Kenyon--(The League 2) Born of Fire

  Born of Fire

  Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Prologue

  "If I don't pay them, they'll kill me." Her sister's desperate

  voice echoed in Tyra Eteocles's mind like a silent phantom stalking

  her sanity while Tyra sat alone at her kitchen table.

  And she had actually thought it'd been a joke. What with Chrysla's

  flair for exaggeration and her melodrama, as well as the number of

  times she'd cried her death was eminent, how was she to know that this

  time the cry for help had been real?

  Tyra wanted to scream, to curse, to tear her house apart; to do

  something other than wait for the loaners who would return and finish

  off her sister, Chrysla, within the month.

  How many more times would Chrysla barter with them for money to invest

  or gamble? And how many more times would Chrysla run to her for the

  money when the balance came due?

  Tyra hung her head in her hands. Never once in the past had Chrysla

  been hurt. And she cursed herself that she hadn't been quicker this

  time with the money. She'd gathered as much as she could as fast as

  she could, but it hadn't been enough.

  There never seemed to be enough. She sighed in disgust.

  Why hadn't Chrysla come to her sooner? Maybe then she could have sold

  something and gathered the money to pay off Chrysla's latest debt.

  Twelve hours just hadn't been enough time!

  Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. Tyra gave a bitter laugh as she

  wiped the tears from her face. Sell what? She didn't own anything of

  real value. Not even her rusty, dilapidated fighter would bring

  enough money from an auction to pay half of what Chrysla owed.

  If only their father hadn't been such a dreamer, maybe then he could

  have left them something more than a mountain of debts that she still,

  fifteen years later, hadn't paid the full balance.

  If only Chrysla hadn't inherited their father's useless idealism. If

  only—

  The telecom buzzed.

  Tyra stared at it, her throat constricting until she couldn't breathe.

  It had to be the doctor. She'd been waiting half the night for this

  call and now she was too terrified to answer.

  She should never have left the hospital, but after waiting alone for

  three hours, she couldn't stand it any longer. Too many memories of

  her mother's death had haunted her. Closing her eyes, she tried to

  blot out the image of the doctor covering her mother's lifeless body

  with a sheet. His dispassionate voice rang in her ears, "Too bad you

  didn't bring her in sooner. We might have saved her if we'd had more

  time."

  Her father hadn't possessed the money to pay for a lengthy hospital

  stay. Poverty had crippled her mother, then killed her. Too many

  members of her family had died and she couldn't stand to lose Chrysla,

  too.

  Please, Tyra begged silently. I'll do anything to get the money.

  Please, just let her live.

  With a shaking hand, she opened the channel. The screen brightened to

  show her the doctor staring at her with dark, sympathetic eyes.

  Tyra's stomach twisted into a cold lump of fear and for a moment, she

  thought she'd be ill.

  "Seax Eteocles," he said, addressing her with her professional title,

  "your sister is out of surgery and in recovery. She'll be fine

  in...time, but the voucher she used for the hospital cost was returned

  with a denial. I'm afraid without proper medical attention, your

  sister won't last for more than a few hours."

  Tyra closed her eyes, relief washing over her. Chrysla would make it.

  "Fria Eteocles, did you hear me?" he asked, reverting to the ordinary

  form of address for a woman. "We're going to have to turn her out

  unless we can get a valid voucher."

  The knot in her stomach twisted even harder and she clenched her

  fists. Tyra was so tired of being poor, so tired of the people who

  demanded their money as if all she had to do was snap her fingers and

  it would appear. People who had no idea just how precious every dina,

  every breath, was. She opened her eyes and forced her anger and

  hatred aside.

  "I heard you, Doctor," she said, amazed at the evenness of her voice.

  "I'll get the money for you in cash. If you'll give me three days."

  His sympathetic stare turned to doubt. She'd seen that look too many

  times in her life and she despised it. Tyra added coldly, "I'll sign

  over the deed to my ship as collateral."

  He nodded. "Very well. We'll keep her here for the duration." He

  cut the transmission.

  Her feelings numb, Tyra stared at the blank screen. For the briefest

  instant, she considered asking her brother, Phelix, or sister, Pheobe,

  for the money, but she knew they didn't possess it anymore than she

  did. Phelix and Pheobe would have to borrow it and the type of people

  they ran with were even worse than the ones after Chrysla.

  Family. It was all she'd ever had growing up an orphan. It was all

  anyone could ever depend on. She and her siblings had pulled together

  to survive. They protected each other; watched one another's backs.

  Now Chrysla needed her and nothing or no one would keep her from

  saving her sister's life.

  No matter what, she couldn't afford to let Phelix know what had

  happened. He would go after those responsible and she couldn't stand

  the thought of him lying next to Chrysla in the hospital.

  She was the oldest and it was her responsibility to settle this.

  With a determined hand, she pulled her holstered blaster across the

  table, clutching it until her knuckles blanched. Maybe she didn't

  have the best occupation in the universe, but it kept her fed.

  Her stomach rumbled a denial. As usual, Tyra ignored it.

  Yielding a weary sigh, she stood and moved to her bedroom where she

  could change out of her only dress and into her work clothes. She

  pulled her tight, black jumpsuit on, the leather creaking as she

  fastened the front of the suit and collar.

  Tyra stared at herself in the chipped, broken mirror. Her hollow,

  golden eyes were dull and ringed with dark circles from a night spent

  worrying over her sister.

  Tyra touched her face, seeing so much of her mother on the outside,

  but knowing the similarity went no deeper. All she'd ever wanted was

  to be the same kind, loving, gentle woman her mother had been.

  She wasn't.

  Unlike her mother, she didn't believe in the innate goodness of

  others. Growing up as an orphan responsible for the welfare of three

  younger siblings had taught her early on the necessity of having a

  hard-edge.

  Trisa, that's what Phelix, called her.

  Plaiting her hair, Tyra agreed with him. She was just like the small,

  spiked animal that shot its poisoned quills at its enemies. Better to

  strike first than be victimized.

  Besides, she refused to
make apologies. She'd always done what she

  had to to keep her family together and safe. And no one, absolutely

  no one, would ever jeopardize what she'd struggled so hard to maintain!

  Her soul charged by her conviction, Tyra pulled her small reserve

  blaster out of its box and checked the charge level before fastening

  it inside her right boot, then she strapped the other blaster to her

  right hip.

  "You're the best at this," she told herself, bolstering her

  confidence; trying not to feel any emotion that could dislodge her

  courage.

  She left her bedroom and returned to the kitchen where her computer

  terminal rested on her counter.

  There were only two legal ways for an uneducated woman to get the kind

  of money she needed— prostitution or bounty hunting. She refused to

  sell her body, and at least as a free skip-tracer, she was able to

  uphold her oath as a Seax while she cleaned some of the filth from the

  cities. The same type of filth that fed off people like Chrysla; that

  had once fed off her.

  With that thought in mind, she flipped on her vid monitor and typed in

  her tracer's code. The bounty sheets came up. Tyra flipped through

  them, looking for an appropriate target that could pay off most of

  what she owed.

  Her heart stopped beating as she found it. She scanned the contract

  and her blood began to race.

  "C.I. Syn wanted Dead or Alive by the Trioxon Government for the rape

  and murder of Eliza Kipelainen. Wanted Alive by the Trifarion

  Government for filching, treason and prison escape." The money being

  offered for him by the Trifarions would pay off Chrysla's debts, the

  hospital bill, the lien on her ship, and she'd have a little left over

  to live on for awhile.

  Tyra bit her lip in indecision. Syn's name was more than well known

  and more than well feared. He'd made his reputation as being the best

  computer file filch in the known universe. And before he'd left his

  mid-teens he'd been wanted by the Trifarion government.

  Rumors of his cruelty circulated within the small group of tracers she

  associated with. To her knowledge, no other free-tracer had ever

  tried to bring him in, and bound-tracers who were sent in after him

  seldom returned. The ones lucky enough to return were never fully

  intact.

  It didn't matter, she decided, pushing her fear and uncertainty away.

  She'd never failed a mission before. Chrysla's life depended on her

  success and she didn't intend to fail this time.

  Signing her name to the plate below the screen, Tyra accepted the

  contract.

 

 

  Sherrilyn Kenyon, Kenyon--(The League 2) Born of Fire

  Thanks for reading the books on GrayCity.Net