutal reputation be so hypocritical?

The thought sent anger pouring through her.

Her eyes focused on the blaster strapped to his left hip and a slow smile spread across her face. That was the ticket to freedom.

Without making a sound to alert him to her presence or intentions, she snuck across the room and reached for his weapon. His hand enclosed hers before she could snatch the blaster free.

He glared up at her with eyes that were . . .

Well . . .

As dark as sin.

And every bit as frigid and evil.

With a curse, Shahara raised the bottle to strike him.

Quicker than she could blink, he pulled the blaster free and held it under her chin. “I don’t like scars,” he gritted between his teeth in that deep baritone voice that sent a shiver down her spine. “And I really hate people who mess up my house. Put the bottle down, slowly, and take a step back.”

Shahara weighed her options as she felt the cold barrel of his blaster pressing against her jaw. The air around her sizzled with his anger and ferocity. Two things belied by blank, emotionless eyes that stared into hers.

She knew he would kill her without a second thought.

She swallowed the tight lump of fear in her throat. There had to be some way she could gain the advantage.

A sudden idea leapt into her mind—distraction.

Yeah, but she hated what that would entail since she only had one thing she could use.

I would rather be shot than come on to a convict.

If you don’t get that weapon out of his hand, you will be.

She forced herself not to show her anger or frustration. Like it or not, she only had one thing to rely on and if she didn’t get his blaster, she was at his mercy for however long he decided to keep her.

And no one knew where she was to even look for her.

The first rule of a Seax was to use whatever means you had at your disposal . . .

That cemented it. Curving her lips into a seductive smile, she slowly, suggestively slid the bottle down the front of her battlesuit and set it on the hardwood floor with a soft thud. She took a step back, giving him a warm, playful look.

He holstered his weapon and rose slowly to his feet.

Shahara tensed in uncertainty at his height. She barely reached mid-chest. And he had a way about him that dominated the room. A way about him that made him seem even more formidable.

He watched her like a deadly viper eyeing its prey—calculating, waiting. Ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

But then men were fools. Even dangerous ones. They lived their lives by their hormones and as long as she kept her wits about her, he would be easy prey to her tactics.

Her life and Tessa’s depended on her acting ability.

Opening her mouth, Shahara licked her lips and scanned his body with a hungry look that would make a prostitute proud. “We could negotiate this,” she whispered, her voice heavy with feigned desire as she gazed meaningfully at the bulge in his pants, then to the bed.

Syn stared at her in disbelief, his senses whirling at the real-life version of his fantasy. All too well, he remembered Caillen’s stories about his notorious sister, as well as the rumors that circulated about her fierceness.