Chapter 6 – COSIMA
COSIMA
Something is pounding.
Not outside my body, but inside my skull, as if a team of industrious workers has set up a demolition site between my ears. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump pulses behind my closed eyelids, and I'm suddenly aware of every heartbeat, each one sending fresh waves of agony through my temples.
I don't want to open my eyes. The sliver of light peeking through my eyelids already feels like it's stabbing directly into my brain. But there's something else—a sound that isn't part of the construction crew in my head. A rumbling, sawing noise that rises and falls with steady regularity.
Snoring. Someone is snoring.
The realization that I'm not alone forces my eyes open despite the protest from every nerve ending in my body. The light hits me like a bitchslap, and I immediately squeeze them shut again, letting out a small groan.
Fuck. What happened last night?
Oh, right. The one time I could have used one of those dissociative episodes that have plagued me since childhood, I remained inconveniently lucid, so I took matters—and an admittedly obscene amount of vodka—into my own hands.
I attempt to piece together my memories, but they're fragmented, dissolving like smoke whenever I try to grasp them. To add insult to injury, I can barely remember anything that came after my attempts to forget, but I remember what drove me to it with crystal clarity.
Azarel.
The motherfucking Prince of Surhiira. Not just some defector from an enemy nation, but actual royalty. The weight of that deception crashes over me again, and I'm momentarily grateful for the hangover—at least it provides a different kind of pain to focus on.
Steeling myself, I open my eyes again, this time more gradually. The room swims into focus—Geo's guest room, with its plush bedding and tacky decor. But it's the collection of bodies scattered around the room that captures my attention.
Knight is here, of course, sitting upright against the wall nearest to the bed.
His blue eyes open the moment I stir, telling me he wasn't really sleeping at all.
Just watching. Waiting. The iron mask conceals his expression, but there's a softness to his posture that I've come to recognize as concern.
But Knight isn't the only guardian keeping vigil.
Raven is slumped in the armchair next to the bed, head tilted at an angle that will definitely leave him with a crick in his neck.
Someone draped a blanket over him, though it's slipped halfway to the floor.
His golden hair falls across his face, and there's something endearingly vulnerable about him in sleep.
None of the flirtatious swagger or charm he wears like armor when awake.
And beside the chair, sprawled on the floor with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out before him, is Geo.
The source of the snoring. He's massive even in repose, one hand still curled loosely around what looks like a gun handle.
Ready for action, even in sleep. His face is relaxed, the usual hard lines smoothed out, making him look almost approachable.
My gaze finally drops to the foot of the bed, where Nikolai is curled up like a giant cat. He's coiled in on himself, knees pulled close to his chest, one hand tucked beneath his chin. It's such a contrast to his waking demeanor that I have to blink to make sure I'm not hallucinating.
They all stayed.
They all watched over me.
I'm not used to having anyone look out for me when Azarel isn't around, not since before my mother died. Even with my father, and all the people he paid to care for me, there was always a transaction occurring.
Protection in exchange for obedience.
Care in exchange for submission.
This feels different.
I can't quite put my finger on why, and that uncertainty makes my skin prickle.
I've never liked alphas. Hated them, actually, but I'm good at reading them.
Better at controlling them. When someone holds the key to your fate, and your life, in his hands by simple virtue of his nature, you learn what makes him tick, what things to avoid doing that could trigger his rage, what buttons to push to grant his lenience. It's survival. It always has been.
Until Azarel.
Until these alphas who don't want any of the things every other alpha wants. Or at least, they don't want them so badly they're willing to take them by force.
Which means I have no fucking idea how to handle them.
At least with Knight, I'm beginning to understand a little. The rest of them remain a mystery, and if there's one thing being a bird in a gilded cage back in Reinmich taught me, it's that curiosity is dangerous.
Attempting to sit up proves to be a critical error. The moment I lift my head from the pillow, the room spins alarmingly, and my stomach lurches in protest. I make a small, pathetic sound that I would normally be mortified by, but dignity seems a distant concern at the moment.
Knight shifts to stand, letting out a soft, worried growl. The sound draws Raven from his slumber, his eyes blinking open with a clarity that suggests he wasn't deeply asleep either.
"Ah, goddess, you're awake," Raven murmurs, voice thick with relief. He straightens in the chair, wincing slightly as his neck protests the movement.
"How long was I asleep?" I croak, my voice sounding like I've been gargling gravel.
Raven stretches. "Twelve hours, give or take."
"Twelve..." I groan, dropping back onto the pillow. "Gods."
The sound makes Geo's single eye snap open with the alertness of someone accustomed to waking to danger. He focuses on me immediately, then grunts, moving his hand away from the weapon he'd been clutching in his sleep.
"Sleeping Beauty awakens," he mutters, voice gravelly with sleep. His gaze flicks to Nikolai, who remains the only one still unconscious at the foot of my bed. "Surprised you're vertical after last night."
"More like a right angle," I say, leaning forward. "What happened last night? I don't remember much after..."
After learning the truth about Azarel. After feeling like my world had been pulled out from under me once again.
Geo's mouth quirks up at one corner. "I'm sure you don't. You downed enough booze." He shifts, stretching his massive frame. "But here's the recap. You were up on my pole, shaking your—"
He cuts off with a wheezing sound as Raven's elbow connects with his ribs.
"I'm glad you're awake," Raven says smoothly, ignoring Geo's glare. "Are you hungry? I could have something brought up."
The mere mention of food sends my stomach into a violent revolt. "Please don't mention food," I nearly gag, pressing a hand to my mouth.
Raven grimaces sympathetically and comes over, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. His fingers linger, feeling my forehead with surprising gentleness.
I'm struck by the realization that I should be bristling at the uninvited touch from an alpha.
Any alpha, other than Azarel. It's a reaction I've cultivated over years of being treated like property, a possession to be handled and passed around.
Yet, with Raven, the touch doesn't raise my hackles.
It feels... oddly acceptable. Pleasant, even.
And I get the distinct impression that despite being blackout drunk last night, none of these alphas actually touched me inappropriately.
Knight wouldn't have allowed it, of course—the one thing I fully understand about him is that his protective instincts are unwavering when it comes to me—but I get the feeling they didn't even try.
That's... new for alphas. And terrifying in its own way. Because it means I'm beginning to trust them, and trust has only ever led to pain.
"I'll whip up one of my hangover bombs," Geo declares, pushing himself to his feet with surprising agility for an alpha as bulky as he is.
"What's a hangover bomb?" I ask warily. "It sounds disgusting."
Raven's grin doesn't inspire confidence. "Oh, it is. But it works like a charm."
"I need to shower," I mutter, feeling grimy and disheveled. The thought of standing under hot water is about the only appealing thing in my universe right now.
"Bathroom's all yours," Raven says, gesturing toward the en suite. "Take your time."
I nod, lightly sweeping Knight's broad shoulder with my fingertips on my way past him into the bathroom. I take care not to move too quickly. My legs feel wobbly, like a newborn colt's, but I manage to make it to the bathroom without assistance.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror and wince. My hair is a tangled mess, my face pale and drawn. I look like death warmed over.
Stripping off my rumpled clothes, I step into the shower and turn the water on as hot as I can stand it. The steam rises around me, and I close my eyes, letting the water pound against my skin as I lather up with the soaps I'm "borrowing" from Raven.
As I stand there, the memories throb like infected wounds.
Azarel's betrayal. The desperate need to forget, even for a moment, that the man I'd given my heart to had lied about something so fundamental.
I vaguely recall stumbling into the black market proper, the lights and sounds overwhelming my senses.
And dancing. Oh gods, did I really dance in that seedy club on a sticky pole in front of a bunch of strange hooting alphas?
Why was it so fucking sticky?
I wash quickly, trying not to dwell on the jumbled memories. When I finally step out, wrapped in a plush towel, I feel marginally more human, though the throbbing headache persists.
When I return to the bedroom, I find Raven making the bed like he's going to be graded on it.
Nikolai is still curled at the foot of it, thoroughly undisturbed by the activity around him.
As I watch, Raven unceremoniously pushes Nikolai off the edge so he can smooth down the duvet.
Nikolai lands on the pile of blankets on the floor with a thump and a startled curse in Vrissian.