Nexus Tear (Laments of Angels & Dark Chemistry Book 2) Read online

  NEXUS TEAR

  LAMENTS OF ANGELS & DARK CHEMISTRY

  BOOK2

  Meg Xuemei X

  Copyright © 2014 by Meg Xuemei X

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author. Requests for permission should be sent to [email protected].

  First edition

  Silver Wheel Publishing

  Printed in the United States of America

  Cover design by Laura Gordon

  ISBN-13: 978-0692289617

  Acknowledgements

  “...not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,” saith the Lord of Hosts

  Many thanks to Alexis Razevich, Richard Casey, Randal K Jackson, and Dan McNeil for their friendship and their help in shaping Nexus Tear, and to Margaret Tea and John Briggings, editors extraordinaire. Thanks to Adam Leavens for proofreading the book. Much gratitude to Angel Chen, Nickolas Moropoulos, Sheri Wikinson, and Courtney Whittamore.

  I heartily thank all the readers for continuing the journey with me and into the world of Laments of Angels & Dark Chemistry series.

  Also by Meg Xuemei X

  THE SIREN

  LAMENTS OF ANGELS & DARK CHEMISTRY, # 1

  THE RED QUEEN

  LAMENTS OF ANGELS & DARK CHEMISTRY, # 3

  LOVE’S PREY

  CHAPTER ONE

  Black Lightning Seven banked away from the ring of Nirvana’s snow-capped mountains and shot like an arrow across the Pacific Ocean. Far below, blazing ships sprinkled the dark water with pinpoints of light. BL7 seemed to be the only thing moving; everything else frozen in time.

  Lucienne Lam closed her eyes but couldn’t shut out the image of Vladimir watching her lock lips with Ashburn Fury. Vladimir’s eyes had gone dead. It would have made her feel less unworthy if his empty stare had been hatred, but his dead eyes were the manifestation of a dead heart.

  And so he left her after they won the battle. And when he let her go, she plummeted.

  Lucienne knew she had no one to blame but herself. A betrayal she never thought she was capable of, and she had done it. She needed to reach Vladimir before his feelings for her crumbled to dust.

  But only after she got Ashburn settled. Only after she buried her loyal warriors.

  Her warriors. Grief weighed her down like a drenched winter coat she couldn’t shrug off.

  Orlando, Cam, Luke, and the three-dozen others she had lost would never come back.

  A blur of light and motion whisked by BL7, piercing a horde of dark clouds.

  “Ash,” Lucienne whispered.

  He had followed her on his Spike, his flying motorcycle made of light. The machine turned in a circle of energy and flew alongside the jet. Its glow was caught in his silver hair, accenting strands of gold against his gorgeous pale face. His eyes sparked with delight when he spotted her through the cockpit window.

  Masking her pain, Lucienne smiled at him, thankful that he couldn’t read her memories. She didn’t want him to know how broken she was.

  Even with steel and glass separating them in the high sky, she felt the Lure of Ashburn’s presence.

  Desire flared in his eyes, which were turning pale grey; the Lure from TimeDust had gotten to him, too. As if drunk, he pulled away. In a flash, the glowing machine and its rider were gone.

  Lucienne released her pent-up breath.

  A jungle of flaming colors loomed into view. The sight of her mansion amid red maple trees brought her instant comfort, but hollowness followed.

  She had returned to Sphinxes without Vladimir Blazek.

  CHAPTER TWO

  No crows arrived at the funeral.

  Sunshine spilled from the open blue sky, filling every corner of the island. It should have been a day of joy, not a day to mourn the dead. But here they were, ready to put Orlando and the fallen warriors under six feet of earth.

  Kian and Lucienne selected one of the finest high lands on Sphinxes as the final resting place for their fallen comrades.

  Positioned at the heart of the island, it faced the castle to the east and the ocean to the west. The grass was still green, and red and purple blossoms fenced the graves. In front of the headstones sat thirty-nine oak coffins.

  A lone trumpet sounded in the still morning, long and hard. Soldiers fired gunshots into the sky, honoring their sacrifice.

  Lucienne, dressed in a black gown and a broad-brimmed black hat, felt tears sting her eyes. Saying farewell was harder than she thought. She placed a fresh rose on the coffin where Orlando rested.

  Violin music rose like a stream of moonlight, in the mood of lament and remembrance.

  Ziyi, in her black qipao and ivory shoes, held the instrument under her chin and drew the bow across the strings. The sunlight nested in her purple-streaked hair.

  After the first casket was lowered into the grave, Kian released a handful of dirt from his calloused hand. His sapphire eyes had never looked so hollow.

  While the music flowed in the sunlit morning, Sphinxes’ warriors paraded in line and spread dirt onto the other caskets in the grave, saying farewell to their friends and teammates.

  Ashburn didn’t come to the funeral, but Lucienne knew he was watching from the castle. He had chosen one of the vacant rooms at the top of the east tower as his dwelling place in Sphinxes.

  She had invited him, but they both understood the men would never feel comfortable in his presence. After all, it was his guardian who killed their friends, even though he had turned on Seraphen and saved the remainder of her team.

  Another noticeable absence was Vladimir Blazek. If he were here, he would have been accompanying Ziyi’s violin with his flute. A sudden infuriation jabbed at Lucienne. He should have come to pay respect to his fallen teammates, no matter how much he despised her.

  While chewing on her bitterness, she heard a phone vibrate in Kian’s pocket. He stiffened beside her.

  It must be an emergency call to disturb him right now.

  Kian strolled away. His grim expression changed to wrath as he listened on his encrypted earpiece.

  Lucienne skulked toward him. “What is it?” she asked when he disconnected.

  He gave her a somber look. “The Sealers raided our Brazil operation.”

  The Sealers formed nine years ago. Upon her rise to the Siren, all those who failed to reach the throne themselves gathered under her half-brother’s flag with a sole purpose—to put her inside a coffin and seal it. That was why her enemies called them the Sealers.

  Lucienne drew a cold breath. “Any survivors?”

  “Only Finley. He’s wounded.”

  A former American intelligence analyst, Finley had been sent to Brazil a month ago to supervise the transition after Kian decided to shut down the operation.

  “How could our enemy know about that location?” she asked.

  “Vladimir Blazek,” Kian said, regarding her.

  Blood pumped into Lucienne’s ears, then drained, leaving her cold. Driven by hatred, Vladimir had struck back, too fast for her to react. That was his signature style.

  Lucienne managed not to sway. “I don’t believe it,” she said.

  Kian’s closest men started gathering around their leader. “Radio the base,” he ordered his senior aide. “We’re taking BL7 and Razer.”

  “I’m going with you,” Lucienne said.

  “You are not,” said Kian, and then he called her guards. “Make sure the Siren stays in Sphinxes. If she moves out, I’ll h
ave your heads.”

  He knew perfectly well that by threatening her guards, he put her in the same hard spot as her men. She would have to suck it up and behave if she didn’t want her soldiers punished.

  Several minutes later, Black Lightning Seven and Razer, a Me18 fighter jet, flew over the cemetery and vanished.

  Snapping out of her stupor, Lucienne tapped Ziyi’s shoulder. The violin faltered. “Come,” she said. “We need to alert all the operations on the continents. I don’t want a second hit.”

  Ziyi handed her violin to the priest and scurried after Lucienne toward a military vehicle. “What happened?”

  “Vladimir might have betrayed us,” Lucienne said.

  ~

  Kian returned with a badly injured Finley three hours later.

  Lucienne burst into the castle’s interrogation room, accompanied by Duncan, who had mostly recovered from his battle wounds, and Oliver Sutherland, Orlando’s only nephew.

  Oliver had his uncle’s tangled black hair and round face. The young man had joined the Sphinxes force half a year ago. All he wanted was revenge after Orlando was killed, but Lucienne had destroyed Seraphen.

  The warriors snapped to attention as Lucienne entered. She waved a hand, and they relaxed, but didn’t let down their guard, even though the only enemy was chained by his hands in the center of the cold, damp room.

  The captive Kian had brought back was in his twenties, his hair matted with mud and blood. His hooded nose didn’t stand straight on his pimpled face.

  “The prisoner has identified himself as a messenger, but he refused to deliver a message. He insisted on your audience, Miss Lam,” said a young officer.

  “Thank you, Finley,” she replied, and the spy bowed slightly, despite the cast around his neck and the sling across his left shoulder.

  Finley had an average build and forgettable features, which gave him the advantage of easily blending in. The former intelligence analyst was also known for his skills in battle. Those skills played a pivotal role in his surviving the Brazil raid.

  Kian leaned against the stone wall with a detached look, his thick arms crossing his muscled chest. When his sapphire eyes flickered toward her, they warmed. But they chilled immediately, turning predatory, when his gaze returned to the captive.

  The captive widened his eyes at the sight of Lucienne. His demeanor changed from bored to excited.

  With an icy expression, Lucienne approached him.

  “Be careful, Miss Lam,” Finley warned. “He spits.”

  “At you,” the man answered. “Not at her.”

  “He spits again, cut out his tongue,” Lucienne said.

  The man grinned.

  A head taller than him, Lucienne looked down into the man’s eyes and dove into his mind. It didn’t matter if he lied.

  Like all Sirens before her, Lucienne could read minds—a power bestowed by her Siren’s mark.

  The mark on the nape of her neck—an eye-shaped gold chip that resembled flowing liquid—was transplanted into her when she was made the Siren at the age of eight. The mark of the Siren was the secret that all Sirens carried to their grave.

  “Did Vladimir Blazek send you?” Lucienne asked, fearing the answer. And the facts slammed into her chest like a hammer.

  Vladimir had indeed joined the Sealers. With his royal lineage and three-year shining résumé of being in the Siren’s inner circle, he had become a new star in the Sealers’ ranks.

  His first act to prove his loyalty was to raid her Brazil operation. There was no turning back for him. He had shed the blood of her men.

  “Prince Vladimir called you a ‘two-faced bitch,’” the captive said.

  The pimpled man who tested her appeared fearless.

  He’s confident of his hidden weapon against any interrogator. “How sweet of him,” Lucienne said, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth—she’d bitten the inside of her cheek. “I expected him to call me an abomination, as your boss did.” That was the favorite word her half-brother, Hauk Lam, used to describe her.

  “You are an abomination,” said the captive. “All members of the Brotherhood know.”

  Oliver lunged and punched the man in the face, sending his head rocking to the side. Blood dripped from the captive’s nose.

  Before Oliver could deliver a second blow, Kian grabbed Oliver’s wrist. “Rush to act again,” he said, “and I’ll remove you from the team.”

  His face reddening, Oliver said, “I apologize, sir.”

  Kian shoved him aside. “Have a cool head. Your uncle was good at it.”

  As the men in the room were distracted by the drama, Lucienne dove deeper into the captive’s mind. Information flowed to her: … strike… the Brotherhood’s army… fatal weapon….

  She couldn’t get more than that. They had sent her a disposable newbie, who idealized being a martyr.

  Why did her enemies all of a sudden go from lurking in the dark to seeking the spotlight? A shadow formed behind Lucienne’s eyelids.

  The cult had been one of the most secret societies. Their meeting locations were always in motion—a secured airplane, a vehicle, a cruise, and often happened at the last minute. And they never teleconferenced, for fear of eavesdropping. For years, Ziyi’s searchlight engine had failed to find them.

  “My name is P—”

  Lucienne’s hand reached the captive’s cheeks and cupped them as hard as she could.

  The man whimpered a strangled sound.

  “Duncan,” Lucienne called.

  Duncan was at her side in a second.

  “Your pocketknife please,” she ordered.

  Duncan pulled a Swiss Army knife from his boot and handed it to Lucienne. She took the knife. The captive, who had looked so eager to sacrifice himself, now tossed his head violently to free it from Lucienne’s grip. Duncan grabbed the man’s head from behind and held it in place.

  Lucienne regarded the knife, and then the captive. “No.” She ordered the men. “Get me a screwdriver.”

  Oliver immediately snatched a screwdriver from the tool box on the surgeon’s table.

  Lucienne inserted the screwdriver, hilt first into the man’s open mouth, and pushed it until the end of the hilt reached the back of his throat. Then she released her hold on him.

  “You’re going to stay in this dungeon for a very long time,” she said softly. “There is no easy exit for you.”

  As soon as Duncan let go of the captive, the man tried to spit out the screwdriver. When he failed, he yanked the chains around his wrists.

  “Stop it!” Duncan grabbed the man’s arms in his iron grip and subdued him.

  Lucienne turned to Kian. “He has a poison capsule in his lower tooth, the last to the left. I believe he planned to bite into it after delivering his message.”

  The captive’s expression changed from bravado to terror.

  The warriors exchanged quick looks. Lucienne knew they had searched the captive thoroughly before blindfolding him and putting him in the plane. It took her only a few minutes to find the hidden weapon they had all missed.

  “What if this man carried a liquid bomb?” Kian stared hard at his men. “You all put the Siren in danger.”

  The warriors’ faces turned white.

  “We won’t make the same mistake again,” Finley said.

  That’s not fair, Lucienne thought. The men couldn’t know. They didn’t have her power. But she didn’t say it out loud.

  Kian gestured to his men. “Who’s good at pulling out a tooth?”

  “I’m more than happy to take something out of a murderer,” Finley said, motioning to his sling, “but I’m inconvenienced at the moment.”

  “I’ll do it,” Oliver volunteered with determination. “Pulling a tooth can’t be that hard.” He shoved up his sleeves and went to grab a pair of pliers.

  The captive wriggled to no avail, his eyes wide in horror.

  Kian waved his hand to stop Oliver. “Let Duncan do it.”

  Duncan took the p
liers from a reluctant Oliver and efficiently removed the captive’s implanted tooth containing the poison tablet.

  The captive dropped his head, no longer carrying his former conceited bearing.

  “The message,” Lucienne commanded him.

  He slowly lifted his head, looked up at her, and started with a wince. “If you want a private audience—”

  “I keep no secrets from my men,” Lucienne said. “Speak.”

  “My name is Percy Cooker,” the man said. “I am the messenger of the Sealers Brotherhood. As the protectors of the arcane knowledge for the human race, we now declare war on the Siren, the Usurper, and the ultimate evil on earth. As long as the Brotherhood stands, you will never obtain the ancient dark power.”

  “What farce is this?” Kian asked.

  Lucienne turned to Kian. “He’s all yours.”

  As she headed toward the exit, followed by Duncan and her guards, she heard Cooker shouting, “Milacek!”

  Lucienne’s back stiffened.

  Milacek was actually miláček in Czech, which meant sweetheart. Vladimir was the only one who called her that. And now the Czech traitor taught the enemy’s messenger to use this endearment term to mock her.

  Red rage shot into Lucienne.

  She needed no further evidence of Vladimir’s treachery. She could no longer find any excuse to spare him. She would seek his blood in exchange for the blood he had drawn from her men in Brazil.

  This pathetic messenger must pay for Vladimir’s sin first.

  Lucienne spun toward Percy Cooker, yanking a ring of beads off her ponytail. Her lavish hair poured around her shoulders. The beads came loose in her hand.

  She rotated a bead between her thumb and index finger. It would hit a Meridian death point on the side of the captive’s neck and silence him forever.

  Percy Cooker shuddered under Lucienne’s merciless look. “He… Prince Vladimir said the code mali… milacek would make you take the message seriously. The Brotherhood’s ultimate ancient weapon will neuter the Siren’s insignia.” He seemed to gather up his nerve and added. “Your doom is near!”