Born of Fire

Cautiously, Syn entered his flat. He scanned the room, half expecting Shahara to be waiting beside the door to whack him with another bottle.

Instead, the room was clear. Tempted to check the bedroom, he decided it would be safest just to stay away from her. Besides, the sight of her sleeping in his bed was not a memory he really wanted haunting him. He already had enough images of her he was sure would torture him for the rest of his life.

She was one of Caillen’s beloved sisters and he must treat her that way.

Yawning, he looked at his couches. He hadn’t slept in days and he really, really needed to sleep for awhile.

Too tired to think, he stretched out on the couch facing the window. With any luck, she’d be a late sleeper and he could get enough rest to deal with her without losing his temper.

And in just a few more hours Caillen would be back. He’d left an urgent message for Caillen to call him. As soon as Caillen returned, he’d turn her over to her brother. Let Caillen deal with her stubbornness.

All he wanted was sleep.

Shahara heard the creak of the couch under Syn’s weight. The sound of him entering the flat had awakened her instantly. She lay in bed, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat, fearful that any moment would find him coming into the room.

Her nerves stretched almost to breaking, she waited until she thought she’d scream in anxious nervousnes. But no footsteps came any closer to the bedroom.

Sliding out of bed, she walked silently toward the bathroom door.

Was he truly sleeping, or just waiting for another opportunity to catch her unawares?

She went through the bathroom and pushed open the door. She hesitated in the doorway, clenching the icy knob, ready to slam the door shut and lock it if he moved.

He didn’t.

She studied the steady rise and fall of his chest and realized he was fast asleep. Breathing in relief, she released the knob.

Against her common sense which urged her back to bed, she stepped into the room. The dawning sun brightened the area around the couch and she saw the outline of his perfect, relaxed features. He’d pulled his hair out of the ponytail and the dark, wavy strands spilled over his cheeks, softening the harshness from his face.

Asleep, he didn’t look intimidating, he looked like a small, defenseless child. A warm tremor ran through her body as she remembered what he’d looked like holding his son.

Convict or not, he was an incredibly handsome man. Every bit as devastating as her brother.

He shifted on the couch.

Shahara stepped back, her heart slamming against her ribs. He didn’t wake up, but his new position showed her his blaster that was still strapped to his hip while he slept.

A glimmer of hope ignited inside her. This was her chance. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

Without a second thought, she crossed the distance between them and jerked the blaster from his holster.

In an instant, he sprang to his feet. “What the . . . ?” He focused on her, then relaxed. “Oh, it’s you.” He wiped his hands across his face.

His indifference angered her. How dare he dismiss her so readily as if she were of no more consequence than an annoying little pest.

She clicked back the safety release and leveled the blaster at his chest. “Open the door.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up, showing her his damnable dimple. “That—” he indicated the blaster in her hand, “doesn’t give you any leverage. If you kill me, you die, too.”

Shahara gripped the hard, bone stock and raised the barrel to his head. “I said open the door, convict. I’m not playing a game here.”

Syn sighed as if she bored him. “Go ahead. Shoot me. You’ll have to kill me because I have no intention of letting you out of here when we both know you’ll just turn around and head back for me the first chance you get. Besides, I’m as good as dead anyway if the Rits ever lay their grubby hands on me. So go ahead and shoot.”

Shahara stared at him in disbelief.

What should she do?

“Or give me my gun, and go back to bed.” He reached his hand out to her.

She caught herself right before complying. She couldn’t give him back the blaster. If she gave up the weapon, then she’d never get out of here.

It would cede all of her power over to him.

“Open the door,” she repeated, feeling somewhat foolish.

“No.”

She stared into his mocking eyes. He knew she was trapped. If she relinquished the blaster, then he’d never respect her, or free her.

If she didn’t get home soon, Tessa would die.

She had no choice in this.

Lowering the barrel, she fired.

The jolt of the blast knocked Syn off his feet. His breath left him as he slammed against the hardwood floor. Pain ripped through his arm like fire.

He closed his eyes against the throbbing agony. Warm blood streamed over the hand clutching the gaping wound. Son of a . . .

He sucked his breath in sharply between his teeth as his entire body ached.