The Siren (Laments of Angels & Dark Chemistry Book 1) by Meg Xuemei X
Authors: Meg Xuemei X
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down eight types of missiles, disrupt radar and jam an enemy communication system with electromagnetic radiation and directed-energy weapons. Vladimir fell in love with the black beauty at first sight, but when he flew it, he never really came down again. Speed did such wonders to men.
Lucienne settled in at the co-pilot seat, a code-secured briefcase at her feet. She’d changed her attire to an ultra-sleek, black leather jacket and a pair of stretch leather pants that embraced every curve. A combat knife fastened to her leather boots added a dangerous air to her sexy ensemble that Vladimir couldn’t ignore.
He discreetly checked her out when he thought she wasn’t watching. She was talking to Orlando and the commandos in their form-fitting black suits. They evidently appreciated the new nanotechnology that provided the warriors the advantage of blending into any environment like chameleons.
Her warriors talked to her casually. She knew they regarded her as one of them and Sphinxes as a home. Jed had been strict on rank. Everyone addressed him as Master Lam. Lucienne took a different approach, but her men respected her no less. As a mind reader, she knew they’d walk into a sea of fire for her. She firmly believed that congeniality and warmth weren’t weaknesses, even in a ruler.
“But your grandfather never had so many enemies,” Kian had once said in dismay.
“His enemies came from the outside; mine are family.”
“You represent change,” Kian said, no longer troubled. “You’ll make history.”
“ We will, Kian McQuillen,” she said. “Together.”
* * *
“We’ll arrive in twenty minutes,” Vladimir announced, his hand on the joystick.
Lucienne watched BL7 pierce the sunlight-dotted clouds like a god’s arrow above the Pacific Ocean. Ziyi’s voice buzzed through the communication link. “Dragonfly spotted strange life forms heading toward the coordinates.”
Vladimir touched screen next to the control panel. “Link.”
The screen swirled to life—the strange life forms turned out to be a small group of mismatched individuals. Among them was a beautiful redhead about Lucienne’s age. A timid-looking farmer couple in their thirties shivered beside her. Following them were a stocky king, wearing a golden crown and royal purple, and his small-eyed queen. Stomping beside the queen was a big, blond boy, about the same age as Vladimir. Nine guards, all brawny and menacing and armed with daggers, flanked the royal family.
The islanders dressed in period costumes and skirts.
“The Aleuts don’t wear thin skirts in the winter,” Vladimir said. “Look at their features. They’re obviously a mixed race. They’re not Aleuts. And the guards are carrying Misericorde daggers.”
“Have Research Team Nova investigate their costumes, Ziyi,” Lucienne said.
Five minutes later, Ziyi’s voice came back. “The team can’t pinpoint the exact period. Their costumes are mixed from different times and different cultures.”
“What about the skirts? Are they Scottish kilts?” Orlando cut in.
Lucienne laughed. “Orlando is half Scott.”
“And half Latino,” Vladimir said.
“You have a problem with that?” Orlando challenged.
“No.” Vladimir shrugged. “Should I?”
Lucienne smiled. “Vladimir, learn to get along with people, so no one will suspect your agenda when you actually don’t have one.”
“Whatever,” Vladimir said. “This lot seems to have interbred for generations.”
As an explorer, Vladimir had lived for short periods with different ethnic groups—an experience his uncle insisted he have. The man wanted his heir to influence the world and reignite the flame of Czech royal blood. He couldn’t fathom the thought of the world passing them by, leaving the monarch and traditions behind. Lucienne believed the old man suffered much worse blow than that when he watched his ambitions, visions, and money disappear as his heir prepared
Lucienne settled in at the co-pilot seat, a code-secured briefcase at her feet. She’d changed her attire to an ultra-sleek, black leather jacket and a pair of stretch leather pants that embraced every curve. A combat knife fastened to her leather boots added a dangerous air to her sexy ensemble that Vladimir couldn’t ignore.
He discreetly checked her out when he thought she wasn’t watching. She was talking to Orlando and the commandos in their form-fitting black suits. They evidently appreciated the new nanotechnology that provided the warriors the advantage of blending into any environment like chameleons.
Her warriors talked to her casually. She knew they regarded her as one of them and Sphinxes as a home. Jed had been strict on rank. Everyone addressed him as Master Lam. Lucienne took a different approach, but her men respected her no less. As a mind reader, she knew they’d walk into a sea of fire for her. She firmly believed that congeniality and warmth weren’t weaknesses, even in a ruler.
“But your grandfather never had so many enemies,” Kian had once said in dismay.
“His enemies came from the outside; mine are family.”
“You represent change,” Kian said, no longer troubled. “You’ll make history.”
“ We will, Kian McQuillen,” she said. “Together.”
* * *
“We’ll arrive in twenty minutes,” Vladimir announced, his hand on the joystick.
Lucienne watched BL7 pierce the sunlight-dotted clouds like a god’s arrow above the Pacific Ocean. Ziyi’s voice buzzed through the communication link. “Dragonfly spotted strange life forms heading toward the coordinates.”
Vladimir touched screen next to the control panel. “Link.”
The screen swirled to life—the strange life forms turned out to be a small group of mismatched individuals. Among them was a beautiful redhead about Lucienne’s age. A timid-looking farmer couple in their thirties shivered beside her. Following them were a stocky king, wearing a golden crown and royal purple, and his small-eyed queen. Stomping beside the queen was a big, blond boy, about the same age as Vladimir. Nine guards, all brawny and menacing and armed with daggers, flanked the royal family.
The islanders dressed in period costumes and skirts.
“The Aleuts don’t wear thin skirts in the winter,” Vladimir said. “Look at their features. They’re obviously a mixed race. They’re not Aleuts. And the guards are carrying Misericorde daggers.”
“Have Research Team Nova investigate their costumes, Ziyi,” Lucienne said.
Five minutes later, Ziyi’s voice came back. “The team can’t pinpoint the exact period. Their costumes are mixed from different times and different cultures.”
“What about the skirts? Are they Scottish kilts?” Orlando cut in.
Lucienne laughed. “Orlando is half Scott.”
“And half Latino,” Vladimir said.
“You have a problem with that?” Orlando challenged.
“No.” Vladimir shrugged. “Should I?”
Lucienne smiled. “Vladimir, learn to get along with people, so no one will suspect your agenda when you actually don’t have one.”
“Whatever,” Vladimir said. “This lot seems to have interbred for generations.”
As an explorer, Vladimir had lived for short periods with different ethnic groups—an experience his uncle insisted he have. The man wanted his heir to influence the world and reignite the flame of Czech royal blood. He couldn’t fathom the thought of the world passing them by, leaving the monarch and traditions behind. Lucienne believed the old man suffered much worse blow than that when he watched his ambitions, visions, and money disappear as his heir prepared
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