Born of Fire (22 page)

“Making my bed.”

Guilt consumed her. She couldn’t let a man of his age sleep on the floor. He looked so frail, she doubted he’d last the night.

“Why don’t you take the sofa?”

“And let a lady sleep on the floor? I wouldn’t hear of it. Just ’cause I’m old don’t make me weak or less of a man.”

Shahara bit her lip. Where else could he sleep?

“Why don’t you sleep with Syn?”

He snorted. “He’d have a fit if he woke up to my old body lying next to him. Not that I’d blame him, mind you. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t want to sleep with me neither.”

That just left one option.

It was scary and unnerving, but it was the only one she could think of.

“Then why don’t I sleep with Syn? You can take the sofa.”

He hesitated. “You sure about that?”

No.

She nodded.

He smiled warmly as relief shone in his eyes. “All right. I must admit I like that better. Just follow me and I’ll show you back.” He took her down a narrow hallway,
past the tiny kitchen, to the small bedroom at the end of the hall.

Shahara glanced around the minuscule room which barely accommodated the bed. She’d thought she could sleep on the floor in here, but one look and she knew she’d have to sleep
under
the bed for that. Except it had a drawer there and, as small as she was, she didn’t think she could sleep in
that
.

“Good night.” Digger turned and left her alone.

Shahara sighed. What should she do?

Syn slept completely silent and still. If not for the gentle rise and fall of his chest she might have worried.

Moonlight from three moons lit the room with a soft glow, spilling over Syn and giving her an ample view of his face.

And other attributes.

Mesmerized, she watched the play of moonlight in the dips of his washboard stomach, and across his hands . . . He had a brightly colored tattoo that ran from the crook of his elbow to his wrist. It was of a sword covered in blood and with words written in an alphabet she didn’t know.

Did she dare crawl into bed with him? A strange wave of excitement poured through her at the thought. What would be the harm? She’d shared beds with Caillen all her young life.

Caillen is your brother.

Good point.

With that thought, she attempted to stretch out on the floor. She bumped her knee into the bed frame. Cursing from the pain, she moved her legs only to smack her head against the small chest of drawers.

Oh, this was so not working. “Ouch,” she snarled,
cupping the pain at the back of her skull. The room was just too small.

Aggravated, she rose. “Okay, Syn. You stay on your side of the bed and I promise
I
won’t beat you.”

That said, she pulled back the covers and lay down beside him, keeping her body rigid and as far away from his as she could.

Why couldn’t the bed be larger?

But after several minutes of his not moving, she began to relax. And before she knew it, she fell asleep, too.

Syn came awake slowly, the remnant of pain hanging on the fringes of his sleep. He felt infinitely better. The deep throbbing ache in his head had subsided to a dull, manageable ache, and he could actually take a deep breath without wincing.

Definitely an improvement.

As he started to move, he became aware of a soft form pressed up against his naked body. One that smelled of lilac and spring.

But that didn’t make sense.

Opening his eyes, he stared into the startled face of Shahara. Her large gold eyes were wide and her face flushed from embarrassment.

Damn, that was the best sight he’d ever seen. And this moment alone had made his beating worth it. He hadn’t come awake in bed with a woman since Mara had thrown him out. “Hi, beautiful.”

She didn’t say a word.

He didn’t know how she’d gotten into his bed but he enjoyed the soft curves that fit snugly against him, even if they were covered in an armored battlesuit. The tiny hand that rested on his bare chest . . .

And especially the long leg that rested between his knees. She felt good in his arms. Too good.

Shahara stared into those dark, searching eyes. For the first time, she didn’t see what his bounty had listed about him. She didn’t see a filch or a traitor or a convict. She didn’t even see a man.

What she saw was a human being who’d been betrayed and hurt by everyone around him.

And I’m no better than they are
.

Because in the end, she was going to betray him, too.

For what? The name of justice? Or was that the same
noble
sort of excuse she’d used for Gaelin?

But right now, lying here with him, she didn’t see anything except someone she wanted to know. To understand how he could carry on with a kindness toward others that she’d lost.

How could he do it?

How could he even trust another person? Even Digger? Never mind put all of his assets in someone else’s name after his wife had already stolen everything from him.

Unable to fathom it, she placed her hand on his whiskered cheek.

Syn was afraid to move for fear of scaring her. Something was different about her now. She looked at him, not with fear or anger or pity.

But with . . .

Understanding.

And before he could move, she closed the distance between them and kissed him. Growling at the taste of her, he carefully pulled her into his arms and held her close as every hormone in his body fired.

Shahara lost herself to the feeling of his body against
hers. Of his bare skin under her hands. She’d always wanted to be like a normal woman.

Unafraid of trusting a man in her life.

He’s a convict
.
How can you trust a convict?

He shifted and she felt his arousal against her stomach. In that instant, involuntary horror flooded her as she remembered Gaelin holding her down by her neck and tearing at her clothes.

Panic tore through her. “Let me go!” she snapped. “Don’t touch me!”

Syn understood that anxious tone and knew it wasn’t directed at him. Instantly he let her go and moved as far away from her as he could so that no part of him was touching her.

That had been the irrational cry of someone whose past had just risen up and tackled them to the ground.

“You okay?”

Shahara scowled at his question, but even more baffling was the concern on his face and the tender note in his voice. She’d expected him to be angry or offended.

But he wasn’t.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologize. We all have shit to deal with. I have the same reaction sometimes, too.”

She scoffed. “I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s true. You ever want to see me really wig out? Hand me a candy bar.”

She rolled her eyes. That was ridiculous. “A candy bar?”

“Yeah. A bad thing happened to me over a candy bar once when I was a kid. Never got over it. I break out in a sweat just at the sight of one.”

She gave a short, sarcastic laugh. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

He held his hand up and gave a Ritadarion gesture of honor. “I swear it. To this day I won’t even look at chocolate. Breaks me out in hives.”

A slow half smile curved her lips. “I think you’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

It really was. “Thanks.”

He scratched at the dark whiskers on his face. “So how did you get in here last night? Don’t get me wrong. It was a great surprise, but I would have thought you’d rather sleep with our lizard friend from yesterday than bed down with me for even a nap.”

“I don’t know . . . lizard man or you . . . Nah, you’re right, the lizard would have won it.”

He laughed. “Seriously, what prompted you to come in?”

“Well, for one thing you were pretty harmless and you
were
drugged. But mostly I couldn’t let Digger sleep on the floor while I took the couch, even though he insisted.”

Syn didn’t know why, but that touched him. It seemed out of character for her tougher-than-nails facade. And it had been a decent thing to do for an old man. In his world, decent acts were rare enough that they always shocked him whenever they happened.

But now it was morning and they had a lot to do. He couldn’t afford any more down time. Sooner or later, the Rits would remember he’d had an uncle and come here to check.

Shahara frowned as he moved away from her. The sheet fell away and she realized he was completely naked. Her face flamed at something she hadn’t realized when she’d crawled into bed with him. That would have definitely made her reconsider her actions . . .

Sheez!

Oblivious to her mortification, he retrieved his clothes from the other side of the bed. Most of the bruises from yesterday were gone, making the sight of his bared flesh all the more yummy.

Delectable.

Her cheeks blistered. Turning to face the window, she heard his low laugh.

“Sorry, I wasn’t planning on company.”

“Don’t you ever wear bed clothes?”

“No.”

She heard him moving around behind her. “You really should develop some modesty.”

He laughed again. “Why bother? I never have enough people around me to worry about it, and in jail you don’t have any privacy anyway, so you learn to not think about other people’s sensibilities, or your own.”

Her heart clenched at a fact he joked about. She knew from her own brief experience how brutally kept they were. And he didn’t even talk about the routine cavity searches and other horrors prisoners were subjected to.

Her own brief experience with having no control over what was done to her body had been bad enough. She couldn’t imagine how many times he’d been violated and at an age when someone should have still been rocking him to sleep.

It offended and disgusted her on his behalf.

He cleared his throat. “It’s safe now. I’m dressed.”

Not sure if she could trust him when he seemed to delight in embarrassing her, she turned around slowly and sighed in relief. He really was dressed.

As she looked him over, she realized the bruises had all but healed on his face and neck as well. Only a faint
telltale sign of light yellow across his left cheek betrayed the fact that he’d been severely bruised just the day before.

“Wow,” she said, drawing closer. “Prinapin does work.” And before she thought about her actions, she reached up and fingered his stubbled cheek, his arched brow, and the little wrinkle between his brows.

His eyes darkened. Mesmerized, she watched the emotions flicker behind his dark gaze. Mercy, he was gorgeous and . . .

Suddenly a voice growled behind them. “Hands up, scum. You’re under arrest!”

Syn snapped around, ready to attack.

Then he gaped in utter disbelief. No . . .

It couldn’t be . . .

“Vik?”

The little metallic bird postured on the windowsill, eyeing him coldly. Vik’s paint was iridescent and glossed—something the mecha had never liked, since he said it made him look like a girlie bird. “I’m surprised you remember my name.” Vik paused before he added an acerbic, “Asshole.”

Syn laughed as he rolled away from Shahara. “You prickly little shit, get over here.”

Vik swooped in to land between the two of them on the bed. He burst apart, shifting from bird form to that of a more traditional mechbot. With his hand, he smacked Syn in the arm. “I thought you were coming back for me.”

“I tried. I really did, but by the time I could, I figured you’d be gone.”

Vik hissed then looked at Shahara. “He lie to you like that?”

Shahara’s mouth worked as she tried to place this creature in Syn’s life. “Who exactly are you?”

He literally bristled. His skin flicked up like spikes before it settled down again. “Oh, that’s great. Your girlfriend doesn’t even know me.” He smacked Syn again. “Traitor.”

Syn grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up to dangle by it. “Hit me again, and I’m putting you in a compactor.”

“You might as well. You two-timing bastard.”

Shahara frowned. “What are you two to each other?”

Syn set him back down on the bed. “Vik is one of the first things I created when I was a kid.”

“I was your partner.”

He smiled. “Vik was my partner. When my father used to send me on jobs, Vik was my eyes and ears to make sure I got in and got out.”

“Yeah, and how does he repay me? He abandons me the first chance he gets.”

“That’s not true. You were supposed to watch out for Digger.”

Vik ignored him. “Does he call? No. Does he email or even text me? No. He just ran off and left me here to rust and die.” He turned back to Syn. “You really suck as a friend.”

“I do suck as a friend. I’m sorry.”

“Mmm-hmm. You think you can sweet-talk me? Who you been two-timing me with anyway? Some low-tech battery-operated device? I hope it shocked you every time you touched it.”

Syn laughed. “There’s no one else, Vik. You’re the only mecha I could ever stand.”

Vik shook his head. “Lies, lies, lies. They just roll off your tongue like slobber off a dog’s snout.”

Shahara wrinkled her nose at the graphic image.

“Hey, if it makes you feel better, I went to prison because I didn’t have you at my back.”

“I would say you deserved that, but even I’m not that cold.”

Shahara was fascinated by the AI. It was extremely sophisticated and very well programmed. “How old were you when you created . . .” She stopped herself from saying “this” as she didn’t want to offend the mecha. “Him?”

“Seven, and I did some modifications over the years.”

Wow. She was impressed. This showed a level of skill that was unrivaled and to have been so young . . .

Syn had never been a typical kid.

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

He gave her a droll stare. “Find a woman who won’t stab me in the back and betray me. Oh wait, you stabbed me in the arm, didn’t you?”

She deserved that, and what stung most was the fact that it was true. But she didn’t respond, especially since he hadn’t said it in a snotty tone. Just matter-of-factly.

Vik moved to sit down by her arm. “You want to leave him for a real man?”