Chapter 2 – AZAREL
AZAREL
The wasteland sprawls before me, desolate and dead.
Mile after mile of ash-crusted earth and rusted debris.
Nothing but the evidence of mankind's spectacular failure.
My boots grind against loose gravel as I follow the forgotten road.
Dusk approaches quickly now, the sun sinking low, bloated and red.
I smell the airfield before I see it.
Smoke, gunpowder, and blood. The metallic stench of death hangs in the air. Something went wrong here. Terribly wrong.
My pace quickens.
The information I extracted from the Ghosts, and subsequently confirmed with every merc I could squeeze information out of between here and Surhiira, was clear enough. Cosima is being held at an abandoned airfield in the Outer Reaches, controlled by the infamous mercenary known as Nikolai Vlakov.
Vlakov.
The name still sours my mouth after all the information I've obtained on him. The bastard son of the lord of one of Vrissia's most notorious crime families. A man who abandoned wealth and privilege to carve out his own bloody corner of the wasteland.
And my brother sent Cosima to him.
My hand drifts to the cilice still wrapped around my forearm and fist, the barbs digging into my skin as I make a fist. The pain reminds me of my purpose.
Why would Plague do this? What game is he playing? The questions burn in my mind, but I push them aside.
The answers can wait.
Cosima cannot.
The airfield comes into view as I crest a ridge.
Chaos. Pure chaos.
The control tower—what remains of it—lists to one side, its upper floors reduced to twisted metal and crumbling concrete.
Black smoke still rises from several structures, curling like spectral fingers against the darkening sky.
Scattered across the tarmac are the burnt-out husks of vehicles.
A tank with bright yellow birds spray painted on it lies on its side, torn open like a tin can.
Whatever happened here, it was recent.
Very recent.
I draw my sidearm and advance, keeping to the shadows. Years of military training kick in, my body moving automatically as I scan for threats. But the devastation speaks for itself.
This wasn't a raid.
This wasn't a territorial dispute.
A deep pit comes into view as I approach the center of the compound. Two figures drag a third toward it, the limp body leaving a dark smear across the concrete. They reach the edge and unceremoniously tip the corpse in, a dull thud marking its impact with what sounds like other bodies below.
A mass grave.
My throat tightens, a surge of panic threatening to overwhelm my carefully maintained control.
Is she—?
No. I would know if she were gone. I would feel it in the hollow of my chest, in the marrow of my bones. Cosima is my mate, has been since the moment her scent first filled my lungs. If death had taken her, the world itself would feel different.
Emptier.
Meaningless.
She's alive. She has to be.
The mercenaries spot me, their hands immediately going for their weapons. I don't flinch, don't break stride. Instead, I advance, my own weapon held casually at my side.
"I'm looking for Nikolai Vlakov," I announce, my voice carrying easily across the distance between us.
They exchange nervous glances, fingers twitching on their triggers. One of them, a beta with a patchy beard and wild eyes, spits on the ground.
"He ain't here," he says, his voice carrying a ring of truth.
I can taste the fear rolling off them. These aren't soldiers. They're grunts. Scavenging dogs who've grown hardy on the scraps their master throws them. Without him, they're just men with guns and no purpose.
"I find that hard to believe," I respond, continuing my approach. "This is his territory, is it not?"
The second grunt, younger and clearly more nervous, steps back. "Look, man, we don't want any trouble. Like he said, Vlakov ain't here. None of us have seen him since..."
He trails off, glancing toward the pit, then at the devastation around us.
Since whatever happened here. Since whatever storm tore through this place and left it in ruins.
My patience is wearing thinner. "Then take me to whoever's in charge in his stead."
The men look at each other again, some unspoken communication passing between them. The bearded one jerks his chin toward a building behind me.
"That would be me," a voice calls out.
I turn to see an alpha emerging from one of the few intact structures.
She's tall even for an alpha, with close-cropped hair and scars curving up from the corners of her lips.
She leans on a makeshift walking stick, her right leg bound in bloodied bandages just above the knee.
Despite her injury, she carries herself with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
So does the dog with black-and-brown fur loping after her, tail wagging high and proud.
"And you are?" I ask, studying her with cold detachment.
"Name's Lex." She hobbles closer, each step punctuated by a wince she tries to hide. "Who the fuck wants to know?"
I holster my weapon, a calculated risk. "Commander of the Reinmich Special Forces."
It's only a partial lie. I command them, yes, but they do not have my true loyalty. Neither does my homeland.
Only she wields that.
Lex's eyes narrow, recognition flickering across her features. "Well, fuck. So you're the soldier boy she was always going on about comin' after her."
The words hit their mark.
My heart stutters.
Was.
Past tense.
Before I can think better of it, my weapon is in my hand again, leveled at Lex's head. The other grunts raise their guns in response, but I ignore them. They're nothing. Insects. The only one of them who matters at the moment is the merc in front of me, and only because she might have information.
The dog bares its teeth, positioning itself between me and its master. The messy fur along its spine bristles as it snaps at the air.
"Where is she?" The words scrape from my throat, rough with an emotion I rarely allow myself to feel.
Fear.
Lex doesn't even blink at the gun pointed at her face. Instead, she barks out a harsh laugh that sounds just like her dog. The dog at her side barks, too, gleaming brown eyes trained on my gun.
"Relax, Commander. If she's dead, no one here had shit to do with it."
The world tilts beneath my feet, but I lock my knees, refusing to show weakness.
No. She is alive. I know she is.
"What. Happened?" I demand, every syllable edged with steel.
Lex studies me for a long moment, calculation in her gaze. Finally, she gestures with her free hand, encompassing the devastation around us.
"What happened? We had what you might call an 'incident.'" She takes a stiff step closer, her gaze unflinching. "You see that pit over there? We had something in it. A literal monster Nicky was trying to tame. And it got out."
A monster? What kind of superstitious—
Then it hits me. I've heard whispers, reports of experiments conducted in the shadows of the war. Failed attempts to create the perfect soldier. I've seen firsthand what happens when science pushes too far, crosses lines that should never be crossed.
My brother has one in his pack. Wraith. That beast with the cold blue eyes who attacked me like a fucking hellhound. I can see wastelanders thinking an alpha like him is a monster. The sailor certainly did. Ironically, most survivors aren't top minds.
Could she be talking about the same kind of experiment?
"Are you saying this... monster... took Cosima?" I struggle to keep my voice level, to hide the emotions threatening to tear me apart from within.
"I'm saying that during the chaos, your precious omega escaped.
Haven't seen her, that traitorous bastard Nikolai, or the monster since.
Could be they ran off together and became a happy throuple, could be the thing ate them both.
" She shrugs, her face twisting into a scarred sneer. "Don't give a shit either way."
I want to kill her for that alone. For her callous disregard. For speaking of Cosima being in danger as if she's discussing the weather. My finger twitches on the trigger, but I hold back. She still has information I need.
"This monster," I begin, the word tasting foul on my tongue. "What was it, exactly?"
Another shrug, this one accompanied by a grimace of pain as she shifts her weight to her other boot.
"Some kind of mutated alpha. Big motherfucker, eight feet tall, maybe more.
Fully feral, no sign of sentience. Had metal parts grafted onto him.
Claws that could—and did—shred a man to ribbons.
Wiped out a good number of our men before Vlakov managed to trap him in that pit.
And when he got out..." She gestures around us. "Well, you can see what happened."
My blood runs cold.
And somewhere out there, it might be with Cosima. The idea fills me with a terror so profound it threatens to destroy me, to drown out every rational thought. Images of her running through the wasteland—hunted, cornered, terrified—flash through my mind.
But something still doesn't fit. Something tells me there's more to this story. Instinct, perhaps, or the bond between mates that transcends physical distance. Whatever the reason, I'm certain Cosima is still alive.
Still fighting.
Still waiting.
I would feel it if she were gone. I would know.
She may be an omega, but she's more resourceful than any alpha I've known. Strong. Brave. Fierce. A survivor, through and through.
"Where would Nikolai go?" I ask, lowering my weapon slightly. "If he survived this 'incident.'"
Lex seems surprised by the question, or perhaps by my sudden shift in demeanor.
"Nikolai is a rat," she says finally, venom dripping from every word.
"And rats always scurry to the deepest, darkest hole they can find when they're wounded.
" A malicious smile splits her face. "Check the black market.
That's where all the vermin congregate when they've got nowhere else to go. "
A young, scrappy-looking soldier standing nearby looks nervous at Lex's words. "You sure you should be telling him that?" he asks, voice cracking.
Lex shoots him a withering glare. "Thought I told your boyfriend to keep you on a leash, Reese."
"I ain't a fucking babysitter!" A burly man with a sweat-dampened dark undercut emerges from behind a stack of crates, wiping grease from his hands onto his pants.
Reese's face flushes red. "At least I didn't blow up the entire fucking east hangar!"
"That was one time!" The brute throws his rag at Reese's face, hitting him square in the mouth. "And you were the one who left the detonator switch uncovered!"
"Eat shit, Mikey!"
"Already did. Your cooking last night, remember?"
Lex rolls her eyes. "Ladies, ladies. You're both pretty."
The dog at Lex's feet barks twice, as if adding its own opinion to the argument.
I feel a muscle in my jaw twitch. These aren't soldiers. They're not even competent mercenaries. They're children with guns, playing at war in the ruins of civilization. Every second I spend here is another second wasted, another second Cosima could be in danger.
If I stay here much longer listening to this inane bickering, I'm going to start shooting indiscriminately.
Starting with these three idiots.
"Hey, soldier boy," Lex calls after me as I turn to leave, her voice carrying on the heavy air. "When you find Nicky? Pop a cap in the bastard's knee and tell him it's from old Lex."
I don't respond, don't look back. The pathetic band of raiders are already forgotten, unworthy even of the effort it would take to end their miserable existence. If Vlakov's own people are willing to sell him out so easily, it speaks volumes about his leadership.
A weak alpha who commands no loyalty.
No respect.
Just one more reason to despise the man who dared to lay hands on what is mine.