Born of Fire Read Online Free Page B

attackers.
    Especially not in his home.
    “Are you an assassin or tracer?” he asked.
    “Free-tracer.”
    Free-tracers, unlike assassins, had a conscience as a rule. And since he was still breathing and not dead, it told him she was going after his living contract, which gave him a lot of latitude in dealing with her.
    “Good.” He snatched her blaster from her hands.
    A blast of red sizzled up toward his ceiling, searing a long black streak across the white paint. He cursed at the mark. He’d fought too long and too hard to draghimself out of the streets and have a nice home for someone to come in and start destroying it.
    “No one messes up my place.” He grabbed a small, silken wrist and jerked the woman into his view. Shock jolted him as he stared into the face of a startled angel.
    Damn, she was beautiful.
    In that instant of hesitation, she drove her knee straight into his groin.
    Pure agony spread through him. Gasping, he doubled over with a sharp curse.
    Shahara pulled the reserve blaster from her boot and leveled it at C.I. Syn: rapist, murderer, traitor, and filch. He was huge and powerful. She’d have to watch him closely if she were to succeed. Keeping her eyes on him, she bent her knees to retrieve the other two blasters from the floor.
    The man in front of her was not the usual type she was used to dealing with. Not only was he more refined, but something proud and primal emanated from every molecule of his body. Only one word could define it.
    Sexy.
    And she was far from immune to it.
    Unlike the other class three and four felons she’d traced, this one possessed an air of sophistication. When he spoke, it wasn’t in a gruff, ignorant street dialect, it was with a fluid, baritone voice that resonated deep from within him. His cadence and syntax were that of an educated man or an aristocrat, not a lowly filch.
    With a deep breath, he recovered himself from her kick—something she’d never seen a man do so quickly before. He moved away from her with the lithe, powerful grace of a predator.
    Granted he was still limping, but there was an unmistakable fluidity.
    That was it. That was what she sensed from him. He had a raw animal magnetism. He moved like a caged panther—sleek, rippling, deadly.
    Vicious
.
    And he pounced like lightning. Before she realized what was happening, he had her completely unarmed. She kicked him back. He spun and shoved her into the wall.
    Shahara used the rebound to propel herself at him and caught him a stiff blow to his jaw. Grunting, he grabbed her. She flipped up and kicked him back.
    Syn cursed at her skill. She was incredible when it came to fighting. And every time he tried to pin her, she escaped. He hissed as she caught him another blow to the gut.
    Kill her!
    But he had a bad suspicion about her identity and if she was who he thought . . .
    Better to have her beat him into the ground than the alternative.
    Out of her sleeves, two knives appeared. She moved at him, slashing. He put his arm up to block her attack. Their forearms collided, then she swiped his arm with the blade. It sliced straight through his padding to his flesh.
    “Son of a . . .”
    She stomped his foot. “Surrender, convict. I don’t have to take you in alive.”
    He glared down at her as he tried to pin her again and failed. “Then you better get ready to kill me ’cause that’s the only way I’m going in.”
    Shahara headbutted him, then scissor-kicked his chest. In a fluid roll, she scooped her blaster up from the floor and angled it at him.
    He finally froze.
    “Cute attack,” she sneered, waving him back into the bedroom with the barrel of her weapon. This time she knew to keep a good distance between them.
    His eyes blazing obsidian fire, he obeyed in a manner that told her he didn’t often cooperate with orders.
    No, she could tell by the arrogant, taunting smile that this man was a leader or a loner.
    Never a follower.
    “Not half as cute as yours.” He rubbed his groin