Born of Fire

“Fuck you. You have no idea what she said to me. She told me she was using me.”


“And Kiara told me she wished I’d died. I know your pain, Syn. I chugged it down whole and I even tried to wash it away with alcohol. But only one thing cured it.”

“And that was?”

“Swallowing my pride. No, it wasn’t easy and I choked on it. But I tell you what. Every day I wake up with that one tiny hand touching my skin makes up for whatever manhood I thought I’d lost by apologizing to her. You can sit here and masturbate all you want, but in the end it’s not the same thing. Trust me. I do know.”

Nykyrian pulled back to glare down at him. “Now, I’m going home to my wife and I’m going to be grateful that I was man enough to fight for her. I dare you to be the man I know you can be.” And with that, he left.

Syn lay there while Nykyrian’s words tormented him. In the end, he knew his friend was right. The only problem was he didn’t have it in him to get up.

Shahara leaned one hip against her kitchen counter, watching Caillen scroll through job listings on her computer.

“I’m never going to find another job,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“That’s what you get for being a jerk.”

He cast a dirty glare her way. “So when are you going to dive into all that money you were paid? I need a loan.”

“Do I look like a bank?” She popped him playfully on the back of his head. “Get a job and then we’ll talk.”

“Fine, but if I had that much money, I sure wouldn’t live in this slime hole.”

Shahara looked around at her patched walls. Caillen was right—she did live in a dump. Over the last week, she’d looked at a couple of places to live, but so far she hadn’t found anyplace that seemed like home.

Even if she had, she wouldn’t have bought it. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to spend any of the money.

Her guilt over Syn ran too deep.

It’d been six months since they released him. Six incredibly long, lonely months of wondering how he was, what he was doing.

Who he was doing it with.

He wanted nothing to do with her and she wasn’t about to go begging again. She might not have much in this world, but she did have her pride.

Sighing, she walked over to her shoddy cooling unit and poured herself a glass of juice. “Surely there has to be someone somewhere who needs a no-account pilot like you.”

He made an obscene gesture at her.

Before she could respond, a knock sounded on her door.

Caillen frowned. “You expecting company?”

She shook her head, then went to answer it.

It was a uniformed delivery man. “Good afternoon, fria. I have a package here for Shahara Dagan.”

“I am she.”

“Good.” He held a ledger out for her. “If you’ll just sign—”

“I didn’t order anything,” she said, interrupting him.

“Ma’am, I’m just the messenger. If you’d like to talk it over with someone who knows something more about it, there’s a number on the invoice you can hail.” He held the ledger out for her once again.

Signing her name, she took the box from his hands.

Caillen looked up. “What is it?”

She shrugged and reached for a knife to open it. Unfolding the box, her frown grew. Layers of gold tissue paper met her hand and she dug through it until she touched something incredibly soft.

Picking it up, her mouth dropped open.

It was the blue-green dress from the hotel lobby that she’d wanted so badly. Not only the dress, but everything that went with it—stockings, shoes, even a shawl.

“Did he send you that?”

“Shut up, Caillen,” she snapped, reveling in the softness as she held the delicate sleeve up to her cheek. It really did feel as soft as a spider’s web. Warmth spread through her.

Why would Syn have sent her this?

Unless . . .

Her heart sped up. Could it be his way of apologizing?

It must be.

And if he were ready to see her again, then maybe, just maybe . . .

Elated, she rushed to the bathroom to try her dress on. Once she had settled it over her body, she ran her hands down the front. Oh, it was magnificent. And it made her feel so beautiful. So feminine.

Needing to share it with someone, she twirled back out to where Caillen sat. “What do you think?”

He glanced over at her and snorted. “You look like some rich guy’s mistress. I think it’s disgusting.”

“You’re so mean.” Shahara unbraided her hair, then twisted it up into a loose bun. Pulling stray tendrils of it around her face, she glared at Caillen. “It’s your own fault you can’t find work. After what you said to Syn, you deserve to starve and go begging in the streets.”

For the first time, she saw contrition in his eyes. “I know I shouldn’t have said what I did. But you have to understand that there’s a special code between guys—you don’t bed-rock with your best friend’s sister. Ever.”

She rolled her eyes at his crudeness.

“You’re my big sister, Shay, and I always thought you were above baser emotions.”