Born of Fire

Even kill the debtor as an example to others.

She growled in frustration. How many more times would Tessa borrow money from scum to invest in stupid schemes or just throw away on gambling? And how many more times would Tessa run to her when the balance came due?

Like she could just snap her fingers and get it.

But then she’d trained her sister from an early age that she would always make everything okay. Whatever Tessa asked, she gave.

No questions asked.

Shahara hung her head in her hands. Never once in the past had Tessa been hurt. And she cursed herself that she hadn’t been quicker this time. She’d gathered as much as she could as fast as she could, but it hadn’t been enough.

There never seemed to be enough.

She sighed in disgust.

Why hadn’t Tessa come to her sooner? Maybe then she could have sold something to pay off her sister’s latest debt.

She gave a bitter laugh as she looked around the threadbare furniture she’d recovered from landfills and her rundown, one-room, economy condo. Sell what? Thanks to her siblings, she didn’t own anything of real value. Not even her rusty, dilapidated fighter would bring enough money from an auction to pay half of what Tessa owed.

“I swear, Tess, one day I’m going to kill you.”

If only their father hadn’t been such a dreamer, maybe then he could have left them something more than a mountain of debts that she still, fifteen years later, hadn’t paid the full balance on.

If only Tessa hadn’t inherited their father’s useless idealism.

If only—

The landlink buzzed.

Shahara stared at it, her throat tightening to the point she couldn’t breathe. It had to be the doctor. She’d been waiting half the night for this call and now she was too terrified to answer.

Please don’t let Tessa be dead . . .

She should never have left the hospital, but after waiting alone for three hours, she couldn’t stand it any longer. Too many memories of her mother’s final days had tormented her. Closing her eyes, she tried to blot out the images of whispered conversations from dispassionate health-care workers. The smell of antiseptics. Their collective curled lips as they looked down on her family for not having enough money to pay for treatments.

Most of all the sight of the doctor covering her mother’s lifeless body with a sheet. His emotionless tone still rang in her ears, “Too bad you didn’t bring her in sooner. We might have saved her if we’d had more time.”

And more money.

Her father hadn’t been able to afford a lengthy hospital stay or even the medications her mother had needed. Poverty had crippled her mother, then killed her. Too many members of her family had died and she couldn’t stand to lose Tessa, too.

I’ll do anything to get the money. Please, just let her live.

With a shaking hand, she opened the channel. The screen brightened to show her the doctor staring at her with dark, unsympathetic eyes. Shahara’s stomach twisted into a cold lump of fear and, for a moment, she thought she’d be sick as she waited for news she didn’t want to hear.

“Seax Dagan,” he said, addressing her with her professional title, “your sister is out of surgery and in recovery. She’ll be fine . . . in time, but the voucher she used for the hospital cost was returned with a denial. I’m afraid without proper medical attention, your sister won’t last for more than a few hours.”

Shahara closed her eyes, relief washing over her.

Tessa would make it.

“Fria Dagan, did you hear me?” he asked, reverting to the ordinary form of address for a woman—and a term letting her know that he thought she wasn’t worthy of the title Seax. After all, a Seax worth her salt wouldn’t be impoverished.

If only the bastard knew the truth. It wasn’t her lack of skills that kept her poor, it was her family obligations, and unlike others of her ilk, she would never abandon her family.

Even if they were stupid when it came to money . . .

“We’re going to have to turn her out unless we can get a valid voucher.”

The knot in her stomach twisted even harder and she clenched her fists. Shahara was so tired of being poor, so tired of the people who looked down their snobby noses at her and demanded their money as if all she had to do was grab it off the nearest shelf. People who had no idea just how precious every credit was.

Every bead of sweat came with a hefty price tag . . .

She opened her eyes and forced her anger and hatred aside. “I heard you, Doctor. I’ll get the money for you in cash. If you’ll give me three days.”

His sympathetic stare turned to doubt. She’d seen that look too many times in her life and she despised it.

She added coldly, “I’ll sign over the deed to my ship as collateral.”

He nodded. “Very well. We’ll keep her here for the duration.” He cut the transmission.