Born of Fire

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Two priestesses walked past their hiding spot without seeing them. As a third one paused beside them, Syn reached out and touched her arm.

  The priestess glanced at them, then gaped. Closing her mouth, she took a step past their alcove so that she could shield them with her own body. She cleared her throat. "See to it that this man is thrown out on the street. Make sure he never disrespects our temple again."

  Once the doors closed behind the man and the two priestesses, the remaining priestess turned back to them and smiled tenderly at Syn. "My goodness, child, trouble is definitely your handmaiden."

  Syn released Shahara and straightened up like a guilty child confronting an irate parent. He hung his head and she cocked a curious eyebrow. She'd seen Syn angry, hurt, and contrite. But shame was a new emotion and she wondered what about the priestess made him feel it now.

  "I'm sorry, Mother Anne. I shouldn't have come here while I was being pursued. It was wrong to bring them here. But I didn't know where else to go."

  The priestess touched his cheek. "Never be sorry for needing help, child. We all do at some point."

  Still, shame burned in his dark eyes and it made Shahara want to comfort him.

  She shifted her gaze to the priestess and her golden robe. It shimmered in the dim light like a vibrant candle flame and it looked as soft as a cloud. Her bearing as regal as a queen, the priestess's gray hair was braided and then wound around the crown of her head.

  Though the priestess was probably thirty or more years older than Shahara, she held the look of a vibrant teen. Only a few wrinkles creased her kind face, and those marked the woman's years of laughter and smiles.

  No wonder Syn trusted her. It would be hard not to trust someone with such kind eyes.

  Mother Anne's sharp gaze fastened on her. "And whom have you brought with you?"

  "Shahara," she answered.

  Mother Anne smiled a smile that lit up every corner of her face. "You are as beautiful as any angel. Never let anyone tell you differently."

  Turning back to Syn, she gave him a reproachful stare. "I wish you'd come under better circumstances. For years I've wanted to show you what we do with all the money you donate."

  Syn looked embarrassed. "I have no need to check on you, Mother. I knew you'd do good with it."

  Ushering them out of the alcove, she tucked her hands into her shimmering sleeves and led them the rest of the way down the hall back toward the temple. Syn opened the thick wooden doors that led to a wondrous courtyard.

  Shahara stared at the quiet garden. Flowers bloomed everywhere with a bright colorful bounty that stunned her. Birds sang sweetly while chimes swayed in the wind, making a lilting sound that whispered serenity. Even Vik sat silently, sparkling on a branch, as he eyed them with a cocked head.

  A fountain, with bubbling waves, marked the center of the yard and, just a few feet away, she saw a huge maze made of hedges that took up much of the left side of the garden.

  Mother Anne led them toward it. "You know, Sheridan, we have just opened another home with your last donation, on Kildara this time. And we now have over three hundred homeless children living here in the Talia Wade Memorial Home."

  Shahara started at her words. Just how much money had he given to them that they could provide for so many?

  Syn said nothing.

  Mother Anne smiled at him. "Every night we have them offer a prayer for you, child."

  Syn shook his head and some strange emotion hovered in his eyes. "Not for me, Mother. My soul was lost a long time ago. Just have them pray for Talia."

  Mother Anne pursed her lips and Shahara could tell she longed to argue, but knew better. So they walked past the fountain and to the maze made of bright green shrubs.

  "Anne?" an angry voice snapped.

  Syn moved quickly and pulled Shahara behind a tall shrub. He placed a finger to his lips to warn her to silence.

  "Yes, High Mother," Mother Anne answered.

  "Please send Omera to the infirmary. There is a patient there in need of her special talents."

  "Yes, High Mother. I will see to it right away." Mother Anne stepped to their hiding place.

  Syn shook his head. "I can't believe she's still alive."

  Mother Anne pursed her lips together. "Yes, and extreme old age hasn't mellowed her in the least. If she catches you in our sanctuary this time, she will demand your blood."

  "I'm sure of that." He looked at Shahara. "We need to get to the catacombs."

  Shahara gaped as a wave of apprehension went through her. She could just imagine a crypt of stacked bones and decaying bodies. "Catacombs? As in where dead people are buried, catacombs?"

  He rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me a fierce tracer, a sworn seax no less, is scared of a little tomb. Good go . . ." He looked to Mother Anne and blushed. "Gracious," he corrected himself. "Is there anything you're not afraid of?"

  "You for one," she snapped. "And I'm not afraid of the tomb. I . . . just don't want to go there."

  The look on his face told her his thoughts. Me or the Rits. Well, at the moment, she was definitely leaning toward the Rits.

  Mother Anne smiled reassuringly. "You'll be all right, child. Sheridan knows his way around them better than anyone."

  That was supposed to be comforting?

  And she noticed that Syn didn't correct the Mother from using his real name.

  Very interesting . . .

  Mother Anne stepped around Shahara and placed a gentle kiss on Syn's forehead. "Walk with the gods, child. Remember they will always be with you."

  Syn nodded. "Thank you, Mother Anne. For everything."

  He motioned for Vik to follow them. Then, taking her by the hand, he led Shahara through the maze.

  With every step they took through the winding, green bushes, apprehension swelled more and more in her chest.

  "Syn . . . I really don't like being around the dead. I've buried too many members of my family. I really don't think I can do this."

  Syn paused just outside the marble entrance as he heard the note in her voice. He turned to her with a curse scalding his throat but, as he faced her, it died. Stark terror flickered in the golden depths brighter than the eternal flames that burned on either side of the catacomb's door.

  "Aren't you afraid?" she asked, her voicing sounding much like a little girl's.

  He shook his head. "The dead won't hurt you, Shahara. Only the living can do that."

  "But Syn . . ."

  He let go of her hand and brushed a stray strand of hair off her cheek. "Listen to me, I swear there's nothing in there to be afraid of. I used to live in the catacombs and they're the safest place to be found on this planet."

  His words shocked her so much that she forgot her fear. "You did what?"

  "He lived here as a kid," Vik said as he joined them and flew into the entrance. Opening his mouth, he shined a light for them to see into darkness.

  Syn held his hand out to her. "It'll be all right. I promise."

  Gathering her courage, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her into a waking nightmare.

  Once inside, she decided he was right. It wasn't so bad. As far as the light carried, all she could see were bronze plaques placed on the black-veined marble walls. It simply looked like an endless government corridor, not a cryptic tomb.

  Thank goodness. She just hated the thought of what happened to people when they died. Most of all, she hated the thought of it being her family.

  Silence buzzed in her ears, broken only by an occasional mournful cry of the wind and the sounds of their boots clicking against the ceramic floor and the metallic whisper of Vik's wings.

  To her eternal relief, no bodies or bones could be seen. And other than the coldness, it bore no resemblance to a burial shrine at all.

  Syn squeezed her hand comfortingly. "I told you there was nothing to fear."

  Not willing to admit aloud that he was right, she asked, "Where are we going?"

  "There's a secret entrance that le

ts out near a spaceport. It was built four hundred years ago during the Religious Wars, when the temple was used as a military outpost, to allow the priestesses to escape if they were attacked by enemies. I figure we'll wait there until dark, then head out and find a way off this place."

  They passed several intersecting hallways. Resisting the urge to look down them lest she see something to dislodge her courage, Shahara focused her stare on the floor directly in front of them.

  Syn navigated the corridors like a pro.

  "Just how many priestess are buried here?" she asked, noting the endless rows of plaques.

  "A little over thirty-two thousand."

  Her eyes widened. "You counted?"

  "I spent a lot of time here as a kid."

  Vik made a sound of agreement. "He used to pretend they were his guardians who watched out for him."

  He cast an evil grimace at the mechbot. "Thanks, Vik. Want to emasculate me a little more?"

  "Okay. You have many other more embarrassing moments."

  "Yeah, and for your own personal safety, you might not want to go there."

  Shahara shook her head at their snipes. "You two argue like an old married couple."

  Syn didn't respond as they finally reached the end of the hallway. He knelt down and brushed dust out of a barely noticeable crack in the marble. "It looks like it'll still open."

  Shifting his position, he sat down. "Are you going to stand there or what?"

  She sat down opposite of him and wrapped her arms around her chest. As she leaned back against the wall, cold seeped into every part of her body. There was a bit of a breeze that whispered through the hallway, cutting to her bones. "It's kind of chilly in here, isn't it?"

  He gave her an odd half smile before spreading his arms and legs wide. "Well, you know what they say about conserving body heat."

  She debated the sanity of sitting in the circle of his arms. If he were anyone else, she'd gut him for the mere proposition, but after all they'd been through, she found her body moving toward him of its own volition.

  She tensed for a moment.

  "I won't hurt you," he said, his voice soothing. "Just pretend I'm Caillen."

  Yeah, right. Caillen had never felt this good. And the rush of heat through her body . . . it would be disgusting if it were Caillen who made her feel like this.

  Shahara relaxed against his chest and allowed the scent and warmth of his body to engulf her. He rested his arms on his bent knees and she found herself longing for him to put them around her, to hold her tight.

  His breath fell down her cheek, rustling her hair and bringing a tingle to her arms.

  Syn watched the way her breasts tightened beneath the thin fabric of her black shirt. His mouth watered, aching for just a tiny taste of the warm soft flesh he'd glimpsed when he'd stumbled onto her naked. It was all he could do to keep his hand away from the taut peak.

  Never in his life could he remember wanting a woman this badly. If only she would cooperate, he would really enjoy the next few hours of their wait.

  In that instant he knew he was going to have her. That he must have her.

  But not here on the cold floor like some animal satisfying a basic itch. She deserved better than that.

  First, he had to find some way to make her trust him. To make her willingly submit to his touch. She was terrified of men, his kiss had proven that.

  But at the moment, she wasn't terrified of him.

  She frowned as she looked at his arm where his sleeve had slid back, showing a glimpse of his tattoo. She pulled the cuff further up, her fingers lightly brushing against his skin. "The words are in Ritadarion, aren't they?"

  "Yeah."

  "What does it say?"

  Syn hesitated as he remembered the origin of his tat. What it signified. Since he'd left prison, only Nykyrian, Digger, and Mara had ever seen the entire thing--aside from Merjack and his guards, but they'd ignored it.

  Then again, those bastards were probably illiterate.

  Mara had never asked what it said. All she'd done was nag him to have it removed because it disgusted her.

  Decent men don't mark themselves, Sheridan. What possessed you to do something so crass? Really, you should have it removed before one of the hospital administrators sees it. Imagine what they'd say?

  But he'd managed to keep it hidden from all the "decent" people at the hospital where he'd worked. Hell, maybe he should have had it removed, but it reminded him of his past and it kept him grounded.

  Nykyrian had never commented on the words at all, even though he could read them. Maybe because he understood the underlying meaning without their talking about it. His friend was eerily astute that way.

  "Syn?"

  He took a deep breath before he answered her. "It says . . ." he clenched his teeth, then finished, " 'Nobody's Bitch.' "

  She arched a single brow at him. "Okay . . . Care to elaborate?"

  He gave her a flat, dry stare. "I was in prison, Shahara. I think you can imagine why it's there."

  Shahara heard the note underlying his bland words. Leaning against his leg, she locked gazes with him and saw the hurt that was deep inside his eyes. "What happened?"

  He looked away.

  She caught his chin and forced him to look at her. "I won't think bad of you, Syn. I know what it's like to be hurt so deep inside that you think it'll never heal. To struggle every day with memories you wish you could purge out of your mind and can't."

  "You already think I'm scum."

  "No," she said honestly. "I don't." Maybe she had at the beginning, but she was quickly learning that there was a lot more to him than what she'd heard.

  Syn let out a tired sigh as he remembered his past and the humiliation that still tore at him whenever he let his guard down. He'd fought so hard and it hadn't been enough . . .

  "I was attacked the first night I was in prison. Like you, I couldn't fight them off at the time. But the next day, one by one, I hunted them down and killed all three with a shiv I'd stolen from another inmate. Orius, another prisoner doing a life sentence, was so amused by it that he gifted me with the tattoo as a warning to anyone else who wanted to mess with me. He told me to always wear it with pride."

  Shahara's heart wrenched at what he described. "How old were you?"

  He looked at her blankly and she realized it must have been the first time he'd been sent to prison. She winced at his bitter words.

  "I'm so sorry, Syn. No one should have to suffer that and especially not a child."

  "Yeah, well, it wasn't the first time I'd been raped. It was merely the last."

  Her stomach hit the ground at his dry tone. "What?"

  A tic worked in his jaw. "You know who my father was, Shahara. What he was. Did you really think he'd only sold my sister?"

  For a moment she couldn't breathe as those words slammed into her. Honestly, it had never crossed her mind that his father would have been that cold.

  Poor Syn.

  She placed her hand to his cheek. "Did Digger know?"

  He shook his head. "We didn't tell him. There was nothing he could do. Had he tried to stop him, my father would have killed him for it."

  Tears stung her eyes as she realized the true horror of his past. One that made a mockery of hers. Placing her hand over his arm where the tattoo was, she leaned her head against his chest and hugged him close. "I'm so sorry."

  Syn was stunned by her hug. Most of all, he was shocked by the sincerity of her tone. His body erupted with heat. "I've never told a single soul about any of that. Only Talia ever knew." And he had no idea why he'd shared it with her.

  Maybe because she'd been through it herself. She knew, like him, that they'd done nothing to cause it. Some people were just cruel shits who preyed on others for no other reason than the fact that they could inflict pain.

  In the end, he was grateful that, unlike his father, he'd never understood how people could be that way, nor had he ever found joy in hurting someone else.

  Closing his eyes, he held her against his chest and let the sweet scent of her hair soothe him. "What about you? What did you do to your attacker?"

  "Killed him." She looked up at him. "Guess that means I'm nobody's bitch either."

  He gave her a half smile. "Guess so."

  Shahara listened to the strong beat of his heart under her ear. This was the first time since Gaelin that she'd allowed a man to hold her.

  And it felt really good.

  But there was still a part of her scared of what he might do. A part of her that waited for him to change into a monster.

  "How did you do it?" she asked, trying to distract herself from that thought.

  He frowned. "Do what?"

  "Learn to trust and be intimate with someone after that happened to you?"

  "Who says I did?"

  She frowned. "You were married. I just assumed you trusted her."

  "And I told her nothing of my past. I knew she couldn't handle it and I was right. She was married to a character I created and not the person I was or am. She thought I was the orphaned son of a respected businessman who was living on a trust fund and that I'd had a bland, boring childhood." He sighed. "It was the childhood I'd wanted to have. Totally fabricated so that other people wouldn't know the truth of me."

  "But, you were with her. I can't stand to be touched. The thought of sex still terrifies me even though I know it's not supposed to be violent or painful. I just can't bring myself to go there with another person."

  His features softened. "I think it was different because I wasn't attacked by a woman . . . at least not until you. I never really associated the two and honestly, I can't stand to be touched by a man either. Not even casually to shake hands. It makes my skin crawl. And like you said, it doesn't hurt when you're with someone you want to be with. It's actually extremely pleasant."

  Syn stared into her trusting face and wanted to show her what he meant, but she wasn't ready for that. Honestly, it'd taken him years before he'd learned to enjoy sex himself. For the longest time, he'd viewed it as a tool. An act to be bartered for something else.

  Then Mara had come along and for the first time he'd been able to fully enjoy himself. He'd found pleasure by sharing himself with her and making sure she never left his bed without multiple orgasms.

  Until he'd learned about her adultery. That had shattered him worse than anything.

  But he didn't want to think about that. It was a long time ago . . . and yet it still pricked him soul deep whenever he thought about it. Why hadn't he been good enough for her? Where had he been lacking that she needed to find another man to satisfy her?

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