Page 56

THE PRINCE

As she moved further away from the crossfire, she pulled out her encrypted Eidolon.

Then the fringe of her vision caught a blur of movement.

Someone was in her proximity. And this one was extremely well-trained. He’d gotten this close before her hyper-senses alerted her.

The target was at five o’clock.

Lucienne dashed out, her finger fastening on the trigger, ready to pull.

Then the person wasn’t there anymore.

Lucienne wheeled around, her gun sweeping, and the next second, her finger loosened on the trigger.

Joy surged through her.

Thousands of words came to her, all at once, competing to pour out. In the end, she couldn’t utter a single syllable, and her very first reaction astounded her and then shamed her more than anything.

An assault rifle slung over his shoulder, Vladimir Blazek lowered his Armatix pistol .

From across the room, he gazed at her. He looked different than when she had last seen him. His hair was no longer windblown but knotted in braids. He still dressed to impress. The open designer leather jacket showed off his hard-muscled body.

He looks good . For a moment, she was disappointed at seeing him so fetching. What had she expected—him looking like a stray dog after he left her?

She hadn’t missed the same enormous joy in his hazel eyes when he first spotted her, and while it remained, hunger and pining started consuming them.

Wait a minute. She blinked back to reality. Stop flattering yourself . The delight and the hunger in his eyes only meant one thing—he was passionate about ending her. He was picturing his satisfaction right now on drawing her blood.

Her eyes turned icy.

“Lucia,” Vladimir whispered, as if her name was still precious to him, as if she still meant everything to him.

Snap out of it , she ordered herself sternly. He’s your enemy . He brought this force of hell onto you. And some of your men are lost because of him .

Thick emotions stuck in her throat, making it hard for her to breathe. Hate, love, then hate again, twirled inside her like ice and fire circling each other before their final clash.

His eyes roamed over her, like a sommelier savoring the aroma of fine wine.

Lucienne was suddenly aware of her appearance. Her business suit and knee-high skirt were sullied with dirt and Marloes’ blood. Her hair was half toppled down .

His gaze moved to her exposed legs and lingered there. He always had a weakness for her legs. Should she shoot him while he was checking her out?

Killing him wasn’t a fantasy anymore. He was right in front of her. Just squeeze the trigger and she would erase him from the face of the earth. She would have one less enemy.

Her fingers gripped on the gun again, then to her surprise, they shook. She wasn’t the one who used to tremble.

Vladimir strolled toward her.

“Stop,” she said in a husky voice, not lowering her pistol. “One step closer, I’ll blow your brains out.”

The gun felt slippery in her hand. She was sweating. She had never sweated when facing an enemy. She never faltered. She never blinked. She was never merciful. And now she was ashamed of her shaking, sweating hands.

Vladimir stopped, his face paling. Joy and desire dropped from him like a cold stone. His eyes hardened, turning to dark forest with a storm raging inside.

That’s more like it, Lucienne thought.

She needed his hostility to harden her heart. But the callousness in his eyes was soon replaced by pain, heavy as sheets of rain. His misery, mirroring the anguish inside her, etched on every inch of his face.

Then anger rolled off him like the strong scent of a caged panther. He started toward her again without breaking his stride, his intense eyes never leaving hers, daring her to shoot him. The hurt in his eyes wished for her to end him so he didn’t have to suffer the world anymore.

He advanced as if she was his doomed mate, and no one could stand in his way to claim her.

Lucienne hissed.

Squeeze , a voice said in her mind. A bullet in his treacherous heart would rid the Siren of the dagger in hers.

Lucienne’s fingers tightened again on the trigger despite its slickness.

Handle this , she ordered herself.

She never issued empty threats—when she took aim at her enemy, she shot. So what was stopping her? Her eyes burned with fury—at herself, at her weakness, and at Vladimir.

A squad of militants poured into the lab, seeking targets and wanting blood. From their uniforms, Lucienne knew they weren’t the rebel force. They must be the Sealers’ special force Schmidt had mentioned.

They looked surprised at a teenage girl pointing her gun at Vladimir as they turned their rifles on her.

Vladimir stepped in front of Lucienne, blocking them. “Do not shoot! She’s too important,” he said, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Let me handle the girl.”

“What’s going on, Prince Vladimir?” the squad leader demanded in a thick French accent. “Is she the Siren girl?”

“She is,” Vladimir said. “We’ll take her alive to the elders. The reward will be greater.”

Lucienne didn’t remove her aim from the traitor, but she knew if she shot him, she would end up dead, too. Fortunately, he seemed more interested in capturing her and presenting her to the Sealers as a trophy .

You’ll never catch me. But she could take advantage of his vanity plan. She would take care of the SWAT team first. She gambled that the Czech traitor wouldn’t shoot her in the back. He wouldn’t get satisfaction from an easy kill. He would punish her before bleeding her dry.

The leader pulled out a phone.

He was going to inform the Sealers’ elders about taking her in.

Lucienne dove to the ground and rolled. Marloes’ handgun thrust forward, she fired as she moved in a blur.

Shock registered on their faces as the ringleader and two other soldiers instantly dropped to the ground, bullets in their foreheads.

They hadn’t expected her to have that kind of speed and accuracy. Lucienne sneered. Even when they saw her pointing a gun at Vladimir, they hadn’t put her on their threat meter. Only Vladimir knew how deadly she could be, but he hadn’t had time to warn his new comrades.

By the time the enemy had recovered and opened fire, Lucienne had leapt behind a marble counter.

Bullets cut into the wall behind her. Shards of concretes and marble shattered around her.

Her blood seared hot and cold all at once—hot for the battle, cold for leaving an opening for Vladimir to gun her down at any second.

The gunfire was deafening as the militants closed in on her. Soon they would surround her.

Let them come near, she hissed. She darted her eyes around, frantically seeking an exit.

Then the screaming of the guns ceased .

Lucienne peeked from the side of the counter, but found there was no one for her to shoot except Vladimir. Her eyes widened.

He had disposed the remaining six militants—his own team. All bullets found their heads. Like her, he wasted no shots to the bullet-proof vests.

Lucienne rose and turned to Vladimir with a grin she didn’t realize was there. But it felt good fighting with him again. The old memories wheeled back. How much she had missed the fun, the thrill, and freedom when he had been around. She spotted a spark in his eyes, too, and knew he felt the same.

“Lucia,” he whispered, starting toward her again, eager to cross the room and eliminate the distance between them.

Her heart beat out of rhythm. Her eyes lit in anticipation. Would he pull her into his arms and touch her? Would it feel the same?

Hasty footsteps sounded in the hall, as if an entire battalion was approaching.

Vladimir cursed. “They must be the rebels. The team with me is down.”

“Then I’ll let you live another day, Prince Vladimir ,” she said, her stomach lurching at her own harsh words and the difficulty of parting from him. “Next time, you won’t be so lucky.” Lowering her gun, she sprang toward a side exit, away from the oncoming horde and a stricken Vladimir.

“Lucia, wait!” he called after her.

Lucienne didn’t stop .