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

  “It isn’t that simple,” Kian said. “And if you knew Blazek that well, why didn’t you expect him to turn on you?”

  Lucienne looked stunned and stung. That hurt, especially when it came out of Kian’s mouth. He had never been harsh to her before. Was he blaming her for Orlando’s death? The man had been a brother to Kian. Lucienne fought back her tears.

  “You go out of Sphinxes,” Kian added, not looking at her, “and I’ll shoot your guards for their negligence.” He stormed out of the lab. At the doorway, he halted and turned. “Give it one more day. I’ll go look for them.” His voice softened, as if he regretted being callous to her. “You’ll never risk your life for anyone, and definitely not over Blazek. Thanks for the sandwich.”

  And he was gone.

  ~

  Sleep escaped Lucienne, as it had the past several nights. She left her warm bed and paced back and forth on the rooftop.

  Other than worries over Duncan and Juliette, a gnawing pain twisted her gut. “If you knew Blazek that well, why didn’t you expect him to turn on you?” Kian’s cruel yet honest words pounded in her ears.

  She walked to the telescope. Through its lens, she searched space. A sudden sense of wrongness came to her, and the Siren’s mark on her neck went cold.

  Panic swam behind her eyelids.

  She knew there was a link between her consciousness and her mark, but the communication was on and off, like having bad reception.

  When her mark had a sunny day, as in Tibet, it had aided her in opening the door to the vault that stored the ancient scroll. Her mark also helped her withdraw from Ashburn’s high-powered mind and saved her.

  But now, it felt like—like a crucial piece was missing inside her. Like she was hanging upside down and would never touch the ground again.

  Then a spark from her mark struck something deep within her memories. Nexus Tear, the mark whispered anxiously.

  It was worrying about the weapon that could unmake it. Vladimir’s warning through the messenger’s mouth rang in the deep night, “All has been activated, as is Nexus Tear… blast you to kingdom come!”

  Lucienne slid down from the telescope platform and slumped on a bench, staring ahead.

  When first daylight finally broken through the grayness on the horizon, she changed to a shirt and leggings and drove to the castle.

  She treaded aimlessly in the empty hallway until she passed the fencing room.

  Tac-tac. The sharp sound inside drew her attention. Who came to practice at such an hour? Lucienne pushed open the door to the fencing hall and blinked.

  Ashburn and Oliver were parrying with épée swords. Ziyi was the sole enthusiastic cheerleader.

  The Chinese girl darted her eyes back and forth, following Ashburn’s every move, her mouth hanging open, wide enough for a fly to venture in.

  There was no thrill in Ashburn’s eyes. He executed his every act with cold calculation. When Oliver attacked, he parried accordingly, anticipating his opponent’s every move.

  No observer would ever regard Ashburn as a beginner in the art of fencing. He had the unfair advantage of TimeDust. Lucienne sighed in jealousy as she recalled years of painful training.

  Ziyi blushed when she finally noticed Lucienne striding toward her. “Lucia,” she said, “it’s not what you think.”

  “What do I think?” Lucienne asked in amusement.

  “Well,” Ziyi darted an admiring gaze at Ashburn, then back at Lucienne. “I have a confession.” She then asked, “At breakfast?”

  “Breakfast then,” Lucienne said.

  Oliver stopped hacking at Ashburn. His face reddened in frustration and humiliation, especially when he noticed that Lucienne had joined the audience.

  Everyone knew Oliver had practiced swordplay for years, and Ashburn had never held an épée in his life.

  “Continue,” Ashburn said.

  Oliver glared at Ashburn, and Ashburn initiated an attack in a straight line. Oliver had no choice but to defend himself.

  Their épées crossed again.

  Ashburn fell into his former defensive mode, parrying with boredom and precision.

  Sadness flooded over Lucienne. Ashburn would never become her warriors’ friend, unlike Vladimir, who cursed, mocked, tricked, and laughed when fighting with the men. Vladimir made friends as easily as he made enemies. Ashburn, on the other hand, would remain an outcast. But how could he befriend the men whose every thought lay bare before him?

  After she had changed to a black fencing jacket in the dressing room, she picked an épée.

  As she strode toward Ashburn, he was visibly distracted. He lifted his mask and turned to her with a smile. Lucienne felt the rising heat within her.

  Seizing the opportunity, Oliver lunged, the point of his épée landing on Ashburn’s arm. “Scored!” he cried in joy. “Let’s end this.”

  At the same time, without looking at the other player, Ashburn had his épée tip touch Oliver’s shoulder. “Lockout, actually,” he said. Then, suddenly, he initiated a sequence of quick jabs, moving forward like lightning.

  Oliver staggered back, panting, and attempted a parry. Ashburn landed the point of the épée on the center of Oliver’s heart.

  Ziyi trailed after Lucienne. Standing beside her, the girl leaned closer, whispering, “I’ve watched them for two hours. They both turned aggressive when you showed up.”

  Lucienne understood that she was the leader in Sphinxes. Naturally, her warriors wouldn’t want to lose face in front of her. Did Ashburn also try to impress her?

  She already knew his capacity. Now was the time to test how good he truly was. She spun her weapon in her hand, itching to get on the floor.

  She drew closer to him, but paused when she was at arm’s length.

  As a wave of magnetism slithered toward them, he rasped and looked at her with uncertainty, as if questioning whether she indeed wanted to get into a fencing match with him. It wouldn’t be easy on either of them, as they would have to fight the Lure in addition to each other. The challenge only brought the fighter out of Lucienne.

  Oliver saluted her. Lucienne gave him a courtesy nod before turning to Ashburn. “You should try a real sword sometimes,” she said. “I think my men will be happy to oblige. Most of them, including Oliver, are much better at wielding a blade than an épée. Fewer rules.”

  Oliver looked grateful.

  “Swordplay is too violent for my taste,” Ashburn said.

  Once again, he was the opposite of Vladimir. The Czech traitor had a vast collection of weapons in his red house on Sphinxes. Of course, the house was confiscated and sealed now.

  “Fencing, however, is sport,” Ashburn added.

  “Indulge me with sport then.” Lucienne made a stance with her épée. “If you aren’t too tired.”

  “I do not tire easily,” he said, getting into a position. “But I doubt I’ll have any advantage over you in a bout.”

  He was referring to her mind-shield ability. He wouldn’t expect her moves.

  “You might still gain on me,” she said, “with all that knowledge.”

  “It takes time to sort the wheat from the chaff,” he said.

  “A nanosecond?”

  “Are you trying to disarm me or boost my confidence?”

  “Which do you prefer?”

  Ashburn’s lips curled into a smile. “Oliver Sutherland likes to play by the book. My impression is that you often break the rules.”

  “My rules are simple: no fault, no offenses, and no lateral boundaries.”

  Ashburn nodded, putting on his mask. “What fun can we have with all the limitations?”

  Lucienne put her mask in place, too.

  They saluted each other with their épées. Lucienne initiated an attack with half force, testing the water. Ashburn immediately parried with Bonetti’s Defense.

  Not bad. Her appreciation blended with a tinge of jealousy after a few rounds. Having practiced with Oliver for less than two hours, Ashburn already fenced lik
e an expert. How does TimeDust aid him with salut des armes?

  She wondered, and then remembered that he once complained, “I can’t get rid of it. It’s translated into codes and become part of my cells….”

  It had become an integral part of him.

  Tac. Tac. They lunged and retreated. Their weapons met.

  Ashburn adapted Capo Ferro—a linear counterattack. Lucienne parried. Even with the masks, the chemistry rippled between them and grew stronger every passing second.

  Ash was right. This is a bad idea. But it was too late now; she was on the field. I must end this quickly if I don’t want a disaster.

  Lucienne assailed Ashburn with full force. He retreated and almost staggered, surprised at her sudden ferocity. She then offered a feint. He went for it. Vladimir would have detected her deception, but Ashburn was distracted.

  Like a flash, Lucienne brushed against him, using the Lure to disarm him, and he hitched a breath.

  She stretched away from him and placed the tip of her épée on his cheek.

  “Touché.” She smiled.

  “I used the same move. I made a feint,” Oliver said. “Why didn’t it work on him?”

  Ziyi rolled her eyes. “Did you use charm?”

  “Well, you have to admit, Lucia is fast,” Oliver said.

  Ashburn admitted defeat gracefully and locked épées with Lucienne again.

  Like a changed man, he now put a blunt force on his every jab. Lucienne was forced a few feet back before she gained her footing.

  That was unexpected. He was as strong as Vladimir, maybe stronger. Or was he really?

  Let’s see what he’s made of. Lucienne tossed away her gloves and mask and shook her hair down.

  Ashburn also removed his mask, his silver eyes glinting desire as they roved over her.

  The Lure had joined the battle.

  Lucienne’s pulse raced as she felt a hike in the pull between them. If he turns the Lure against me, she decided, I’ll be merciless on him.

  Abandoning all conventional defenses, she exposed her opening and went straight to offense. The sacrifice card was meant to drag down her opponent with her if she must fall.

  When she gambled like this, thrill sang in her blood. Kian and Vladimir always got mad at her whenever she turned ruthless, but they weren’t here now.

  Let it burn! She brandished her weapon like a goddess of war. And we fall together.

  Ashburn looked astonished at her bold moves. Good thing he can’t read my mind. While he blinked, she swirled around, sweeping her épée. Her body arced backwards. Her blade slammed to his épée from underneath, sending it flying.

  Ziyi applauded fiercely. “Bravo!”

  Oliver clasped his hands and echoed with a roar. “Bravo! Bravo!”

  “Surrender, or prepare to die!” Lucienne shouted, thrusting her épée toward Ashburn’s heart.

  Ashburn twisted from the reach of her blade and leapt up, defying gravity.

  “Holy—” Ziyi put a hand over her mouth.

  “Holy shi—” Oliver looked at Ziyi. “—milk.”

  “Never!” Ashburn shouted back, landing on the floor, the hilt of his épée in his hand. “Die. Another. Day.” He pointed the tip of his weapon at Lucienne in defiance.

  Lucienne threw her head back and laughed, and Ashburn joined her. She hadn’t laughed like this since the Nirvana battle, since thirty-nine of her warriors died defending her. Since Vladimir had left her and betrayed her.

  Ashburn watched her, eyes bright.

  He loves my laughter, she thought.

  “Are you up for another challenge, little lioness?” he asked. His flirtation made Lucienne’s heart flutter. And then he attacked.

  It was more of a play than an assault. He used his épée to entice her and tease her.

  Lucienne parried with the same grace. The game had changed. It was no longer a contest, but a dance. She responded to his flow of movements naturally, as if they had rehearsed their sword-dance for a lifetime, yet she was still exhilarated with expectation and pleasure at every turn.

  Something stirred inside her. Something like magic, and it didn’t come from the predestined program that bonded them.

  Their épées met again, their faces inches apart. Their eyes, silver blue against rich brown, couldn’t tear away from each other.

  Ashburn removed his weapon. His gaze, now hot like a burning star, brushed over her pink lips. His minty breath and his woody, muscular scent filled Lucienne’s mind, slowing her every cell.

  She was falling.

  The Lure reached full swing, casting on them like a sunbeam from the heavens, beautiful beyond words and as enchanting as the finest tune. Lucienne vaguely remembered it was also more lethal than anything.

  Go to him, a musical voice said to her. You’re made for each other.

  She didn’t know if she imagined it or if she had indeed grabbed the front of Ashburn’s fencing jacket to pull him to her. She couldn’t tell if this was a dream, a vision, or a reality. But she could tell that Ashburn, eyes aglow, was more than willing to be with her in any of those realms.

  She could never be with any man other than him. I am made for him.

  Láska. Vladimir’s image appeared again. As if by supernatural power, Lucienne heard his pained voice, as real as life itself. Don’t give up on me, on us. You’re the apple of my eye. I’ll come back to you.

  Time suddenly didn’t flow in a linear fashion. It threw Lucienne into confusion and disorientation—one minute she was dancing with Ashburn, the next, Vladimir was pushing in between them, fencing with her.

  Thick possessive desire blazed in Vladimir’s hazel eyes as he moved on top of her, his strong legs pressing hard against hers. His heat radiated to her body and his scent of sweat and sun mingled with hers; he risked his life for a taste of her lips.

  A buried longing for her old, unfulfilled love broke through the surface. At the same time, anger and humiliation filled her. Only she wasn’t sure if she was mad at herself or the traitor.

  He swore to use Nexus Tear to blow her to bits and pieces, yet she had allowed his ghost to invade her guarded heart and mind, and thus ruined the tender, poetic moment between her and Ash.

  But the spell had been broken.

  Lucienne stepped back from Ashburn and slashed her épée in the air savagely to shatter the fading images of Vladimir.

  The world whirled back into focus.

  The fire entwining her and Ashburn dwindled, baring charred woods and ashes.

  “What’s going on?” She heard Oliver whispering to Ziyi. “Why are they—”

  Ziyi answered viciously, “Shut up.”

  Her fencing against Ash had turned to a mating dance with an audience and finished with awkward, painful notes. Breathing hard, Lucienne stared back at Ashburn.

  His eyes turned metal gray. His hurt became hers, and his unquenchable longing made her heart bend like a breaking arrow. But she stepped further back and saluted him with her épée.

  Ashburn returned the courtesy. His eyes shifted back to ice-blue, the only color that wouldn’t betray his emotion.

  Lucienne handed her weapon to Oliver. “The best move against Ash is to keep it simple.” She then turned to Ziyi. “Breakfast?” The whole time she avoided looking at Ashburn again.

  Ziyi threw one last look at Ashburn and ignored Oliver, who waved goodbye before she followed Lucienne out of the fencing room.

  “Slow down, Lucia.” Ziyi sprang to keep up with the taller girl, her stilettos clicking on the floor, a thin gold chain around her ankle bouncing up and down. “Short people have short legs.”

  “I thought your seven-inch stilettos fixed that problem,” Lucienne said, but she slowed her pace for her friend.

  “I don’t have romantic feelings for Ash,” Ziyi said in a low voice. “In case you wondered about my recent behavior. I just like to adore the landscape.”

  “I have no plan to drag you away from the landscape,” Lucienne said. “On the contr
ary, I’m glad you’re making efforts to befriend Ash.”

  “You aren’t jealous?”

  “I want Ash to have friends in Sphinxes. I want him to feel at home here. If something develops between you and Ash, I’ll be happy for you both,” she paused, “though I won’t deny I might be feeling a little envious. But you and Ash are my friends.”

  “I’m only sampling. I won’t take your man.”

  “Ash isn’t my man. I don’t have a man.”

  “You’re a glamorous queen. A queen can have as many consorts as she wants.”

  “Who gave you this idea of polyandry?” Lucienne said. “I’m not a queen, and I don’t want to have many men. One was already a handful.”

  “I can handle many nicely at the same time,” Ziyi said. “One of my many talents.”

  “I’m sure.” Lucienne laughed. “But you don’t know what you’re asking for. Well, I wouldn’t worry about that. You don’t keep a single one long enough for me to even get to know his name.”

  “True,” Ziyi said in dismay. “I move on like the wind. Maybe my interest in Ash will hold? I haven’t met anyone quite like him. Can you just let me have this crush on him?”

  Lucienne’s stomach suddenly lurched with acid at the idea of Ziyi and Ashburn. “You just said you don’t have feelings for him.” No, I can’t be so selfish and hypocritical. She had to let this programmed possessiveness go.

  “I don’t. It’s pure fascination.”

  “Don’t let your fascination become an obsession,” Lucienne said, “or you’ll only hurt yourself.”

  “Good to know.” Ziyi cheered, but then her gaiety reduced a notch. “It won’t happen. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s like you’re peanut butter.”

  “Ashburn is allergic to peanut butter.”

  “A shame,” Ziyi said. “Anyway, I’ve been digging and setting traps.”

  Lucienne frowned. “To ensnare Ash?”

  “Vladimir Blazek.”

  Lucienne’s pulse quickened.

  “I’ve probed all the private networks,” Ziyi continued, “and exploited various biometric, facial-recognition, voice-print, and other surveillance. I didn’t find the traitor. But then someone else hit our home fence like electric flies.”

  “Go on.”