The Opal Blade (The Ashen Touch Trilogy Book 1)

by Kristy Nicolle

  I think back to Jules’ words about my parents turning in their graves. It had stung me, cut into me, but maybe that’s because I know he is right. My mother and father hadn’t been happily married. I remember that at least, because my father had rarely been home, and my mother felt neglected, but he’d sacrificed the family life she desired to give us all financial security, to give me the childhood and future he never had. He wanted me to be taken care of, to have all the advantages I could because he knew only too well that the world can be a cruel place, and while I may loathe it, money keeps you safe. It keeps you free in the loosest sense of the word.

  Maybe I need to do this, if not for me, then for my parents. They’d brought the company this far, so maybe I can bring something of my own to it. I’m a smart woman, and I usually achieve whatever I set my mind to, so why not this? Maybe I can turn the corporate world on its head from the inside, make a difference, do some good. Maybe I can make my parents proud, even though they’re gone.

  Giving myself a determined look in the mirror, I begin to brush out my hair, sweeping it from my face and attempting to look semi-professional. This isn’t what I wanted, but I need to make the best of it regardless, and that starts with looking the part.

  I gloss my lips with a neutral shade that I barely ever touch, finding it too subtle for my usual style. I pull my fiery hair up in a high ponytail and place on a black silk blouse over my black bra and panties before pulling on the wide legged suit pants and tight-fitting jacket which exaggerates my cleavage. I finish the look with a black lace choker, because I can’t totally lose myself in all this sophistication, and apply light mascara and foundation, bringing my face back to faux life despite the pallor and dark circles beneath my eyes. Slipping on a pair of black stilettos I take a deep breath, knowing I need to be an adult for at least an hour, for the sake of my family name. With this boring truth clear to me now, I turn to leave my suite.

  Outside the door, Xion is standing, arms crossed over his chest with a wide stance, clearly ready to come in and pull me out by my hair as Jules had suggested earlier. He’s been staring so intensely into the wood of the door I’m surprised he’s not burned a hole right through it, and as it pulls back, revealing me, his eyes widen in surprise.

  “You’re ready, and on time… This is… shocking to say the least.” He cocks his head, as though I am the world’s most complex entity.

  “Thanks for your confidence in me,” I grumble, stalking through the doorway and out into the hall as he follows me, his tread heavier than an elephant’s. Clearly, stealth is not his forte. “You know for a security guard, you’re the least covert person I’ve ever met?” I round on him, almost crashing into his chest as he doesn’t see the move coming and is tailing me so close I can practically feel his cool breath on the back of my neck.

  “Yeah, well, for an heiress, you’re the most miserable,” he retorts, and I shake my head.

  “I’m not miserable, I’m frustrated that I have some six-foot four mountain troll following me around like freaking big foot. It’s annoying as hell, and I’m trying to focus on what to say at this stupid meeting that I’m being perp walked to.” I scowl and his mouth twists as if he wants to laugh but doesn’t want to let me know I’ve amused him. His eyes sparkle bronze to gold and back again in various shimmering hues as he stares at me. I turn, not wanting to let him know just how attractive I find him.

  Reaching the end of the hallway in silence, I notice that he’s fallen back.

  Well, at least he knows how to listen to instructions. Maybe I should speak my orders to him in hilarious metaphors alone. Maybe sarcasm is in fact his native language. I muse.

  “You look nice by the way. I’m pleasantly surprised,” I hear him say under his breath, like he’s too nervous or afraid to speak up, but my ears catch it, and I spin.

  “A compliment? From you? I must be on par with freaking Angelina Jolie. Oh, and remind me never to wear this suit again.” I continue in my momentum, using the quip as a sort of force in its own right and hoping it leaves him with whiplash as I reach the top of the staircase and fall back onto my kitten heel.

  Below in the lobby, the suits have assembled in full boring-ass force. I can tell already that they’re going to be the most effective sleeping aid in the world and wonder momentarily if my company should start employing them as voice overs for those sleep by hypnosis tapes. I bet we’d make a killing.

  I descend, and all eyes rise to me, but no one’s gaze is more surprised than Peter’s, who doesn’t smile but rather looks oddly upset about the entire demeanour that has fallen over me like an icy cold and entirely uncomfortable shower of badass propriety and decorum.

  “Please welcome Dr. Sephy Sinclair,” I hear Jules announce from my left, by the end of the bannister where he is serving ice water on a silver tray, and catch a look in his eyes which tells me that everything between us is forgiven. He looks proud.

  “Please, call me Miss. Doctor makes me feel old,” I plead and the crowd bursts into forced laughter. I smile politely, but inside I’m dying, mainly because what I’ve said isn’t even funny; it’s just the truth.

  Let the race to crawl up my ass begin. I curse to myself.

  I let out a discreet sigh, looking to Peter for instruction as he moves to get the crowd of suits into the conference room in the east wing. It all happens very quickly, partly because I’m entirely sure he thinks I’m going to flee the premises at any given opportunity.

  We turn into the spacious room, my ballet studio from when I was a child, which has been transformed into that place where the meeting will be held. The entire space is a mix of pale polished wood, white walls lined with mirrors, and large floor-to-ceiling glass windows which look out over the grounds of the estate.

  The sun is falling through the sky, and twilight is approaching as an orangey red glow, muted by the obstruction of light from black swirling clouds, refracts from every mirrored surface. This casts the lengthy mahogany conference table, surrounded by leatherback chairs, in a hellish light, which is really entirely fitting when you think about it.

  “Let’s be seated,” Peter instructs, ushering me forward and towards the seat at the head of the table, which I also note, with irritation, is at the furthest point from the door. As the suits file in behind us, Cerb makes an appearance, blundering around the door and coming to sit in the corner of the room, watching over the meeting with a suspicious gaze.

  Maybe he isn’t so disloyal after all.

  Peter exits, but I note that Xion positions himself just inside the doors as they close, blocking me inside with the directors of my own company. I swallow hard, watching as they ruffle pages, pull pens from the inside of their finely tailored jackets and sip water which has been provided in tall glasses at every place setting.

  They look at me expectantly, and I realise I suddenly have no idea what the hell it is this meeting is even about.

  “Hi.” I introduce myself again, giving a small wave and wondering exactly what it is they expect. “I’ll be totally honest. I have no idea why we’re all here. Anyone want to enlighten me?” I try to pull back the cocky in my tone, but it’s super difficult, especially when they all have these vacant glazed expressions like they’ve been zombified or something.

  “Um, Hi… Miss Sinclair. I’m Glen. We’re here to just let you know where your company investments lie. What industries we’re currently growing in or pulling out of. That kind of thing.” He smiles at me, the youngest of the group by far. I’m grateful for his assistance, but my annoyance that I’m in this situation in the first place is beginning to heighten again to boiling point.

  “Right, so tell me. Where do my investment’s lie?” I ask, sitting back into the chair and propping my feet up on the table as the group jumps in synchronised time, alarmed by my heels on the wood. I put my hands behind my head, leaning back and eyeing them casually.

  “Well… we have the diamond market of course. We are still dominant, though coloured diamonds are c
oming back into fashion in quite a big way, so we’re looking to expand there…” A balding man with a thin face and grey eyes speaks in the most bored yet pointed tone I could have ever imagined, and the man next to him picks up right after him, not giving me a chance to draw breath before moving on.

  “We’re also buying several more vineyards in southern California, and checking out numerous other sites in Italy at the moment,” a man with thick grey hair, pulled back into a low ponytail, informs me.

  “Wine… Diamonds… what else?” I demand, wondering exactly how far the Sinclair fortune has spread and across how many markets I’ll potentially be operating in. I haven’t ever asked about what’s going on with the business, mainly because I’m not interested. It’s true that even in the UK, I’ve seen my family name spattered across a wide variety of products, but I’ve mainly wanted to stay out of it all, happy with my allowance and freedom.

  The group of suits shuffle in their seats as I stare between them. Glen takes the initiative and coughs before speaking the truth I don’t want to hear.

  “This, Miss Sinclair, could take a while.”

  “So you’re telling me… I own what… everything?” I ask them after several hours, cocking my eyebrow and sighing as I look over the millions of pieces of paper strewn across the conference table.

  “Not everything, but a lot,” Glen corrects me, looking nervous as I sigh for what feels like the millionth time this hour.

  “So… what does that mean for me?” I ask them, wanting an honest answer but severely doubting I’ll get it.

  “Well, it can mean whatever you want it to. The company has been running without you for quite some time. We have things in place and people who are excellent at their jobs. If you want to be involved, you can be as involved as you wish, or you can just let us handle things and keep watching cash fall into your various accounts and trusts every month. Of course, if you want control over how your family name is used, I suggest you be as involved as possible.” The man with the long grey ponytail, who I now know is called Jefferson, replies this time. He’s the head of the wine branch of the sprawling business, and I wonder momentarily what to do. On the one hand I like my freedom, but on the other hand my family name is attached to this, and I have never truly known how far my father’s influence has spread. I don’t want the responsibility here, it’s true, but I also don’t want his legacy dragged through the mud; the thought is too painful to bear.

  “Well I…” I begin, but suddenly Cerb lets out a loud, deep, bark followed by a feral sounding growl. It’s not like him at all, so I turn, as Xion shifts, for the first time in hours I might add, from his statue-esque position in front of the doors.

  Cerb is sat upright in the corner, his ears pricked forward and his teeth bared. I look around the space for anything he could be growling at, but quickly realise it’s probably a stray cat or one of the director’s dogs he’s smelling, which is making him agitated. I stare him down, asserting my dominance, and he doesn’t bark again, looking at me with wide brown eyes, seeming to have calmed.

  I turn back to the group, trying to remember what it was I was going to say, but as I open my mouth to speak the dog barks again, this time in a low, deep and unmistakable warning.

  I turn to silence him, embarrassed by his lack of control after he’s been so good all afternoon, when the sound of smashing glass pierces the air and my breath catches in my throat.

  I wrench around in my seat as Cerb launches forward from behind me, flying through the air as though he weighs nothing. I follow his course with wide eyes, watching as he meets some kind of enormous dirty, white wolf, head on, in a smashing together of teeth and jaws as the entire conference room falls into terrified chaos.

  Glass showers down around us like rain, moonlight refracting at all angles from its broken edges. I stand, not sure of what to do as Xion becomes a blur before my eyes and pulls the conference table back off its legs, shoving the directors behind it and using it as a barricade.

  I watch on, unable to move, fear rooting me to the spot, as the wolf and Leonberger continue to scrap. I hear the screams of men, the pounding of my own heartbeat rapid in my ears, but all this is eclipsed as Cerb smashes one of his enormous paws into the wolf’s stark alabaster eye, and it emits a scream so deafening I’m instantly certain my eardrums are bursting.

  The mirrors around the walls of the room explode outward, reflective glass splintering and ricocheting from wall to wall and ceiling to floor as the sound hits like a merciless tsunami of pain.

  I see Cerb, cowering as the beast nears him, and Xion dashes toward it, a black twisted dagger in his palm which he’s drawn from seemingly nowhere. His expression is pained, angry, as though he’s trying to restrain himself for some reason, and I watch as his chest rises and falls in forced, slow time.

  How is he so calm?!

  My dog is cowering close to the ground, whining, seeking my comfort whilst I stand paralysed, and I feel a sudden and unexpected rage bloom, like a mushroom cloud, from deep within my gut as the gasoline in my veins ignites with a rapid firing of synapses.

  It comes from my palms, but I don’t know how. I don’t know why. Flames crawl out like tendrils or vines, creeping forward and slashing through the air, extending intuitively towards the flesh of the beast who has intruded upon my home.

  Cerb runs back to me, tail between his legs as I try to focus, keeping my palms raised instinctively and feeling my brain shut off as I act without second thought, afraid that logic will make me vulnerable.

  Not sure what I’m doing, I kick off my shoes, watching as the trails of fire wrap themselves around the limbs of the wolf, causing it to scream out once more.

  I need to stop the noise, to end it, and I can hear the men behind me cowering, fearing for their lives, as the grubby, pale monstrosity rears up.

  They pull the table closer to them collectively as the beast takes a few steps forward, it’s six-inch long claws leaving gashes in the wooden floor which splinters beneath its tread. As it approaches I realise that I must protect the directors because if not, I really will have no freaking idea how to run this company on my own or have the option to palm it off to total strangers.

  Xion is no longer looking at the monster, preparing to strike as he twizzles the blade between his fingers, but rather has turned to face me as I power forward. His expression turns stunned as he stills, motionless.

  My bare feet are cut to ribbons by shattered glass and mirrors as I claw my way up onto the haunches of the wolf in one agile leap, wrapping my legs around the girth of its enormous neck as it rears up, trying to throw me to the floor. I inhale the scent of rot and decay from its matted fur and want to wretch slightly, wishing only that I had the luxury of a bucket close at hand in which to vomit.

  It’s not all that different from mounting Nightshade when she’s in a strop, and so I find my rhythm atop the bucking beast, closing my eyes and nostrils as I try to find focus.

  Xion isn’t moving, isn’t intervening as I look to him for aid. Instead, he’s simply staring, too stunned at my unexpected bravery to spring into any kind of action.

  I bring my arms around the creature’s neck and pull its head sharply to the left without thought or even a real awareness for the brutality of what I’m doing, bringing my focus back onto the immediacy of the threat. I hear a sharp crack, and relief falls like hot rain, my skin scorching as adrenaline continues to shoot through me like I’ve injected it right into the vein.

  I try to master the too-red flames as they fill the room with black billowing smoke and the smell of burning hair as they cut into the legs of the fatally wounded monstrosity beneath me. The scent brings back the wisp of a memory long forgotten, and a sense of panic I have never quite forgotten threatens to overtake me at the proximity of the fire.

  The wolf falls to the floor and the flames which have come from me, and me alone, devour it within seconds, leaving only ash behind. As my fear grows larger than my gall, the flames suddenly exting
uish, as though they were never really there at all, and Xion looks at me with eyes wide and mouth agape as only moonlight and silence fall over everything.

  Feeling a little giddy, not to mention like I need a damn stiff drink, I get to my feet, having fallen amongst the piles of glass as the beast beneath me disintegrated like it had all been a bad dream.

  Perhaps it had been… perhaps I’m that bored of all this money talk that I invented a monster wolf attack for my own entertainment. I mean, that does seem like something I would do…

  I scan the terrified eyes of men in glass peppered suits, who are looking at me like I’m the real monster, and then turn to Xion who is still standing, watching me in silence, his knuckles white around the hilt of the dark blade.

  Walking past him, I pat his shoulder and exit the room, still in utter shock and complete disbelief as I call back,

  “Thanks for the help. I couldn’t have done it without you, really.”

  XION

  The tinkling of glass reaches my ears as several of the directors stand up, looking between me, the pile of ash on the floor and then the broken window, through which a cool breeze is now whistling.

  “What… what was that?” the youngest one, Glen, asks with a shaking voice and trembling hands as he brushes down his expensive jacket.

  “A wolf. A hybrid species no doubt,” I reply, looking at them all with a serious gaze. “I suggest you all head home now. We need to get this cleaned up. The meeting will have to continue another time.” It takes all my effort to remain calm enough to give this explanation. My blood is roaring in my ears, and the demon part of me strains against the confines of my skin, clawing at my insides in an attempt to break free. To fight. To kill.

  Yet, I’m standing here, holding the blade I usually fight with so hard that my knuckles are white. I’m clutching a single shard of obsidian, twisted cruelly into a cutting edge with a black wooden hilt, and yet I have done nothing.