Born of Fire

Kill her!

But he had a bad suspicion about her identity and if she was whom he thought . . .

Better to have her beat him into the ground than the alternative.

Out of her sleeves, two knives appeared. She moved at him, slashing. He put his arm up to block her attack. Their forearms collided, then she swiped his arm with the blade. It sliced straight through his padding to his flesh.

“Son of a . . .”

She stomped his foot. “Surrender, convict. I don’t have to take you in alive.”

He glared down at her as he tried to pin her again and failed. “Then you better get ready to kill me cause that’s the only way I’m going in.”

Shahara headbutted him, then scissor kicked his chest. In a fluid roll, she scooped her blaster up from the floor and angled it at him.

He finally froze.

“Cute attack,” she sneered, waving him back into the bedroom with the barrel of her weapon. This time she knew to keep a good distance between them.

His eyes blazing obsidian fire, he obeyed in a manner that told her he didn’t often cooperate with orders.

No, she could tell by the arrogant, taunting smile that this man was a leader or a loner.

Never a follower.

“Not half as cute as yours.” He rubbed his groin meaningfully.

She shrugged at his sarcasm. “He who waits, loses.”

The fierce scowl Syn gave her told her he didn’t like the old Gondarion proverb at all.

Disregarding the look, she tossed him a pair of laser cuffs. They landed at his booted feet with a soft jingle. “Put those on quick or I’ll blast you straight to hell.”

He picked the cuffs up in his fist as if they disgusted him. His black gaze hardened and she swore she could actually smell the danger that radiated from every pore of his body.

She tensed her finger over the trigger, expecting him to toss the cuffs in her face. It wouldn’t be the first time a convict had reacted that way and she had a few more tricks to unleash if he chose that action.

A loud whistle blared in the room behind her. Startled, she snapped around to make sure someone wasn’t coming in to help him. Before she could focus on what the noise was, Syn’s hands closed around hers.

How had he moved that fast? He should still be on the other side of the room.

Her heart racing, she struggled for her weapon, kicking and punching at him with all the fury coursing through her body. If he got her blaster away, he’d kill her for sure.

His grip tightened around her hand, numbing her fingers until she could barely feel the roughened grip of her blaster. She tried to headbutt him, but he dodged too fast.

To her horror, the blaster dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

Cursing, she reverted to her strict training and punched at his throat.

Syn caught her hand in his before she could make contact with his windpipe. Wrenching her arm painfully behind her back, he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

Shahara cursed as she struggled. In spite of her best efforts and blows, he knelt down, retrieved the blasters from the floor, then tossed her on his bed.

The soft, lump-free mattress startled her for the briefest moment before true panic consumed her. He stood a few feet away from the bed, gazing down at her with dark eyes.

Her vision dimmed. Snarling, she dove for him with only one goal—to escape with her life and body intact.

Syn switched his blaster setting from kill to stun and shot her in the shoulder before she could reach him.

A soft gasp left her lips. Her eyes widened as she clutched at her shoulder, then she crumpled to the floor.

A twinge of guilt annoyed him. He’d been stunned enough times to know she’d have a vicious headache when she woke up.

But what other choice did he have? She seemed to be a determined little cozu.

Shaking his head in bitter amusement, he knelt beside her to check her pulse. Satisfied he hadn’t hurt her, he took a good look at her peaceful features. Damned if she wasn’t the most attractive woman he’d ever thrown onto his bed. Not that he’d ever made a habit of tossing women there, but still . . .

The flesh of her throat was warm and soft beneath his hand, something completely at odds with her tough demeanor. Trailing his finger over her creamy cheek, he stared at her lips, which were slightly parted while she breathed. He couldn’t help wondering how much softer they might be, as well as other, more tender parts of her body.

Aching pains stabbed his groin.

Yeah, that’s just what you need to add to your already fucked up day. Sleep with a woman who wanted to hand him over to his enemies. A woman who had no compunctions about shooting him. Or, as he looked at his bleeding forearm, carving parts off his body.