Hi there, people of the internet! I'm sorry it took me so long to actually get to work on this chapter, but uni's been kicking my ass recently and there's only so much work I can do before my brain decides to shut itself off. :c
Either way; I'm glad you guys enjoyed the first chapter, and I hope you'll like this one, too!
Lots of Love, Yelena
—-
Despite the horrors of the past few months, Paris hadn't changed. The streets were as deserted and uninviting as ever, dotted with overflowing garbage cans and torn posters on either side of the road––––and even the bitter aftertaste of death and destruction still clung to the buildings, looming high above Lara as she trudged past St. Aicard's Church and down toward the Place D'Arcade.
She'd briefly considered looking for Janice in the cluster of backstreets and reeking alleyways, but had finally decided on trusting her own instincts first; if only to avoid attracting any more attention than she already had when she'd first set foot in the ghetto. And, she admitted with a purse of her lips, because she didn't particularly feel like talking to anyone in that very moment. Not even someone who could prove to be somewhat useful to her.
Not to mention the fact that she still couldn't decide whether or not she was actually in the mood to face Kurtis after everything that had happened–––––everything that was bound to happen. They'd both broken their promise to each other in one regard or another, even going as far as negating the other's entire existence for the mere sake of some peace of mind. Hell, she was still trying to fool herself into believing that the Cabal had been defeated that night, that Karel couldn't have survived the explosion or found a way to retrieve the Sanglyph from the Sleeper's charred form, as she strolled down Rue Dominique half a year later, both hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her leather jacket.
It was the only option she was willing to consider possible for time being. Because, should he have fooled them, should he have managed to flee the Strahov complex with the Sanglyph and found another way to re-breed the Nephilim race, well… she was already very, very dead.
And no matter what the news agencies claimed, she did not have a lingering death wish. Not yet, anyway.
Slowing her pace to a comfortable swagger as she neared the Café Metro, Lara clenched her jaws and curled her hands into tight fists inside her pockets. No–––––she certainly didn't plan on dying anytime soon. But she wasn't willing to let Karel raise an army of Nephilim warriors for his own amusement either, even less considering the way he'd looked at her back in that arena, with that feral hunger clearly dancing inside his glacier-like eyes. Maniac. Sick, psychotic, piece-of-shit maniac.
She barely noticed the way Pierre shrunk back behind his counter upon catching sight of her in the doorway. She didn't care, either. Let him think she was there to wring his scrawny little neck for betraying her and making things decidedly harder for her in the long run, let him cower and wet his pants, as long as he didn't open his rutting mouth. There was only so much bullshit she could listen to on a daily basis, and she'd reached her absolute limit two years ago.
Collapsing onto the chair farthest away from the only customer in sight, Lara loosed a heavy breath and pressed the balls of her thumbs against her eyes. At least that cryptic, bodiless voice had vanished into thin air after she'd retrieved the Lux Veritatis blade –––– though the lingering headache it had caused had never fully dissipated.
"Perhaps you should try meditating, then." She'd felt the air shift beside her long before his voice had even reached her ears; had smelt his cologne the second he'd begun trailing her in the Metro tunnels. Yet still, there was something so utterly vexing about Kurtis that she couldn't quite suppress the groan resonating in the back of her throat as he took a seat across from her, that taunting smirk still etched into his rough, though undeniably handsome features. Bastard. "Or cut back on the foul language, for a start."
"Gladly." Shifting in her chair, Lara offered him her sweetest, most feral smile. "You'd have to leave first, though."
He didn't bristle; didn't even blink as he braced his weight on his elbows and leaned forward over the table. "Self-pity doesn't suit you, Croft. But if you'd prefer to try scaring Gunderson's men off with that pathetic glare of yours, by all means––––be my guest."
For a moment, it felt as though he had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on her head. "Gunderson's still alive?"
How wonderful. Out of all the men Eckhardt had recruited for his cause, Marten Gunderson had been the only one with an agenda of his own; a general in his own right, she presumed, and Karel's second-in-command even before he'd betrayed his superior.
Well, that––––––and a raging pain in her ass.
"Eckhardt's men fled the Strahov well before you got to him."
Of course. Why keep your followers around when you can just butcher them later?
Loosing a heavy sigh, Lara shook her head and brushed a particularly stubborn strand of hair behind her ear. "So, in short: We don't stand a chance against the Cabal."
"Not without the Periapt Shards," Kurtis murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "And not without the proper training and insight. It's a goddamn miracle I managed to get you out of that cell without activating their defenses once; and there's no way in hell they'll–––––"
"What are you talking about?" Sitting up a little straighter, Lara cocked her head to the right and clenched her fists beneath the table. "As far as I can recall, I was stuck in prison for months, and all you did was heal a few measly little wounds and spew some cryptic nonsense."
If her sharp tone of voice bothered him, he didn't show it. "You were drugged and brutalized when I found you, Lara, and I neither had the time nor patience to have some sort of deep conversation with a dazed know-it-all." He paused; whether to consider his words or assess her current mindset before going on, she couldn't tell. "I don't know which reality you're currently living in, but you only spent a week in prison before Karel's men started mushing your brain. Seemed like the old rat was positively dotty about you, to risk so much for someone his boss would've pulverized in a heartbeat if given the chance."
She wasn't sure whether it was his tone of voice or the cluster memories slowly beginning to resurface that made her stomach twist.
Oh, gods. Gods.
If what he said was true––––then all those cold stares and growled commands hadn't been hallucinations after all. Which meant…
Oh, heaven. She needed air, and lots of it.
–––xxx–––
Kurtis could do nothing but stare as Lara leapt from her seat and rushed toward the door, her braid softly grazing the small of her back with each powerful, though stiff, step she took. He'd noticed how pale she'd gotten, yes, but there had been no fear in her eyes, no pain––––no nothing, aside from the hint of disgust that always seemed to linger in those wildfire eyes of hers.
But then again, she'd always had a way of blocking him out of her mind whenever she felt like it.
Grumbling a particularly vulgar curse, the legionnaire rose from his own chair and made to follow her; never once bothering to pay any heed to the self-important owner and the homeless man in the far corner of the room. Even if they had overheard their conversation, chances were they wouldn't be able to make the connection to the Cabal. And if they did, well… he'd take care of it.
Surprisingly enough, Kurtis didn't have any trouble finding her. She'd hardly made it to one of the reeking backstreets he'd come to loathe before stopping in her tracks and pressing the balls of her thumbs against her eyes, her elbows braced against the cold wall before her as if to keep herself upright. And, he mused, to hide the soft tremor in them.
"What did you remember?" There was no use in congeniality; not yet, at the very least. "Whatever it was, it might help us find them."
She remained silent for a little while longer––––regaining her bearings, perhaps, or shoving those memories back down before they could cause any more havoc. Only when she'd straightened and taken a couple of deep breaths did she face him again, the sparks of gold within her eyes like living, burning embers.
Heaven, he didn't want to know how many of her enemies she had paralyzed just by looking at them with those gods-damned eyes.
"Karel," she finally breathed, taking a tentative step toward him before catching herself and turning to head down Rue Dominique. "I remembered Karel."
Falling into step beside her, Kurtis stuffed his hands into the pockets of his olive-green army jacket and furrowed his brows. "Well, if you're going to bolt every time you see his face, you're in for an unpleasant surprise."
"Very funny."
"I wasn't joking." Whatever it was that bothered her, it had to be worse than Eckhardt's plans. By a long shot. "Until Karel's pushing daisies, we're a team–––whether you like it or not. And as such, keeping secrets from each other is generally a shitty idea."
Her icy glare didn't faze him; quite on the contrary, actually. "I thought I'd imagined most of what I'd seen and heard back there, but now––––now I'm not so sure anymore." She paused, shaking her head. "He was there. Every time I sobered up enough to remember who or where I was, he was there to taunt me."
The area around her nose paled again, though a quick glimpse at her hands told him she wasn't likely to run off again. As if she'd drawn strength from the memories, however disturbing they might have been, she merely straightened her spine and closed her eyes for the fraction of a second before loosing a tired, heavy sigh.
"I thought I'd imagined it," Lara repeated, her initial disgust suddenly turned into seething anger. "Him talking to me in the dead of night, touching me, reprimanding me. I don't remember what he said, exactly, but he never quite stopped talking."
Interesting. "He touched you?"
She grimaced, fingering the guns at her thighs as if they offered her some sort of solace. "Not physically, if that's what you're wondering. It felt as if he were peeling away my mind layer by layer, as if he was trying to find something I hadn't been willing to offer him, despite the drugs in my system." She paused, reevaluating her words. "But considering my overall condition at the time, there's no way to tell if I'd been hallucinating or not."
"Well, he must have had a reason to keep you alive all this time," Kurtis shrugged, fishing a half-squished package of cigarettes and a lighter from his pockets as he watched her. While unusual for someone with Karel's particular set of powers, he certainly wouldn't put it beyond him to try and pull the thoughts right out of her head––––especially if there was something important he thought she might keep hidden from him. Something worth butchering a good number of his own men for.
"I have come to accept that there is no understanding Karel." There was no sharpness in her voice any more, but no softness either. A perfect mask of complete and utter indifference, disturbed only by that wild, untamed look in her eyes as she clenched her fists at her sides. As if she'd fed on all the pain and suffering she'd recently endured, only allowing it to to make her stronger, harder. "And even if there was a way to see right through him, I'm not sure it'd be worth the price."
While he chose to ignore it, he didn't miss that faint flicker of revulsion on her face as she looked at him; wondering how powerful he was, how willing to abuse his own gifts, perhaps, or simply trying to erase those horrid memories from her mind. He couldn't fault her for it, either way.
"That's nothing you should be too concerned about." His gaze shifting toward the mostly empty street before them, Kurtis shook his head and sighed. "As long as you stay alert and don't run straight into his arms, he shouldn't be able to manipulate you or your thoughts. If that's what he's planning on doing."
She bristled beside him. "He's planning on taking over the world and filling it with Nephilim warriors–––––and he'll do anything to achieve that. I'm not going to analyze that part any further than I absolutely have to, even less considering how bad our odds are at this point in time."
Well, she wasn't wrong, loathe as he was to admit it. With Gunderson's men swarming around Paris and Prague like hornets, they'd hardly be able to take a single breath without Karel knowing.
"We'll need a game plan, yes," he finally said, pushing his doubts into the farthest corner of his mind for the time being before offering her a lopsided grin. "And a sword."
"Wondered when you'd get to that." He could've sworn that was a flicker of a smile on her face, lighting up her features in the most impish way before vanishing again. "You know, perhaps you should tell me what you need it for, exactly, before I hand it to you."
"You're going to withhold my family heirloom from me?"
Her laugh was a thing of beauty, however wicked of a sound it might have been. "It was buried alongside your father. So either you managed to ruffle his feathers enough to make him go to such drastic measures just to keep it from you, or he felt it didn't belong in your hands in the first place."
"Something along those lines," he grumbled, slowing his pace to match hers as they left Rue de Piolet and headed toward the arguably more pleasant part of town. "Although it's hardly something I'd like to discuss with a silver-tongued devil."
Despite the amusement tugging at the corners of her lips, she didn't budge; her shoulders squared and her chin lifted in what he could only describe as posh arrogance as she strode toward the city center. A warrior in her own right, with eyes like molten copper and a mouth so vile it would have made her ancestors squirm in their graves. A woman so proud of being who she was he couldn't help but envy her for it.
And the only person who'd ever survived a Nephilim's mental assault.
"If we are to be partners," she said upon turning a corner and stuffing her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket, "then there's no room for secrets between us. I didn't ask for your biography either, all I want to know is what you need such a… specific weapon for."
Well, he couldn't exactly undermine that argument.
"It's been crafted from the same material as the Chirugai." As if for emphasis, he tapped his forefinger against the disc dangling from his belt. "Which makes it near indestructible and hard to lose–––though less handy in times of need."
Lara scowled at the wink he offered her, though she didn't bother voicing her annoyance. "So, to summarize: you sent me to India to retrieve a blade that is basically useless to either of us?"
"No." Averting his gaze from her face, Kurtis pursed his lips and twisted the still unlit cigarette between his fingers. "It could buy us some time until we can get our hands on the periapt shards. Slow Karel down, or skewer Gunderson––––send his army of writhing idiots into a panic."
He couldn't tell if that was empathy or mere indifference lingering on her face. "Oh, so you just wanted to poke the bad guys with a stick, then."
"We can share the experience, you know." Unless there was a way to get their hands on the shards first, without having to sacrifice the only thing his father had left him.
Lara only sighed, covering her face with her hands for the fraction of a second before crossing her arms and pivoting to face him properly for once. "This is not a game, Kurtis; and there's nothing funny about it either. If we find that we might need the sword to fend off Karel's men, then by all means, I'll find a way to get it to you in time–––––but as long as you can't think of a reason for why we should carry a gods-damned longsword around with us, it'll stay where it is. I can't afford being slowed down, and from what I've seen, neither can you." Not an insult, but an objective fact. "We don't even know what they're planning to do, or what they needed me for in the first place –––– why they didn't chase after me once I'd gotten out."
He didn't argue; only narrowed his eyes at the sharp set of her mouth as he finally turned to light his cigarette. "I take it you already have some sort of plan in mind, then?"
She didn't reply––––though he'd argue that the predator's smile slowly spreading across her lips would have been answer enough, in any case.
Heaven. Karel was in for one unpleasant surprise.
