Born of Fire

He shrugged his jacket off and tossed it over his black leather sofa before picking up the remote to lower the blinds against the bright sunlight.

He leaned his head against the cool, metal slats and sighed. Never in his life had he been more repulsed. Nykyrian was in love with Kiara Zamir and her father was out to crucify them.

Why wouldn’t Nykyrian listen to him and return her before it was too late? What kind of fool with a price on his head fell in love with a princess from a planet that wanted him dead?

Syn rubbed at the sudden throb in his temples, repulsed by his friend’s devotion to a woman who would be the death of them all.

What an idiot. Women were treacherous. All of them. And Kiara had already shown her true colors. The moment she’d seen them for what they were—what their pasts had made them—she’d vomited and cursed them, just like everyone else.

Lying harita.

But then, having been stupid enough once to think that a woman could see through his past to the person he’d become, he understood Nykyrian’s idiocy better than he wanted to.

Yet it was all a lie. No one escaped their past. No matter how hard they tried.

Men were blind fools and women weakened the soul and stole the heart. Then when they had both in their possession, they stomped them into the ground.

Bitches.

Unable to stand it, he went to his bar and grabbed a glass and a bottle of the strongest whisky he had. As he poured it, his gaze fell to the stuffed animal and photo frame of his son.

Paden . . .

He winced in misery as bitter memories tore through him.

Mara, listen to me. I’m not my father. I would never hurt you.

No, you’re worse than your father. At least he stayed in the gutter where he belonged. You . . . you made me believe the lies you told. That you were decent and respectable. You said your father was a businessman. You bastard! His wife had raked him with a sneer so seeded with hatred that it was forever branded in his memory. How could I have ever let you into my life?

I would never hurt you or Paden. Please, listen to me.

She’d slapped him so hard, the blow had split his lip. If anyone else had dared that, he’d have cut them in half. But like a pathetic nothing, he’d taken it from her.

Get out! I’ve already called the enforcers to arrest you. If I ever see you again, so help me, I’ll shoot you myself!

This from the woman he’d lived to make happy. The woman he’d given everything to. His heart. His soul. His life.

In the end, it didn’t matter that he’d treated her like royalty and would have sold his soul for a single rose to make her smile. Mara had betrayed him and taken everything he’d ever cared about for no other reason than his father had been a first-rank bastard and Syn, rather than lying down and dying, had fought to make a better life for himself.

All his life it hadn’t mattered to him that he was shit to the world. He was used to that. It was the day he’d become shit to his wife and son that had ruined him.

All he’d ever wanted was for one person to not blame him for his parentage. One woman who could look at him like he was a man and not a monster out to hurt her.

Then he’d asked the dumbest, most pathetic question of his life. Did you ever love me . . . even a little?

How could anyone love something like you? You’re a liar, a thief and a convict. All I wanted was your money. If only I’d known the truth about you . . . you disgust me. Get out!

Yeah, there was no such thing as love. It was a myth made up by assholes who only wanted to sell stories and rings people couldn’t afford to gullible fools.

He didn’t understand love in any fashion. The gods knew, he’d never seen it in his life. It was as elusive to him as sleep.

His fury dying at the last thought, he grabbed his son’s frame, the stuffed toy, and his bottle, and skirted around the edge of his two facing sofas.

Stifling a yawn, he headed to his bedroom in back.

Later, he’d beat sense into Nykyrian. Right now, all he wanted was a good eight solid hours of oblivious rest.

You know it’s not safe here.

Yeah, his apartment had been seriously compromised, but damn it, he wasn’t going to be run out of his home for anything. If they came for him here, they’d learn . . .

And if they killed him, really, who would care?

Without disrobing or removing his blaster, he threw himself face down on the light, feather mattress that heaved under his weight. He clutched his soft, feathered pillow under his head, and sighed in deep contentment before he rolled over onto his back. A few hours of this and he’d be as good as new.

He leaned up to shove Paden’s frame and toy into his nightstand, then took a deep swig of whisky straight from the bottle and set it aside.

Lying back on his bed, he closed his eyes.

Gah, nothing felt better than this . . .