Born of Fire

Out of nowhere, two hands grabbed her legs.

“You’re almost there,” Syn said, guiding her to land on the balcony beside him.

Letting go of that rope was the easiest thing she’d ever done. She rubbed her hands down her sides, trying to use the material of the gloves to absorb some of the clamminess.

Syn pulled several little discs from his pack and placed them at each corner of the windows.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“They’re light filters. They’ll keep anyone on the outside from seeing a light while we’re inside.”

“Wow. I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

“That’s because I invented it and I’m not real eager to share it with other people.”

“Did you really?”

He paused and turned toward her. Even though she couldn’t see his face, she was certain he was giving her a look to rival the winds for coldness. When he spoke, she was even more positive. “I can do a lot of things that don’t involve stealing.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she narrowed her eyes. “Did I say you couldn’t? You, my friend, are seriously defensive when it comes to your past.”

“You should try me on my future sometime.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he slid open the door and stepped inside. Once she entered, he pulled it closed.

All of a sudden he froze, as if something had stunned him.

Was it the Rits?

Her heart pounding, Shahara squinted into the darkness, but couldn’t see anything. “Where’s a light?”

It flared on.

Her breath caught as a sick feeling washed over her.

Oh no . . .

His immaculate home looked like a city’s waste facility. His paintings had been torn from the walls and slashed. The sofas looked like they had met a huge bird of prey and lost their battle to survive.

Papers, chips, and discs littered the entire floor. Even the food she’d left behind had been pulled from his cooling unit and dumped on the floor where it’d rotted and filled the place with a very lovely little odor.

How could anyone do such a thing?

If there’s one thing I value, it’s my home. She winced at the memory of Syn’s words. Looking at him, she saw that he hadn’t moved. He just stared at the mess.

His expression pained, he swallowed. “My cleaning lady is going to be really pissed.”

Deciding laughter would be the worst possible response, Shahara added, “I’ll take the odds that say she’s going to quit the minute she sees this.”

It was then that his icy facade slipped under a mask of ultimate fury. “Damn them,” he ground out between his teeth as he jerked the hood off his head. He pulled his hair free of the ponytail and raked his hands through it. “I hope you all rot in hell, slimy bastards.”

Shahara wasn’t sure how to react. He reminded her of a spring that was too tightly wound, and at any minute she expected him to explode. Every single muscle in his body was tense. Even his eyelids, and she’d never known that those could get tense.

He released a hissing breath and started kicking at papers with the toe of his boot.

Suddenly, he froze again.

“No . . . gods, no,” he breathed as if some horrible thought had just occurred to him.

He took off to the bedroom like lightning.

Cautiously, she followed after him, afraid of what she’d find.

He stood before the open wall safe and pulled chips and papers out. “Where is it?” he growled as if the safe had contained his very soul.

“What are you looking for?”

He ignored her. Instead, he fell to his knees and started frantically searching the floor of the bedroom.

Her heart clenched. She’d never seen him like this before. After all they’d been through, she thought nothing could rattle him. But he was completely torn up by whatever was missing.

“Did they get the map?”

When he looked up, her breath caught in her throat. Primal, evil hatred blazed in the stormy blackness of his eyes. He looked like a wild lorina about to attack.

Shahara swallowed. How had she ever forgotten just how dangerous this man was?

“You want the fucking map,” he snarled. “You can have it.”

He charged at her so fast she half expected him to hit her. Instead, he stepped around her and lifted his enormous ebony-wood dresser with one brutal shove. Glass shattered as the mirror hit the floor and broke into a million pieces.

After flipping the dresser on its side, he kicked one of the intricately carved legs off of it. He handed it to her.

Shahara looked down to see a folded piece of paper and a disc concealed inside a hollowed-out space.

He returned to searching the floor.

Okay . . . the map wasn’t what had him upset.

She pulled it out and put it in her pack, then knelt down beside him. “What are we looking for?”

Again he turned on her with a snarl. “Get out!” he shouted. “Just get the hell out of my sight!”

His fury stunned her. Not that she blamed him. What they’d done here was uncalled for. And he must blame her for this.