Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E. (The Parazodiac Nexus #1)

22. Beneath Twin Shadows

22

BENEATH TWIN SHADOWS

~DANTE~

" J inx," her voice cuts through tension with razor precision. "Jinx Blackwood."

My eyes track every detail of her appearance with tactical assessment born from years of field experience.

Though the previous focus centered entirely on reviving Nyx from death's grasp, this identical figure demands thorough analysis despite the urgent need for medical intervention.

The contrast between the twins strikes an immediate chord – where Nyx's hair flows from dark teal green to magenta ombre, Jinx's coloring reverses the pattern completely. Magenta dominates her roots before cascading into teal green tips, creating a mirror image effect that emphasizes their connection while highlighting fundamental differences in their paths.

Her frame matches Nyx's delicate build, but her developed musculature speaks of extensive combat training and dedicated conditioning.

Tattoos peek through tears in tactical gear, intricate designs partially visible beneath evidence of recent close-quarter fighting. Fresh cuts mark exposed skin, suggesting intense combat concluded mere moments ago.

The sniper rifle slung across her shoulders with practiced familiarity confirms suspicion about the source of gas-releasing rounds that covered our escape.

The most striking difference lies in her eyes – though identical in color to Nyx's extraordinary shade of ivory green with teal undertones, these hold none of her sister's light or warmth.

Something cold and clinical lurks in their depths, as if years of calculated violence have stripped away softer emotions, leaving only razor-sharp efficiency and tactical awareness. Where Nyx's gaze carried hope despite torture, Jinx speaks of the willing embrace of darkness.

"Blackwood?" Kieran's whisper carries a dangerous edge that raises hackles. "You're her sister and yet she's been stuck in this shit hole for six-plus years?"

His question gives voice to the collective outrage burning through our pack. If this woman possessed the resources to mount tactical intervention, why allow her twin to endure years of systematic torture? How many opportunities for rescue passed while Nyx suffered behind Ravenscroft's walls? The implications spark bitter fury in my chest.

We could have found her sooner before captivity carved its brutal lessons into flesh and spirit. Could have offered protection and belonging in those critical early years, and spared her countless scars both physical and psychological. Given her chance at life unburdened by experimental torture and clinical cruelty.

"You're going to waste valuable time asking stupid questions?"

Jinx's response carries no trace of remorse or emotional investment. Her tone suggests such concerns rank far beneath tactical priorities, dismissing years of her sister's suffering as irrelevant to the current situation.

Kieran's growl rumbles through the clearing as rage ignites in his expression, alpha instincts bristling at such a cold dismissal of the pack's newest member.

However, my attention returns to Nyx's motionless form, noting how the temporary oxygen system struggles to maintain adequate support. Her skin carries concerning pallor beneath the remaining gas residue, while her pulse flutters weakly at the exposed throat.

Without hesitation, I strip off my tactical coat and drape it carefully over her still form. Maintaining body temperature becomes a critical priority given significant blood loss and extended exposure to night air.

Each second we delay reduces the chances of successful recovery.

"Kieran, get her to the car now," the command flows naturally despite his visible resistance.

One look silences potential argument – Jinx speaks the truth about time's precious nature, regardless of questions burning for answers. Her cold efficiency serves a purpose, even as it raises disturbing questions about the nature of the relationship between identical twins.

Questions that must wait while Nyx's life hangs precariously in balance. Mysteries require time we cannot spare while death circles ever closer to recently revived prey, seeking a second chance to claim what we barely managed to retrieve from its grasp.

The weight of untold stories and unexplained absences presses against consciousness, demanding attention we cannot currently afford to give.

Whatever circumstances led to this moment – to one sister standing battle-ready while the other fights for each breath – they pale in significance compared to an immediate need for medical intervention.

Yet even as survival instincts demand focus on Nyx's critical condition, my tactical mind catalogs every detail of her mirror image for future reference.

There’s something in Jinx's stance, in carefully maintained emotional distance, that speaks of a deeper game being played.

One whose rules and stakes remain frustratingly unclear in this moment of crisis.

Kieran takes three steps before pausing, muscles rigid with barely contained fury as he looks back over his shoulder. His eyes lock onto Jinx with deadly intensity born from personal experience with betrayal.

"If you don't have positive intentions of being in her life now that she's free, don't bother trying to involve yourself. Remain a fucking ghost than act like you're a real impact on her existence." The words carry weight of old wounds, of trust shattered and bonds broken beyond repair.

Jinx meets his gaze unflinching, the corner of her mouth lifting in an ambiguous expression that walks the line between appreciation and mockery.

The subtle shift transforms her features into something more dangerous than mere tactical efficiency.

"You're like your brother." The casual observation strikes with the precision of a well-aimed bullet, forcing a collective inhale as implications register. Knowledge of Kieran's brother – presumed dead these past seven years after a failed mission left no body to recover – raises disturbing questions about the depth of her intelligence gathering.

Her words suggest intimate familiarity with our histories, with secrets we thought buried beneath years of careful concealment.

The brother who vanished without a trace, whose loss carved permanent scars into Kieran's psyche, somehow connects to this enigmatic figure.

"Same in looks and stubbornness. Ironic."

Each word carries calculated weight, designed to provoke reaction while revealing nothing of substance. Her expression remains carefully neutral despite the past bomb she just detonated in our midst.

Kieran's eyes narrow to dangerous slits, but his response comes measured and precise:

"Stay away from our Omega." The declaration carries no room for misinterpretation – not suggestion but absolute command backed by pure alpha authority.

The possessive claim strikes an unexpected chord, especially from one whose past experience with omegas left such devastating scars. Yet his willingness to overcome personal trauma for Nyx's protection speaks volumes about connections already forming.

His departure carries deadly grace as he rushes toward the waiting van, leaving Atlas and me to face this living puzzle that seems to hold pieces of a past we thought forever lost.

The weight of unspoken questions fills the air between us, mixing with lingering traces of colored gas.

What game is she playing?

How deep does her knowledge of our organization go?

Why surface now, after years of apparent indifference to her twin's suffering?

Each query builds upon the last, creating a web of mystery that demands unraveling.

But Nyx's critical condition takes priority over satisfying curiosity. Time slips away with each moment spent contemplating Jinx's sudden appearance and cryptic revelations. The steady sound of Kieran's footsteps fading into the distance serves as a reminder of what truly matters.

Atlas maintains perfect stillness beside me, his covered gaze oriented unerringly toward our potential threat despite physical blindness.

His posture speaks volumes about the assessment of the situation – ready for either diplomatic discussion or immediate violence depending on Jinx's next move.

The tension stretches between us like a drawn bowstring, waiting for the smallest pressure to release devastating consequences.

"Get to the point," Atlas commands, natural authority flowing as he takes control of the situation.

His leadership in tense confrontations has always outshined my own, tactical precision perfectly suited for delicate negotiations where one wrong word could trigger catastrophe.

"Two weeks," Jinx states with a military crispness that speaks of extensive training. "That's all I can offer. If you're compatible with Nyx and want her as your Omega, I'll know what to do."

Confusion ripples through me at this unexpected proposition.

The casual way she offers her sister's future strikes a discordant note against tactical surroundings and urgent circumstances. Her clinical detachment while discussing Nyx's fate raises hackles I didn't know I still possessed.

"You're setting us up with your sister? For what?" Disbelief colors my tone as implications stack up. "You don't know who the fuck we are. We're special ops. We're murderers." My hand gestures encompass our blood-stained reality. "We're probably double her age."

"My sister doesn't need boys in her life," Jinx cuts through my protests with surgical precision, each word carefully chosen. "She needs men who don't waste time. Alphas who aren't using Omegas just for their own benefit." Her eyes narrow fractionally, assessment clear in their depths. "She's willing to sacrifice her life in captivity to save one of your own. She's loyal, despite the world never being loyal to her."

The truth in her words stings – Nyx's willingness to trade her freedom for Vale's safety demonstrates a character that transcends normal omega behavior.

Her sacrifice speaks of strength we've rarely encountered in any designation.

Most Omegas care about themselves, their futures, their financial abundance, and the comfortability of their lifestyle. They don’t want to struggle, let alone sacrifice themselves for a group of men they just met.

"Why weren't you loyal to her?" Atlas's question carries deadly calm that raises the hair on my neck.

I catch the telltale twitch of his left index finger – the same hand that's broken countless faces when righteous fury overcomes careful control. His rage at child predators and those who harm innocents carries the same intensity as the current situation.

"My loyalty will reveal itself soon enough." Jinx shows no reaction to implied threat, maintaining perfect poise despite tension crackling through the air. "Until then, you simply play house for two weeks and the truth will be revealed. That's all I'm requesting of you."

Our silence speaks volumes as she adjusts the weapon strap with practiced efficiency that suggests years of combat experience. The sniper rifle moves like a natural extension of her form rather than added equipment.

"You have to go. My unit can't hold off those fuckers much longer." Her tactical assessment carries a ring of truth. Unit? What unit is she talking about? "The owner is already pissed he has a blade in his arm. Don't need him messing with the Blackwoods. My Father's involvement will be but a pain."

The casual mention of the living family sends ice through my veins. Parents who allowed – perhaps even orchestrated – Nyx's years of torture. The implications stack up like bodies after a firefight, each revelation adding weight to an already complex situation.

"So your parents are alive." The words taste bitter on my tongue, carrying an accusation of complicity in acknowledging Nyx’s suffering that could have been prevented.

"Yes." Simple confirmation suggests a game is far deeper than a surface rescue operation would indicate. Her tone reveals nothing about the nature of family dynamics or the reasons behind the apparent abandonment of twins to years of experimental torture.

Each moment spent in this standoff costs precious seconds of Nyx's survival chances, yet something about Jinx's presence demands attention – as if pieces of a larger puzzle hover just beyond comprehension.

Her knowledge of our histories, casual mention of Kieran's lost brother, clear military training, and tactical support unit – none of it adds up to a simple rescue operation. Something larger moves beneath the surface, suggesting a chess game where we've yet to identify all players or true stakes involved.

"All you need to know is our Mother will know the truth. When Nyx is ready to confront her, the option will be available," Jinx's words carry finality as she turns away. "Take her to Astrological Holmes Medical. It's one of the best centers for tactical recovery. They have a specialized omega unit. Tell them she's a Blackwood. They'll ensure premium care."

She takes two measured steps before pausing, tension rippling through her frame.

"Your friend. The spasming one."

The reference to Vale's condition draws our full attention. Something flickers in her eyes – the first genuine emotion I've witnessed crack her careful mask. The change transforms her features, making the resemblance to Nyx even more striking.

"He doesn't have long to live. I suggest prompt medical intervention. Holmes has a specialized unit capable of treating his condition before it reaches his heart."

Clinical assessment carries an undertone of her admission.

"Survival chances remain slim, but proper treatment exists." Her lips press together thoughtfully. "Single requirement…pack must include an omega for treatment access." Her gaze shifts away. "Your choice, though...I doubt you’re worthy of Nyx being your fated M.U.S.E."

"Fated M.U.S.E?" The phrase catches in my throat as an unexpected smile graces her features.

“M. Master of one’s fate, they marveled in her command.

U. Unbound by rules, they quaked in her wake. S. Skilled beyond imagining, they cowered in her presence. E. Enduring against odds, they admired in reverence.”

She offers a new definition that stands in stark contrast to Ravenscroft's cruel version.

"Knot Your Fated MUSE. She wasn't fated for alphas assigned to her...so things needed to change. Be delayed...even if it makes me the villain." Her attention drifts distant. "No different than me not being their fated MUSE. I wasn't destined for this path...at least, not until now. Now it makes sense. Trading places." A soft giggle escapes her. "Fate is such an entertainer."

She melts into lingering streams of colored gas, her presence fading like morning mist until nothing remains but questions and implications.

"Atlas?" My voice carries uncertainty as I process the overload of information. "I don't get it…any of this, honestly…but…”

But are we going to abandon Nyx…or keep her as ours?

"If Nyx deems us worthy of her love, there will be no doubt in our decision,” he declares, and I can tell he’s absolute with the decision I’m trying to get affirmation for.

“So…” I begin, my thoughts wishing to be heard.

We’ll fight for her. Mend her back to good health. Help her heal and recover, even if it takes days, months, or years.

“She’s ours?”

Atlas begins to walk away, slipping his hands into his pockets, knowing I’ll follow.

“She’s ours,” he affirms. “Our fated M.U.S.E.”