Born of Fire (13 page)

The enforcers clubbed him with their staves until he stopped moving.

“Take him to my ship,” she ordered, trying to act like none of it bothered her. But inside, she died a little every time they struck him, and her conscience took hold with steely, unforgiving claws.

One guard seized his feet while the other carried him by his shoulders.

“Here.” Traysen handed her a small injector gun.

“What’s this?”

“It’ll help revive him when you get where you’re going.”

“Is it adrenaline?”

“No, it’s seranac.”

She arched a brow at that. Seranac was a potent drug that worked on the hippocampus and frontal cortex. An interrogation med, it loosened memories and blurred a person’s ability to separate the past from the present. It also caused hallucinations, since the person couldn’t tell one from the other and could become caught up in the past and think that it was happening in the present. And since it held a stimulant to it, it could be most dangerous for all involved.

Usually the person was held down when it was administered.

“Don’t you have something a little safer?”

“Not here I don’t, and it is much safer than adrenaline—can you imagine
him
on that?” He shuddered and indicated the injector with a jerk of his chin. “That’s the only thing I have that can revive him. But don’t worry. It’s a small dose. It won’t last for more than a few minutes—just enough to get him inside someplace and he’ll be unconscious again.”

He had a point about the adrenaline. With a nod, she slid it into her pocket and followed the guards.

The walk out of the facility seemed to take forever. Each minute, she half expected someone to rush toward them and demand both their heads.

Luckily, it never happened and, at long last, they reached the landing bay.

The guards roughly dumped Syn into the back of her fighter. The tallest of them also took a moment to add a couple more blows to Syn’s unconscious body before leaving.

“That’s for cutting me, you rank bastard dog,” he snarled. As he turned to face her, Shahara noted the long jagged cut along his jaw that Syn must have given him.

While beaten and chained . . .

You are
so
dead when he wakes up.

With a trembling hand, she took her copy of the forged transfer orders and climbed aboard.

She half expected Syn to lunge for her again, but she realized he was still unconscious. Breathing a sigh of relief, she hoped he stayed that way until she could get him home and tend to some of his wounds. The last thing either one of them needed was a fight that would only hurt him more.

She shook her head in regret. How had she come to this pass?

How had she turned a man over to these beasts? Even if he was a convict, he didn’t deserve this.

Her mother would be so disappointed. And if the truth were known, she was more than just a little disappointed in herself.

But worse than her guilt was the question of what he’d do when he woke up and found himself back in her home.

What kind of vengeance would he seek?

Well, she’d fought worse, she supposed, but something inside denied it. She’d never gone up against anyone who could handle a beating so well.

Her heart heavy with dread, she programmed in the coordinates and launched.

It didn’t take more than a couple of hours to return to her home.

Uncuffing his hands and getting Syn out of her ship was no easy task. “Gah, could you be any larger?” As she moved to help him out, she realized he was burning with a fever.

Great, just great. She struggled to pull his huge form from her backseat.

It was useless. She was going to have to use the drug even though something told her it would be a stupid thing to do.

But if she didn’t, she’d have to leave him in her ship, which would have some busybody calling the enforcers on her.

“Suck it up.” She pulled the injector out and shot him in the arm. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad and he had happy childhood memories.

Not with your luck, babe.

It took several minutes before it revived him.

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 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.

She let out a low, appreciative breath. He was nicely formed all over.

Stop that!
What was wrong with her? She had no interest in male anatomy and most especially not
that
.

Reaching for her sheet, she quickly covered him and moved on to safer areas of his body.

Running her cloth over the tiny hairs of his leg, she couldn’t help noticing the corded muscles. Even prone, they held the promise of agility and speed. Like a marathon runner.

He was such a strong man and yet she sensed a deep vulnerability in him that she was sure would embarrass him if he knew what he’d told her, his enemy. That was the role she’d cast for herself and yet some part of her rejected it.

What do you care?

Yet she did. For reasons she couldn’t even guess, she didn’t want him to hate her.

I’m insane
. . .

Returning the bowl and cloth to her kitchen, she opened up the envelope the warden’s assistant had given her that contained his personal effects. Inside was a silver religious medallion that was used to protect children.

Wondering if it was his or his son’s, she returned to the bed and fastened it around his neck.

As she pulled away, Syn grabbed her wrist. Shahara panicked at his fierce grip, amazed that he could find such strength after his beating. “What are you doing here? Come to gloat?”

She trembled at the raw hatred in his voice. “I would never gloat.”

She watched the anger drain from him. “Why did you betray me?” he asked, his voice searching, pleading.

“I needed the money for my sister.”

His glare darkening, his grip turned brutal. “I gave you everything you ever wanted, everything you asked for and this is how you repay me? You fucking bitch . . . What did I
ever
do to hurt you or Paden? Tell me!”

Shahara realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was still caught up in the demons that tortured him.

His grip tightened on her arm until she cried out in pain. “Syn, please. You’re going to hurt yourself. Please lie back and sleep.”

Somehow, her plea reached him and he lay back.

“Why did you take my son from me?” he whispered weakly. “He’s all I ever had. The only one who ever loved me and you made him hate me. Why would you do that to me after all I gave you? I’m not my father. I would never have hurt him. I never hurt you. I’m not my father . . .”

He kicked back the covers and tried to rise.

“Syn! You need to lie down.”

He shook his head. “I have to get to Nykyrian. I have to warn him.”

Nykyrian . . . he was the other person listed on the
Gourish contract for raping and murdering Kiara Zamir. “Warn him about what?”

“Kiara’s using him. She’s going to get him killed. Stupid idiot. She doesn’t love him. She’s lying. Why won’t he listen to me?”

“You killed her to protect him?”

He looked at her. “Who are you?”

“Did you kill Kiara Zamir?”

He didn’t answer as he tried to push past her.

Shahara held tight. “You can’t get up. You need to stay here.”

He looked around her condo. “Where am I?”

“Where do you think you are?”

“I want my sister.” The anguish in his voice brought a lump to her chest. “Why did she have to leave me?” A tic worked in his jaw. “Because I’m not worthy.” His tone was deep as if he were quoting someone. “She couldn’t stand looking at me anymore.”

Finally, he closed his eyes.

Shahara sighed in relief, hoping he didn’t have anymore of these episodes.

Thanks for the drug, Traysen
. . .

She stayed awake all night, bathing him in serin gel, trying to get his fever down. While she maintained her lonely vigil, she kept thinking over his words.

Who was this man? He had so many secrets, so many demons that they made hers appear weak in comparison. Why had his wife taken his son?

That explained why Syn wasn’t in the more recent photos. He must be keeping up with his family from a distance. Which meant he still loved them.

I can’t believe how badly I’ve screwed all this up
. . .

Closing her eyes, she wished she could take away
the pain she’d caused him. It was obvious he had enough to bear without the misery she’d added to his life.

She stretched to ease the aching muscles of her back. In the end, she’d done what she had to and there was no going back. All she could do for now was see to it that he suffered no more than he had to.

As a seax, she owed him that much.

Just before dawn, his fever broke. Shahara drew a thick blanket over him, before finding her way to the sofa.

As soon as she closed her eyes, she drifted off to sleep.

Shahara awoke with a start. She glanced around her home, trying to figure out what had startled her. When her gaze fell to the empty bed, she had a moment of severe panic.

Where was Syn?

In answer, the door to her bathroom opened. In all his naked glory, Syn leaned heavily against the doorframe. Even weakened, he filled the room with an aura of raw, masculine power.