Born of Fire

God, she’d been so stupid. Why had she not seen through him from the beginning?

But she knew. She’d been so strong for so long that it was nice to be able to lean on someone else for a change. And he’d seemed so interested and nice . . .

Young and innocent, she’d wanted to believe that there was goodness in the world. That happy endings were possible and that people were decent.

Yeah, right.

All he’d been interested in was her body and what little money she had. And after he’d felt he’d waited long enough, he’d taken what he wanted and left her bleeding.

That day, she’d died, too. Not physically, but inside. Every hope or dream she’d ever held about her future vanished. From that day forward, she knew there would be no children—Gaelin had seen to it that would never happen.

No love, no husband.

Nothing but a long life spent serving her siblings and trying not to let it turn her bitter. Making sure that they were able to have the dreams she didn’t dare have anymore. Making sure that no one ever took from them what had been brutally taken from her.

Her throat tightened and she wished she could cry. But what was the use? Tears were cheap and she wasn’t one to wallow.

Still, she wished she’d never met Gaelin. Wished she could have met Syn under another set of circumstances.

Wouldn’t it have been great to meet Sheridan Belask, medical student? Ignorant of his past, she could have probably liked him a whole lot.

Gah, Syn’s right, you are a crybaby. Enough. What was done was done. She couldn’t go back, and right now they had much bigger problems ahead.

Switching off the monitor, she promised herself that she would think no more of what could have been and no more about him.

She couldn’t afford to.

Hours later, Syn came awake to the sound of the intercom buzzer. “Yeah,” he said, his voice ragged from the new pain that had seeped into his bones while he rested.

Don’t move. Don’t breathe.

Someone, shoot me and put me out of the misery . . . Why did it have to hurt so much to move? He rolled his eyes as the medical reasons shot through his head. Shut up, brain. I know why I hurt. I just don’t want to.

“We’re coming up on Rook. I thought you might want to come up here and talk to the controller.”

“Not really,” he breathed. But she was right. She’d get them shot out of the sky. His luck, she’d even admit who they were and the fact that they were coming in to hide.

Grinding his teeth in expectation of more pain, Syn carefully pushed himself off the bed, pulled on Caillen’s hated boots, and went to join her.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked as soon as he entered the bridge.

“Like a baby vorna that’s been caught in a steel trap.” He took the pilot’s chair and tried not to breathe anymore.

She shook her head at him. “They started asking for our letters and registration a second ago.”

“Did you give them any?”

“No.”

“Good girl.” He flipped open the channel. “Cut it, moron, if I had this thing registered, I wouldn’t be here. I lifted her on Gondara. Let us pass before I hunt you down and beat you for wasting my fucking time.”

The channel buzzed for several seconds until a gruff voice came back. “Who’s her captain?”

“Chryton Doone.”

“Dock in Bay Nine, Hangar Delta Four.”

Shahara lifted her brows in surprise of both his new name and the ease with which they were granted landing approval.

Was Chryton what the C stood for?

No. Chryton couldn’t be it. The name just didn’t suit him.

She sat back in her chair. “That was easy.”

“Don’t go optimistic on me.” He brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I promise they’ll have a welcoming party for us. So keep quiet and pray no one recognizes you.”

Yeah, that could be bad. Bringing a tracer on board a planet of criminals was suicide indeed. And if any of them marked her, she was sure not even Syn’s reputation would see her through. And while she could fight with the best of them, they seriously outnumbered her here.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

In a few minutes, Syn had them docked and locked.

Just as he predicted, a group of three armed men and two armed women came out to greet them. They waited just outside the doorway, weapons held at ready.

Syn sat at the console for several seconds, flicking his finger back and forth over the lateral controls as if he, too, were debating the sanity of being here.

At last, he rose to his feet, shrugged on his jacket, and headed for the boarding ramp.

When he reached the end of the corridor, he paused. A small mirror had been placed just to the left of the hatch and he took a moment to look at himself.

“Ah, jeez,” he sneered, fidgeting with his hair to help conceal the bruise on his forehead. “I look like I climbed out of a hole in hell.”

“Well then, you ought to fit in here.”