Born of Fire (The League #2)(50)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

“No, me. You’re staying here.”

“Oh, I definitely don’t think so, and you don’t take that tone of voice with me. Ever.”

Vik, who’d been completely silent all this time, perked up. “Oh, I’m out of this.” He flew to the window and let himself out.

“Shahara—”

“Zzzt,” she said, holding her hand up. “Wasting time here. I won’t even hear it. You go. I go. It’s my sister’s life on the line and I out-shoot and am pretty sure I outfight you, too.”

“I think we came up pretty even on that score.”

“But I am the better shot.”

He gave her a grudging glare. “I concede. However, I think I can take you when I’m sober.”

She took the bottle out of his hand. “Good. I’m going to throw this out.”

“Uh!” He reached for it.

Shahara danced away from him and had the bottle upside down in the sink before he could catch her.

He tried to get it out of her hands, but it was too late. “You are an evil, mean woman.”

“And you are drunk.”

“I work better that way.”

She dropped the bottle and turned to face him. His hair was hanging in his dark eyes that seared her. “No, Syn, you don’t. I don’t like what the alcohol does to you.”

Syn wanted to curse her and tell her it was none of her business. But right then, staring down into her face . . .

He was lost to her.

All he wanted was to have her hold him close and make everything else go away. Yet she couldn’t. Not when Tessa’s life was on the line.

I have to stay focused. Something that was impossible when she stood so close to him he could see her pupils dilate.

As if she could sense his desire, she reached up and placed her hand on his cheek. “I see you, Syn. I know what kind of man you are, and the only thing I would change is your needless insobriety.”

“I don’t like to feel.”

“And yet you do. No matter how much you drink, it doesn’t really go away, does it?”

No, it didn’t. But her touch . . .

It chased the pain away. How did she do that? How could she love something like him?

“I will always stand by you, Shay. Always.”

Shahara’s breath caught at those ragged words that had come straight from his heart. They and the use of her nickname touched her deep inside. And before she could think better of it, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

His hand tightened on her waist as if he wanted to hold on to her forever.

It was then she knew the truth.

He loved her. He might not say it, but she could feel it in his kiss and his touch.

Syn wanted to curse at how good she tasted and felt. There was no one else he’d ever wanted like this. And as her tongue danced with his, his mind tormented him with thoughts of a life with her.

If only they could . . .

He pulled back even though every part of him screamed out in denial of it.

“We need to get going,” they said in unison.

Syn stepped back and indicated his stolen uniform. “But we can’t go like this.”

“Yeah, we’d look a little suspicious. So what kind of clothes did you buy?”

He motioned to the bag on the floor. “Didn’t you look before the hissy fit?”

“No. And I didn’t throw a hissy fit.” She picked up the bag and pulled out a shirt and pair of pants that were definitely cut for Syn. On the bottom was a rust colored pantsuit for her. It was made of the softest fabric she’d ever touched. “Nice.”

“I’m sorry it’s not better, but I didn’t have time to really look.”

His apology stunned her. “Don’t be sorry. It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever had.”

Syn clenched his teeth at the earnestness of her tone. Gods, how he wanted to rectify that. And as she started taking her shirt off, he realized that he couldn’t stay in here. Not if he wanted to stay focused.

“I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a few.”

Shahara frowned as Syn all but left a vapor trail in his hurry to leave her. Shaking her head, she pulled her shirt off and dropped it on the desk as she exchanged her uniform for the pantsuit.

As soon as she was dressed, she pulled her shirt back. It caught against the magazine by his laptop and uncovered something that sparkled. Curious, she moved closer to find . . .

A wedding ring.

The sight hit her like a punch in the gut. Was it Mara’s?

If it were, it meant only one thing—he’d loved his wife. He’d been lying when he said he didn’t. And he must have loved her dearly for him to have kept her ring all these years.

Something inside her shattered at the realization.

Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it’s Talia’s . . .

But Talia had only been a girl when she’d died. Surely she wouldn’t have owned a wedding ring.

His mother’s?

No, he hated her too much to have kept hers. There was only one answer and it made her ill.

That’s why he didn’t tell you he loved you. He’s still missing his wife.

She heard him opening the door. Moving away from the ring before he caught her ogling it, she put her uniform in the bag and tried to act as nonchalant as possible. But inside . . .

Inside she was screaming.

He put his old clothes down by the couch.

“Will you finally tell me what the C.I. stands for?” she asked, wondering if he’d share that with her.

“No.”

She lifted her brow in surprise. “No snappy comeback? Why, Syn, I think you’re losing your touch.”

He said nothing as he shut down the computer. She saw him hesitate at the ring. Then he palmed it so fast that she barely realized he’d moved.

Looking up, he scowled at her. “What? Did I grow a new head?”

She cleared her throat as she hoped her face didn’t betray her anger and hurt at him. “No, I was just trying to think what name you might choose that would fit you best.”

“How about dead?”

“You’re not funny.”

“Neither is Merjack.”

She rolled her eyes. “So what are we going to do about him?”

“Hope he upholds his end of the bargain and try to stay out of his way.”

Shahara clucked her tongue at him. “I really think you should come up with a better plan than that.”

“Why bother? Life has a way of destroying all plans.”

He was such a cynic. Shaking her head at him, she turned to get her weapon out of the pack.

“Shahara?”

“Yes,” she answered without turning around.

“If he kills me, would you see to it that I’m buried in the Ilysian Temple on Kildara beside Talia? I have a space already paid for.”

His request sliced through her as she realized why he’d chosen to live where he did. His apartment was within walking distance of where his sister was buried. Even all these years later, he wanted to be close to her.

Watch over her.

Wincing for the pain he carried inside him, she wanted to cry. “Yes. I’ll make sure that you’re . . .”

She couldn’t say it. The thought of his death was more than she could cope with.

“Thank you.”

Shahara nodded and fought against the pain tearing through her. He really might die.

And then what would she do? How could she live knowing that she’d set all this in motion?

Same way you’ve lived through every horror. One day at a time. But could she do that knowing she’d hurt him?

Don’t think about it. Right now, Tessa was the most important thing. Syn wouldn’t get hurt. She’d make sure of it.

Shahara adjusted her suit with a little tug on the gold belt. She knew she should be grateful that they were so close to freeing Tessa, but that just meant she was that much closer to losing Syn, and that tore her apart.

Glancing up at him, she had to smile. He looked stunning in his navy blue jacquard tunic and black pants. The color deepened the tan of his skin.

“Are we ready?”

He gave her that shit-eating grin that was as second nature to him as his sarcasm. “I’m always ready for a fight.” He opened the door for her.

As she walked past, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You look great, by the way.”

She licked her lips as she scanned his tall, sexy body. “So do you.”

He actually whimpered. “Why can’t we have two more hours in the room?”

She snorted. “Two hours? Honey, you seriously overestimate your prowess.”

He gaped at her retort. “Yeah, right. I am the best when it comes to bedroom play.”

“You keep telling yourself that, sweetie. One day you might convince someone else.”

Syn wanted to be offended, but he knew she was just picking on him to do it. Strangely, it charmed him.

I am so stupid . . . and in love. Which meant he was basically screwed.

Unwilling to think about that, he led her downstairs and out to a landing bay a few blocks over. He noticed as they walked that she huddled deep in her coat. It was cold, but then he was used to it. Many a night he’d lain on these streets and prayed for a time when he could live indoors and have heat.

Shahara hesitated as they entered the bay. “What are we doing?”

“Nero has a fighter that I’m borrowing.”

She cut him a suspicious glare. “Borrowing?”

He tapped his earpiece to open the channel to Vik. “Vik? Foreground. Now.” He gave her a droll stare as Vik flew in and landed on his shoulder.

The mecha bristled. “You do know I’m not your girlfriend, right? I don’t like that tone of voice and I’d appreciate it if you’d pick a new one. Otherwise, I’ll spit invisible poison in your eyeball . . . both of them.”

Syn let out an irritated breath, but didn’t say anything as he opened his hand. Vik dropped a nav chip in his hand. Holding it up for Shahara’s inspection, he smirked. “I called him earlier, then sent Vik to get the key.”

She bit her lip as she felt her face grow hot. “Sorry.”

“No problem, but just know that no one steals from Nero. He knows who you are and he will hunt you down and make you pay in ways you can’t imagine—including this whole brain squeeze that will leave you with a migraine so bad, you’ll wish you could bleed out your eyes to stop the pain. He’s nasty that way.”

“Duly noted.”

Clasping her hands behind her back, she dutifully followed him to Nero’s sleek, dark burgundy two-seated fighter. She ascended the boarding ladder first and situated herself in the navigator’s chair while Vik tucked himself in between her and Syn.

Syn didn’t speak as he ran through the flight checks, but he couldn’t help noticing how proud and fierce Shahara looked as she plugged in their coordinates. Her hands were beautiful in their grace and confidence.

The irony of his feelings toward her wasn’t lost on him. He’d sworn growing up that he’d never have anything to do with a lowly pleb. Especially not one who could beat him in a fight and out-shoot him.

And as he considered his feelings, he wondered if part of his attraction for well-bred women hadn’t been some underlying desire to have his mother accept and approve of him. After all, if an educated, sophisticated woman like Mara could accept him, it only stood to reason his mother would, too.

Now that he was too old to give a shit what anyone thought of him, his true desires came out. He liked the fact that she could stand at his back and protect it. That she knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to do whatever she had to to get it.

There was a lot to be said for a woman who was as predatorial as he was.

She paused as she realized he was looking at her. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No. I was just thinking how incredibly beautiful you are.”

That didn’t seem to please her as her gaze danced around in obvious discomfort. “You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

He laughed. “No. The hangover is starting to kick in. Head hammering like a mother.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

“What does?”

“Your eyesight’s screwed up. I could probably take you into a retirement home and you’d be trying to score with grandma right now.”

He should be offended, but instead he laughed again. “You’re so wrong.” Shaking his head, he launched them.

Shahara didn’t say anything else while he concentrated on their launch. Her thoughts were torn between her angry brother, her captured sister, and the man she wanted to love who wouldn’t let her.

The bad thing was, she wanted to beat and kill all three of them for basically the same reason. They were all too stubborn to live, and if they’d listen to her, all three of them wouldn’t be in their current situations.

Ugh! What was it with her that she surrounded herself with such difficult people? Or even worse, loved them?

I’m sick in the head . . .