The Red Queen (3 page)

“I did, but there’s a problem.”

“When is there not?” she said, crestfallen. “I should have known the Sealers would keep the scroll in the submarine. Black Lightning Seven blew it to pieces.”

“The scroll survived.”

Lucienne whipped around toward Ashburn, eyes sparkling with hope. Her hand grabbed his arm, and the Lure immediately spiked. She rasped at the pleasure it provided, reluctantly withdrawing her hand after lingering a little longer. Now, she had to embrace the punishing pain for letting go.

“Your Siren’s mark shields you, so I can’t read your memories,” Ashburn said. “But for some reason, I can’t see your mother’s either. I believe the Eye of Time erased her from the collective consciousness.”

Her face showed the subject of her long-gone mother wasn’t something she liked having brought up. “What does Jekaterina have to do with this?” 

“The last scroll has fallen into her hands,” he said.

She looked at his darkened expression, and her face sank. “And she falls off the grid, doesn’t she?”

CHAPTER 2

BEATEN

Lucienne awoke to a beam of sun dust dancing in front of her face.

Aida made it a routine to open the curtains and let the sunlight in each early morning ever since Lucienne returned from the war.

She’s terrified I won’t wake up one day if she doesn’t do so
.

Even Dr. Wren, her family doctor since her birth, wasn’t particularly positive that she could last long if they didn’t find her a cure in time.

Widely awake now, Lucienne took in her open-style bedroom. The tone of the room stayed rich white—a vanity set, a rug with silver lilies, and flowery curtains. All valuable, breakable things had been evacuated. Kian had also taken great care to have the crew remove the chandelier of crystals from the ceiling, fearing it would fall on her next time she went berserk. He banned mirrors after she smashed one with her bare hand in a rage
.

The team replaced her treasured Chinese Shui-mo painting
Nymph of the Luo River,
which told of
a doomed romance between a goddess and a mortal prince, with calendar photos of snowy forests.

Her people were protecting her property from her.

With a sigh, Lucienne threw off the quilt and swung her legs out of the bed. A relief settled over her as she found she was in a white sleeping gown.

She headed to the bathroom to take a two-minute shower. A bath had become a luxury. The last thing she wanted was to be caught in a transition from sane to crazy in the nude.

After her quick shower, she put on a white shirt and jeans with wide belt and jogged toward the sun room for breakfast. Duncan and another guard escorted her.

The smell of coffee, bacon, and French toast floated down the hallway. Her mouth watering, Lucienne quickened her pace, but then paused before reaching the glass door to the sun room.

The air crackled with electricity. The Lure had arrived before her. Lucienne took a moment to brace herself. Ash wasn’t the only one inside. Vladimir must be waiting for her as well. Neither of them would let the other be alone with her.

She hadn’t seen Vladimir since her episode yesterday. He’d gone for a shower and hadn’t returned after that. He deserved a break from her.

She evened her breath and approached the door. Recognizing her heat signature, it slid open. Lucienne sauntered in.

A flood of sunshine poured through the spaces between the red maple leaves dangling over the glass roof. Vladimir and Ashburn, positioned as far away from each other as possible, took the two seats facing the door.

Ashburn sensed her coming before Vladimir did. He sat there expectantly, hands on a steamy teacup. “Lucia,” he said, his bored, annoyed expression vaporizing at the sight of her. “You can sit beside me.”

Vladimir, who was adding spoons of sugar into his mug of coffee on the counter, turned to her at once. “No freaking’ way,” he said. “She sits with me.”

Lucienne stifled a sigh. This never got old, but at least they evolved a little. Vladimir didn’t demand Ashburn get lost. He knew she needed Ash, though he stubbornly assumed it was a temporary thing— that she needed Ash to improve her health, and then he’d be gone.

Before Ashburn retorted, Lucienne cut in, “Let’s start the day with getting along, shall we?”  She chose a middle seat on the opposite side of the boys. “And good morning—” Her bright greeting choked in her throat as she saw what had become of Vladimir’s face.

It was bruised and swollen with two cuts on his left cheek. His lower lip was nastily split. That was why he hadn’t showed up last night. He must have looked worse.

Vladimir never lost a one-on-one duel. The men had ganged up on him again. Lucienne’s eyes hardened. Her Czech boyfriend had become the most hated man in Sphinxes. The first week after they’d returned from the war, he’d constantly engaged himself in a fight whenever he left her residence. When she’d asked how he’d gotten his bruises, he’d always found some excuse.

She was a warrior herself. She understood pride. She couldn’t interfere in his struggles with her soldiers. Vlad couldn’t take it if the men despised him—and they would if she stepped in. She’d given him and the men time to sort out their differences, but she underestimated the scale of her warriors’ fury. So he’d come back damaged. This, she decided, must end. If she continued to tolerate their violence and his pride, one day they would deliver her a body bag with Vladimir inside.

Rage fell into Lucienne’s eyes.

Ashburn was at her side in an instant, his hand grabbing her shoulder. “Lucia,” he said, “easy. Reel in your anger.” And then he pulled her into his arms.

His woody scent filled her world. His warmth and hard chest was the haven she’d been searching for. Pleasure rushed over her. Ash was using the Lure to distract her so she wouldn’t let fury take over. Anger was the major cause of her insanity.

Lucienne’s temper ebbed away at Ash’s touch.

Vladimir was beside her. He was always fast. As he watched his rival embrace her, his jaw tightened, but he didn’t attack. In the past, he’d have assaulted Ashburn for that, but her condition brought the two of them to an understanding. Vladimir tapped Ashburn on the shoulder to indicate that he could take over hugging Lucienne.

Ashburn gave Vladimir a sinister glare, but Lucienne extricated herself from him to avoid a further conflict. Vladimir immediately pulled her into his arms, his hands, rough and strong, tight against the small of her back. Lucienne could read his intention to replace Ashburn’s scent with his, and she was momentarily confused by the sudden shift. Both scents were intoxicating, but now wasn’t the best time to make a comparison.

With clenched fists, Ashburn returned to his seat, his death glare glued on Vladimir. Ashburn was more conservative and considerate. He wouldn’t do anything to provoke her; Vladimir, on the other hand, was reckless even in the most hazardous situation.

“Will you let me have my breakfast?” she asked Vladimir and he released her reluctantly. She noticed his limp as he went back to his seat, though he was very careful to hide it. The men had beaten him up terribly.

“Did you get into a fight again?” she asked.

Vladimir shrugged. “Just a quarrel.”

“A quarrel?” She stared at him. “They mauled your face.”

Ashburn looked alarmed again. Lucienne gave him a nod to tell him that she would get hold of herself.

Vladimir had the nerve to flash a grin at her. “You should see how they look.”

Ashburn snorted at Vladimir’s bravado. Lucienne could imagine how the men looked and how many men it took to take the prince down. He’d finally admitted it was more than one man. She could guess who the ringleader was—the battle-hardened Finley. He’d hated Vladimir since the Brazil raid.

Vladimir saw the dangerous glint in her eyes and went rigid, his grin gone. “Lucia,” he said, not forgetting to give her a frown of disapproval. He’d been pretending she was just like before, and that everything was normal. As if by making believe, things would be fine for the two of them. “It was just a fight,” he stressed. “Men are like dogs. Men fight.”

Ashburn shook his head in disgust and turned to drink his Irish tea.

Aida stepped through the adjacent inner door with a cart of a full-course breakfast.

“Ah, Aida,” Vladimir said cheerfully, shifting his attention to the food, “just in time. I’m starving.”

Aida didn’t look in his direction. It took more than a touch of willpower for her not to poison his food. Had it not upset Lucienne, she just might have done it. The nanny stopped the cart beside her charge. “My sweet girl,” she said, “I made you your favorite omelet.” She laid out several dishes in front of Lucienne, then placed a glass of almond milk on the side. As Lucienne eyed Vladimir’s coffee, the nanny said firmly, “No coffee, Lucia. Doctor’s orders.”

Lucienne heaved a sigh and gestured for the guards to join her for breakfast, and they eagerly took seats on either side of her.

“No man can resist Aida’s full English course,” Duncan said.

“I’m not English,” Aida said. “I’m a Mongolian.”

“Sorry,” Duncan murmured, “I didn’t mean English. I meant course.”

“I know what you meant!” said Aida.

“Uh, your English is very good,” Duncan said. “I can barely hear any trace of an accent.”

The other guard nodded an impressive approval.

Aida hissed, “I was raised in Chicago.” She pushed the cart away without the slightest intention of serving the guards, and they traded a glance.

As Aida strolled past Vladimir, he called, “Slow down, Aida darling. Can I have an omelet too?”

“I’m not your darling,” Aida said coldly. “You want anything, make it yourself.”

Vladimir kept his grin, but Lucienne caught fleeting hurt in his hazel eyes.

Aida stopped again beside Ashburn and placed a plate full of pancakes in front of him. She poured syrup on top of the stack. “More syrup, Ash?” she asked fondly.

“Yes, please,” Ashburn said. “And thank you, Aida.”

The nanny drizzled more syrup on Ash’s pancakes, then left the whole bottle on the table directly in front of him. Lucienne watched silently. Aida refused to serve Vladimir, but at least she hadn’t spat on his food or mixed sand in his steak and sandwiches as the chefs in Sphinxes’ castle did.

Lucienne cut her omelet in half, placed a portion on another plate, and pushed it toward Vladimir. “Share mine,” she offered.

“Jsi můj miláček,”
Vladimir said in Czech, meaning, “You’re my sweetheart.” He cut a piece of creamy spinach omelet and put it into his mouth. “Good stuff,” he said and swallowed it.

Ashburn glared at Vladimir. Standing behind Ashburn, Aida also looked daggers at the Czech prince. Vladimir took in another mouthful of omelet and moaned as if he were in heaven.

“Aida is a softie inside.” Lucienne turned to the guards. “She’s made plenty of toasts, bacons, and beans for everyone in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

“We take turns,” Duncan told a young guard. “And I outrank you.” With that, he rose and exited into the kitchen.

The guard murmured a complaint.

Lucienne ignored the tension in the room, determined to enjoy her breakfast. She put a forkful of omelet into her mouth and chewed. It didn’t have the delicious flavor of fine egg, cheese, and spinach. It tasted like rusty metal. Then the smell of blood permeated the air.

No
, Lucienne cried silently, as a heated wave hit her face. 

“
No
,” she heard Ashburn’s whisper as she looked up from her food and locked eyes on him.

The wave dragged her toward a pit as she kicked and screamed, struggling to pull free.

It was gone, leaving her in the center of a sunny room, where everything appeared distorted.

She blinked in confusion, and everything returned to normal.

“Oh, gods, it comes more and more often,” an old woman cried. “My sweet girl suffers.”

She ignored the woman, who posed no threat, but the men surrounding her were warriors. They were young and virile, and she could sense they were always itching for a fight. Tensing up, she grasped a string of beads on her wrist. She never went anywhere without a weapon, and though the beads didn’t seem dangerous, they were lethal in her hands. The enemies who underestimated her had paid dearly.

“Láska?” A hazel-eyed boy called to her.

Why did he call her “love” in Czech? She didn’t even know him. Was this some kind of trick to make her lay down her defense? Narrowing her eyes, she plucked three open beads from the string, twirling them between her fingers. Any wrong move from these men, and she’d attack first. She could put down two or three at once.

“Lucia, we’re your friends.” A silver-haired boy gestured for the others to fall back as he moved toward her like approaching a small carnivore. But she wasn’t small. She was tall and deadly and feeling backed into a corner. 

The men all looked tense, but they obeyed the silver-haired boy and stepped back, their eyes not moving from her.

The hazel-eyed boy ignored the silver-haired boy’s warning and competed to reach her.
A rebel type,
she thought. Should she take him down now?

“Don’t be an idiot, Blazek!” the silver-haired boy hissed at him. “You should not provoke her.”

The hazel-eyed glared at the silver-haired, but stopped. When he turned back to her, there was tender boldness in his eyes. “I’m not provoking her. I want to show her I’m her boyfriend.”

Boyfriend?

She rolled a bead between her fingers as silver-hair growled. He didn’t agree, but one of them could be her boyfriend. Which one, though? The two were clearly rivals and much more likely to attack each other than her. Lucienne loosed a tight breath and tilted her head to study them. They were both striking, yet in opposite ways. It was hard to judge which one was more attractive. Her grandfather warned her not to trust a man, especially a pretty one, and she had two in front of her.

They both wanted her. The way they looked at her—they knew her well and pined after her. But why didn’t she remember them? She decided it best not to trust either one.