Born of Fire

He blinked open his swollen eyes as much as he could. “Talia?” he whispered like a fearful child.

“Sheez, you’re already hallucinating.” This was the last thing she needed. A man twice her size dreaming of who knew what. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a violent dream he was having—at least not until she could get him inside and put a safe distance between them.

But his semiconscious state made it easier to get him out of her ship. He leaned heavily against her. She looked around the neighboring flats, hoping no one saw them and called the local enforcers.

How in the world she would explain this?

With a sigh, she tugged him toward her condo.

“Where are we going?” he asked in a fearful whisper as he leaned on her. “You know he’s going to find us again. He’ll just get madder if we run. Maybe we should just wait for him to come back. If he’s drunk, we can hide and he won’t see us.”

“Yeah.” She moved him into her home and toward her bed. “Why don’t you just lie here and wait.” She pulled the sheet back and helped him lie down.

He curled up like a child.

Shahara went to the sink and grabbed a bowl of tepid water and a fresh washcloth.

By the time she returned to the bed, Syn had rolled on to his back and appeared to be asleep. It was probably for the best. He needed to rest as much as possible. They had a long journey ahead of them and not a lot of time to complete it.

As gently as she could, she bathed the caked blood from the side of his full, sensuous mouth. His steely jaw.

Long, aquiline nose.

One large bruise had formed over his left eye, swelling it shut. As she continued to sponge him, she noted another bruise on his forehead that looked like someone had slammed him head first into a wall.

Repeatedly.

“They certainly made a mess of you,” she whispered, running the washcloth over the discolored area of his neck. All too well she could detect the outline of someone’s fingers as they’d tried to choke him.

“Wow, I’m not the only one you bring out the worst in. What? You tick off everyone you meet?”

But all kidding aside, she couldn’t understand his condition.

Why had they beaten him like this? It wasn’t like the types of punishment they used for misbehavior. He’d been thoroughly and brutally interrogated. From the cuts and bruising, it looked like they’d used every known probe to cause as much damage and pain to him as possible.

Why would Merjack, Chief Minister of Justice for the Ritadarion Empire do such a thing?

What was on that chip that was worth killing a man over? Merjack had said it was a matter of international security, but . . .

This was ridiculous.

Tenderly, Syn reached up and cupped her cheek. Shahara paused and met his gaze, amazed at the gentleness of his fingers against her skin.

Love and protectiveness blazed bright in the dark depths, taking her breath. “I’m sorry, Talia,” he said so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him. “I did everything I could. I swear I’ll make sure no one hurts you anymore. When I’m big enough, I’m going to get us out of here. I swear it. You’ll be safe then. Just please don’t cry.”

Shahara’s heart lurched as she realized he thought she was someone else. His sister from the sounds of it. “I won’t cry anymore.”

He seemed to take some comfort from her words. With a deep sigh, he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Grateful for the reprieve, Shahara removed his pants and started bathing the dirt and blood from his body.

His tawny chest was bare with hard, well-formed pectorals that tightened and flexed under her hands. Well-defined, bruised biceps and triceps warned of extreme strength, as did the tight muscles of his forearms, and the tendons on his long, lean hands.

His wide shoulders tapered to a washboard stomach and narrow hips. On the left side of his stomach, just beside his navel, ran an old jagged scar from a knife or dagger. She flinched at the thought of how much such a wound would hurt.

As gently as she could, she rolled him to his side and washed the blood from his back. Clenching her teeth in unexpected anger, she couldn’t even begin to count how many more lashes had been added.

Her bed sheets were ruined. Not that it really mattered. That was a petty concern given his condition.

How she wished she could afford fredavine to smooth over the red, swollen cuts to help them heal and take the sting out. What had Merjack been thinking? Beaten like this, it’d be weeks before Syn would be mobile again.

If he didn’t die . . .

With that thought in mind, she began washing the blood out of his hair as best she could. She’d never seen hair so dark and the softness of it surprised her. It was the only thing about him that was soft. The rest of his body was like coiled steel.

As gently as she could, she rolled him back over, then wrung out her cloth.

Moving back to him, her gaze dipped down to his . . .

Her face burst into flames. She’d been doing her best not to look, but now that she had, it was all she could see.