Free Born of Fire by Sherrilyn Kenyon

Breathing in relief, she released the knob.
    Against her common sense, which urged her back to bed, she stepped into the room. The dawning sun brightened the area around the couch and she saw the outline of his perfect, relaxed features. He’d pulled his hair out of the ponytail and the dark, wavy strands spilled over his cheeks, softening the harshness from his face.
    Asleep, he didn’t look intimidating—he looked like a small, defenseless child. A warm tremor ran through her body as she remembered what he’d looked like holding his son.
    Convict or not, he was an incredibly handsome man. Every bit as devastating as her brother.
    He shifted on the couch.
    Shahara stepped back, her heart slamming against her ribs. He didn’t wake up, but his new position showed her his blaster that was still strapped to his hip while he slept.
    A glimmer of hope ignited inside her. This was her chance. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass.
    Without a second thought, she crossed the distance between them and jerked the blaster from his holster.
    In an instant, he sprang to his feet. “What the . . . ?” He focused on her, then relaxed. “Oh, it’s you.” He wiped his hands across his face.
    His indifference angered her. How dare he dismiss her so readily as if she were of no more consequence than an annoying little pest.
    She clicked back the safety release and leveled the blaster at his chest. “Open the door.”
    One corner of his mouth quirked up, showing her his damnable dimple. “That”—he indicated the blaster in her hand—“doesn’t give you any leverage. If you kill me, you die, too.”
    Shahara gripped the hard, bone stock and raised the barrel to his head. “I said open the door, convict. I’m not playing a game here.”
    Syn sighed as if she bored him. “Go ahead. Shoot me. You’ll have to kill me because I have no intention of letting you out of here when we both know you’ll just turn around and head back for me the first chance you get. Besides, I’m as good as dead anyway if the Rits ever lay their grubby hands on me. So go ahead and shoot.”
    Shahara stared at him in disbelief.
    What should she do?
    “Or give me my gun, and go back to bed.” He reached his hand out to her.
    She caught herself right before complying. She couldn’t give him back the blaster. If she gave up the weapon, then she’d never get out of here.
    It would cede all of her power over to him.
    “Open the door,” she repeated, feeling somewhat foolish.
    “No.”
    She stared into his mocking eyes. He knew she was trapped. If she relinquished the blaster, then he’d never respect her, or free her.
    If she didn’t get home soon, Tessa would die.
    She had no choice in this.
    Lowering the barrel, she fired.
    The jolt of the blast knocked Syn off his feet. His breath left him as he slammed against the hardwood floor. Pain ripped through his arm like fire.
    He closed his eyes against the throbbing agony. Warm blood streamed over the hand clutching the gaping wound. Son of a . . .
    He sucked his breath in sharply between his teeth as his entire body ached.
    Shahara approached him like a hunting lorina. She stood over him with her feet braced wide apart. Her hand was as still and steady as any assassin’s he’d ever seen.
    She aimed for his heart. There was no pity or trembling in any part of her. “I said open the door, convict. Or die.”
    Syn stared up at her cold eyes, unable to believe he’d allowed her to deceive him so completely. So be it. He’d always been prepared for the possibility of death. Hell, he’d wanted to die since the day he’d lost Paden.
    But he wasn’t about to die in a Ritadarion prison at the hands of an interrogator. He would sooner take his secrets to the grave.
    And if she died with him, Nykyrian would have one less tracer after him.
    “Shoot me,” he said calmly.
    Her eyes narrowed. She grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him up to her face.
    She pressed the cold, steel barrel