by Meg Xuemei X
“You’re not going back.” Vladimir gritted his teeth. “I didn’t bring you this far so you could go back and be captured again. I’ll deliver—your stuff.” He softened his tone. “I promise.”
Lucienne wasn’t soothed. “Promises are made to be broken.”
“Not mine,” Vladimir said. “I’ve never broken one, and I’m not starting now.”
Scrambling boots echoed a few blocks away. There must be a platoon coming their way.
She would take them down, and then she would go find her men and lead them here. They could all leave for safety.
Watching the scene between Vladimir and Bayrose had changed her mind about forcing him to leave with her.
Bringing him back to Sphinxes wouldn’t end his misery. She couldn’t give him what he wanted. It would be an immense torment for him to see her every day but never have her. And she would have to carry his pain on top of hers.
She was sure he wouldn’t betray her, and that was good enough for her and Sphinxes. If she did truly love him, she should set him free. He could learn to move on, and lovely Bayrose would be there to help him do just that, even though she was the enemy’s daughter. Bayrose could be Vladimir's type—Lucienne had no doubt of that.
“I know you’re a man who doesn’t break your vow easily,” Lucienne said, and her heart pained at what she had to say. “For that, I thank you and release you from any commitment you made in the past. You’re free from any obligation to me and my friends.”
Vladimir didn’t look relieved or comforted by her offer. Instead, his hazel eyes burned with such dark fury that Lucienne almost recoiled.
Agony raged inside her, too. Get yourself together, she ordered. She had a war to fight; a team to protect. “Live well and farewell,” she said, brushing past him, two guns in her hands.
“I won’t be dismissed,” Vladimir hissed viciously. Then he lunged at Lucienne like a large panther, scooped her up, and shoved her into the duct, all in one smooth, powerful, and swift motion.
Lucienne sailed into the crawlway, face-planted on the aluminum bottom.
She looked ahead, but didn’t see any of the teenagers. They must have moved ahead. Then she heard the sound of metal click behind her.
Vladimir had sealed the cover.
Damn him. Lucienne closed her eyes, controlling her panic in the narrow space.
His last look—a swirl of tenderness, determination, and anguish played behind her eyelids, which made her heart break. It was beyond cruel that she had to part with him again.
She heard the militants spurting into the room and conversing with Bayrose and Vladimir. Lucienne held her breath, her heart pounding a mile a second in her ears.
She wiggled to her side, shoulders raised, her guns pointing at the entrance of the tube, waiting for the cover to be yanked off to expose her.
She’d rather die than be caught.
But everyone quickly left the storage room, leaving her all alone in the dark passage.
Amid the quiet, guilt fell onto her like a heavy net. She was a bird trapped inside with broken wings. She grieved for Vladimir, for the burden and pain he continued to carry. She wore sorrow for her fallen warriors.
She had many enemies, which meant people she cared about would die protecting her. How many would have to depart this life for her?
She had never complained about the hardships she had endured, but if she had known what it really meant to be the Siren—the kind of grief and guilt she would have to carry—she wouldn’t have signed up for this role.
That was why Jed warned her not to get attached to anyone. She hadn’t recovered from the loss of Orlando and the others, and now she had lost many more.
Lucienne replayed the scene of Marloes going down before her—bloody, bullet riddled, and jerking atop her. She blamed herself for thinking a second too slow and acting a second too late. She should have ended Schmidt when her instinct warned her to take him down. She hadn’t been cold-blooded enough to shoot the psycho doctor, and her people paid the price.
Her grandfather would never have blinked.
As claustrophobia hit, a feeling of vertigo came over Lucienne. The top of the air duct pressed down, and the walls from all sides closed in on her. She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs were shutting down.
Just one mouthful. She pressed her chest to force her lungs to take in the air, and she barely got it. Breathe out, she ordered. And slowly she did. Cold sweat soaking her, she crawled forward, inch by inch.
It seemed an eternity before she saw the dim light at the end of the tube. Its cover was removed.
Lucienne stayed motionless for a few seconds. Vladimir said his men were waiting at the end. If so, the prisoners must have been rescued. But Lucienne was never one for such faith. She raised her pistol before her.
Prying into the doctor’s and Vladimir’s minds had drained her, making it harder for her to concentrate. She inhaled deeply and tried again, listening to the consciousness at the exit.
Unlike Ashburn, who automatically owned almost everyone’s thoughts, she had to dig to get a reading, like an insect trying to squeeze into a hole.
The waves of thoughts from the men moved toward her. They were Vladimir’s men mixed with the reinforcements from her Russian operation.
They were waiting for her anxiously.
“Juliette!” Lucienne called.
“Lucia, we’re right here!” Juliette answered right away.
At the exit, Juliette pulled Lucienne out and hugged her tightly.
Lucienne first met Juliette years ago when she travelled with Jed to oversee their global operations. Juliette was an old agent. She was in her fifties now, yet still active in the field, fit, agile, and tireless. Lucienne had a lot of respect for the older woman.
“Good to see you, Siren,” Juliette said with a smile.
“Likewise.” Lucienne smiled back, scanning the men as they saluted her. She gave a small nod at the rescued teenagers, who looked at her as if seeing her in a different light, wondering who she really was.
No matter who she was, she was still a mess. Her hair and face were sullied. Blood and dust tainted her suit, and she was wearing those ridiculous stilettos without heels.
“Let’s get you home,” Juliette said.
The end of the tunnel was among the ruins, an excellent disguise. Fifteen yards away sat Chameleon, a new model F-22 Raptor with a sterling reputation for superior speed and combat capabilities.
Lucienne moved her gaze from Chameleon to a V22S tiltrotor aircraft that belonged to Vladimir’s men.
Their leader was a clean-cut guy with a tattoo of Chinese character for “tolerance” on his jaw. He looked several years older than Vladimir. “I’m Kurt,” he said. “It’s an honor.”
Lucienne shook his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“Chameleon will take you out of Russia,” Juliette said. “The V22S will escort us.”
Kurt nodded at the arrangement.
“We’re not leaving,” Lucienne said. “My team is still trapped. We’ll join the fight, and we’ll end the rebellion.”
“But Siren,” Juliette said, “my job is to get you out here.”
“We have only two fighters,” Kurt said. “The rebels have twelve.”
“I’ll not leave my men behind, and I can’t ask you to fight with us,” Lucienne said. “You’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain with Vladimir. Go in peace, Kurt.”
“Prince Vladimir will shoot off my tattoo if I don’t deliver you to safety,” he replied.
“He won’t.” Lucienne said. “He likes to bluff.”
“Not when it comes to you,” said Kurt.
How much did this man know about Vladimir and her?
Lucienne turned to Juliette and her Russian team. “I have confidence that you’ll keep me safe and get our team out.” For her men, she must gamble.
After the war with Seraphen, Kian took away her leadership in military actions. She didn’t fight him because of her guilt over l
osing the warriors in the Nirvana valley. So, her generals and captains and lieutenants were taking charge now. If she stepped on their toes, the team leaders would adopt the same cliché Marloes used: “You’ll have to shoot me to stop me from doing my job, Siren.” They all knew Lucienne Lam would never shoot her men.
But these operatives weren’t from Sphinxes. They hadn’t learned the tricks, so Lucienne just took charge. She ordered two soldiers to stay behind in the ruins to protect the teenagers, and then she led her operatives toward Chameleon.
Lucienne dialed Sphinxes’ direct line.
Ziyi picked up immediately, “Lucia!”
“No time for drama, Ziyi,” Lucienne said. “I need the updates on the battlefield.”
“Kian and the air force teams will arrive in seven minutes,” Ziyi said. “Flame III has taken many hits. It took down three enemy fighters, but it’s still surrounded by a dozen. The pilot has refused to leave without you, but I’m afraid it won’t stay in the air for long. My team is still working on hacking into the system to hijack their warplanes. We need more time.”
Lucienne’s blood boiled in her veins.
“I’ll buy you time.” She disconnected the phone and commanded the men, “Charge the enemy line.”
The men roared, fists in the air. Ready to obey her every command.
“Kian’s going to shoot me if anything happens to you,” Juliette grunted.
“We’ll be fine, and I won’t allow him to shoot you,” Lucienne said. “Order Flame III to retreat. We’ll back it up. Let’s take the rebels to Kian.”
Chameleon soared in the air. V22S followed.
Chameleon shot a missile at an enemy fighter tight on Flame III’s tail. The fighter exploded into a ball of fire.
V22S opened fire on two war helicopters. Kurt’s soldiers inside swept their machine guns toward enemy troops on the ground and let the bullets blast out.
Three fighters turned their fire on Chameleon. Lucienne was relieved, but then worried again. Flame III was still facing six foes.
Two missiles soared toward Chameleon’s head and right wing. The F-22 Raptor pulled up and discharged three counter missiles.
An enemies’ copter crashed to the ground, hit by Kurt’s V22S’s fire.
Chameleon was now having a difficult time fending off three fighters. “Two more are coming!” The pilot clenched his teeth.
“Call the teams to withdraw,” Lucienne ordered. “Toward Kian’s coordinates.”
Then, out of nowhere, from above Chameleon, emerged a silvery MiG-25, one of the most advanced fighter jets in the world.
The crew from Chameleon cursed, “We can’t outrun it!” and shot a missile at the MiG-25 before making a sharp turn to flee.
“Do not shoot the MiG-25!” Lucienne shouted, recognizing Vladimir’s Black Widow. “It’s an ally.”
The MiG-25 ducked Chameleon’s missile and fired shots at the rebel fighters, bringing down two of them.
Lucienne’s eyes sparkled. Vladimir must be piloting Black Widow.
Covered by Black Widow, Chameleon started to retreat and urged Flame III, whose tail was in heavy smoke, to leave first.
The enemies’ fighters now ignored Flame III and focused all their fire on Black Widow and Chameleon.
Three fighters surrounded Black Widow to prevent it from aiding the F-22 Raptor. Another fighter went one-on-one with Kurt’s V22S. The rest of the enemies’ six warplanes came toward Chameleon, cutting off its escape, as if they knew the Siren was inside.
Black Widow fought desperately and bravely, but there was no way it could aid Chameleon.
It seemed only a matter of time before Chameleon fell.
Her Russian crew saluted Lucienne, saying farewell in case their jet fell, “It’s been an honor to serve you, Siren,” and fired a series of missiles at the surrounding enemy fighters.
“We’ll not go down,” Lucienne said.
A fighter to the left of Chameleon was blown away. Flame III had come to their aid instead of fleeing. It wouldn’t hold any longer if it didn’t get out of the battlefield in the next minute.
“Leave, Flame III!” Lucienne shouted into the intercom.
“Long live Lucia!” the team from Flame III called through the intercom. Flame III set an impact course toward an F-16 Falcon coming in fast on Chameleon’s tail.
“I ordered you to—” Lucienne rose. The sound of explosions from the intercom drowned out her voice.
Flame III rammed into the Falcon and tore it into two. Then, like a vast flaming bird, Flame III plunged to the ground. All that it left were metal scraps and thick, black smoke.
Tears flowed down Lucienne’s face.
The next second, Kian McQuillen’s furious voice thundered through Chameleon’s intercom. “Take the Siren off the field. Now!”
Black Lightning Seven had arrived, roaring with rage. Fifty of Sphinxes’ fighters flanked it. They bore down on the enemies’ aircraft like eagles chasing sparrows.
Two seconds! If only Flame III could have lasted two more seconds, the crew would have been saved. But if it had fled, Chameleon would have gone down instead.
Black Widow made a farewell gesture and disappeared into the high clouds. V22S followed it.
Lucienne felt part of her heart left with Vladimir, and the other half crashed with Flame III and all her fallen warriors.
The Sphinxes’ force eliminated the rebels down to a single cell. After the teams retrieved Marloes and the rest of the warriors’ bodies and rescued the survivors of Schmidt’s human subjects, the air force bombed Schmidt's lab domes until not a brick stood.
Lucienne returned to Sphinxes with Kian in Black Lightning Seven. She expected him to scold her for acting recklessly and was psyched up to shout back at him for hiding the truth about Vladimir. But Kian only held her shoulder as they sat together in the jet, clearly grateful that she was alive.
She would take him to task for keeping her in the dark, but for now, she only wanted to rest her head against his broad shoulder. His body heat warmed her and his solidity comforted her as she dozed off in exhaustion.
While she struggled to keep her eyelids open, she overheard talk between Kian and the men, “… full-scale war… first fought on Russian soil….”
“The Sealers have bought many nations….”
Beneath and far behind were clouds of fire, smoke, and dust in the ruins of Chechnya.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In her white mansion on Sphinxes, Lucienne sat in the corner of a bathtub made of Caijou gemstone. Ancient Chinese, Arabs, and Egyptians believed the gemstone stored over one hundred million years of healing energy from the earth and the universe. She pulled up her knees, her arms embracing them. Cold streams sheeted down her midnight hair and creamy face.
Soon she would have to put Marloes and the other eighty-three warriors underground. They would lie next to Orlando, Cam, and many others, sharing homes with dirt, insects, and grass. They would never rise again. Never fight with her again. Never see Eterne.
While she couldn’t do anything for the dead, she had also left Vladimir’s life to hang by a single thread in the Sealers’ lair.
All the valuable lives were wasted and she came back empty-handed. There was no cure for Ashburn’s fever. She would have to resort to the one method he would never forgive her for—link the Eye of Time to him. He’d rather die than be taken over by that entity. Though the predator part of her was tempted to do just that to him, she chose to respect his wishes.
She had changed in many ways.
Lucienne wiped water and tears from her eyes and rose from the tub.
Quickly changing to a pale blue sweater dress with the hem down to her ankles, she entered her secret chamber.
Light flooded from the ceilings.
She scanned her collections and crossed the room toward the stone table. On its top was the black crystal box that held the Eye of Time.
Regardless of the anxiety she felt to be away from it, she had put the Eye
inside the box after it tried to manipulate her to link it to Ashburn. She was no longer confident of her willpower against it.
She opened the crystal box and reached for the necklace, craving to have it around her neck once more, longing for the weight of the Eye of Time against her skin.
Closing her eyes for a moment and blowing out a breath, she withdrew her hand and slammed shut the crystal box.
She was going to check on Ashburn. If she carried the Eye of Time, she might let it go after him when she saw him.
She had promised him, “I’ll never let it take you.”
Ashburn was asleep when Lucienne arrived at the Sphinxes’ medical facilities.
“He’ll be out for a while,” Dr. Wren said bitterly.
He had a black eye. Lucienne wondered how he got it.
“We injected him with a sedative,” Dr. Wren added.
“For his fever?” She frowned. “Are you sure a tranquilizer will work?”
“For his violent behavior,” he said. “The boy jumped out of bed like a lunatic, screaming that you were in grave danger, and that he wouldn’t let his only mate die. He darted out of this room, claiming he needed to rescue you. He punched me when I tried to stop him. No one has ever punched me.” The doctor lifted his chin up for Lucienne to have a better view of his bruised eye. “The last time I saw him in that creepy Ghost House, he was still civilized. But beneath his gentle manners, he’s a savage. It took five men to restrain him before I subdued him with a sedative. The whole time, he was kicking and cursing like a fiend.”
Lucienne couldn’t picture Ashburn hitting anyone and cursing. “Are you exaggerating, Dr. Wren?” she asked. “Ash—”
“—is a savage beneath his quiet demeanor,” the doctor concluded.
Lucienne blinked. Something clicked in her mind. Ashburn must have read Schmidt’s and Marloes’ memories. Fearing for her safety, he had lashed out.
“I’m sorry for your black eye, Dr. Wren,” she said soothingly. “I’ll have Aida make you chocolate mousse cake, the way you like, for the great care you’ve given your patients.” She knew how much the doctor had done for the patients in Sphinxes, despite of his huge ego. “But you must forgive Ash. He wasn’t himself with a fever like that.”
