Chapter 15 – NIKOLAI
NIKOLAI
I'm in some fresh new hell.
Must be. There's no other explanation for it.
The rhythmic clacking of the train's wheels against the ancient tracks has become the soundtrack to my personal torment.
Each passing mile brings us closer to Surhiira, closer to this mess coming to its inevitable conclusion, and I can't decide if I'm looking forward to it or dreading it.
Maybe both.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, the scrape of stubble that's grown in over the past couple of days rough against my palm, I force myself to look out the window.
The endless wasteland isn't nearly distracting enough to keep my gaze away from the scene unfolding in the makeshift nest a few feet away.
It doesn't work. My eye is drawn back like a compass needle to north.
Silver hair spills across Raven's lap, illuminated like a halo by the dim light filtering through the curtained train windows.
Cosima's head rests on his thigh, her eyes half-closed as she listens to him reading aloud from some pre-war book in perfect Vrissian.
Her legs are stretched out across the nest, feet resting in Knight's lap.
The massive alpha is absently stroking her ankle with his human hand, the gentleness of the gesture so at odds with the destructive force I know he's capable of.
How the fuck did I end up here?
My jaw clenches as I watch Raven's fingers drift through her hair, those silver strands sliding between his fingers the same way they did hours ago when he was buried inside her.
The memory sends an unwelcome surge of heat through my veins.
I was hard for fucking hours after watching them.
Didn't do a damn thing about it except suffer.
Not that I wasn't tempted.
When she looked at us with those violet eyes and invited us to join—but only if we fucked Raven, not her—I almost got up. Almost. The idea of pushing into that tight heat and pretending it was her... it shouldn't make my cock stir, but it does. After all, it wouldn't be the first time.
The fact that Geo looked just as tempted as I was doesn't make it any easier to swallow.
Raven's voice continues in a soft murmur, his accent flawless as he reads some romantic passage in Vrissian that's clearly intended to impress Cosima.
The bastard is pulling out all the stops, and it's working.
I can tell from the way her lips curve upward at particularly poetic phrases, the way her eyes occasionally flick up to his face with something dangerously close to admiration.
"It's getting to the good part," she murmurs, shifting slightly in Raven's lap.
My cock twitches traitorously at the sound of her voice. I grit my teeth, focusing on the pain rather than the intimacy playing out before me.
Raven, not me.
His lap, not mine.
So close, yet nowhere near where I need her to be.
Raven complies, turning the page with those elegant fingers, and continues reading.
He's wearing one of the Surhiiran robes now, the white fabric making his golden hair look even more vibrant.
His wounded innocence routine is so convincing that sometimes even I forget what he really is. What he's capable of.
What we did together.
The memory of Raven beneath me, golden hair splayed across my pillows as he begged for more, flashes unbidden through my mind. I push it away violently. Ancient history. Doesn't matter now.
He left. End of story.
Except it's not, is it? Because here we are, trapped in a fucking train car hurtling toward certain death, and I still can't stop watching him. Watching both of them. Still can't stop wanting what I shouldn't.
Not when she's heading straight for a reunion with that Surhiiran prince who broke her heart. The prince she still loves, even if she won't admit it.
The train begins to slow, metal wheels screeching against the tracks. Cosima sits up with a catlike yawn and a stretch, dislodging Raven's hand from her hair. I curl my fingers into a fist, chasing the ghost of a touch I never even had.
"We're here," Raven announces, closing his book. "Everyone remember their roles?"
Geo grunts from his position by the door. He's been alternating between watching the corridor and watching us for hours. "Hard to forget. We're a pack traveling with our omega. Looking for a better life."
"Boring but effective," Raven says with a shrug. He turns to Cosima. "Ready, goddess?"
She nods and takes his offered hand, rising gracefully to her feet.
The emerald silk of her Surhiiran robes flows around her like water, catching the light in a way that makes her look even more otherworldly.
Her silver hair has been arranged in an intricate braid down her back, with a few strands left loose to frame her face.
A sheer veil hangs from a delicate circlet, ready to be pulled down over the lower half of her face.
She looks... perfect.
Like she belongs here, in these silks, in this world of luxury and beauty.
My chest constricts with a painful mix of both pride and dread.
Pride, because she's fucking magnificent, and somehow, against all odds, she's with me right now.
Dread, because once she sees Surhiira—once she remembers what it's like to live somewhere civilized—why would she ever look back?
Why would she ever choose the wasteland?
Choose any of us?
The train comes to a complete stop, metal groaning as it settles on the tracks. Raven moves to the door, peering out through a small gap in the curtains. "Border outpost," he confirms. "Minimal guards. I'll go speak with my contact."
"I'll come with you," I say, standing before I can think better of it. The words surprise even me, but I plow ahead.
Raven's eyebrows rise slightly, but he nods. "Fine. The rest of you, wait here until we give the all-clear."
Geo scowls. "I don't like splitting up."
"It's a border checkpoint, not a battlefield," Raven says with more patience than I'd expect. "We'll be visible the entire time."
Geo grumbles something unintelligible, but doesn't argue further. Cosima approaches me, and for a wild moment I think she's going to kiss me goodbye. Instead, she adjusts the scarf around my neck, the points of her nails dragging against my skin and giving me fucking goosebumps.
"Try not to stab anyone," she says, her lips quirking up at one corner.
"No promises," I mutter.
Her touch has short-circuited my brain.
Raven leads the way off the train, moving with the easy preening confidence that always gets on my last nerve. I follow close behind, conscious of the curious stares from the few other passengers who've disembarked.
The outpost is small but surprisingly well-maintained compared to the crumbling infrastructure we left behind in the Outer Reaches.
Low buildings of white stone gleam in the late afternoon sun, their surfaces unmarred by the scorch marks and decay that characterize most structures in the wastelands.
Guards in crisp white uniforms patrol the perimeter, their movements disciplined but not openly hostile.
"This way," Raven murmurs, leading me toward a small office at the edge of the platform. "Follow my lead, and for fuck's sake, try to look less like you're planning to murder everyone."
"This is just my face," I growl back.
"I know. It's a problem."
We approach a checkpoint where two guards stand at attention. They straighten as we near, hands resting casually on their weapons—not drawing them, but making sure we see they're armed. Their posture is stiff and cautious, but not aggressive.
"Halt," one says in Vrissian, probably on my account. "State your business."
Raven steps forward, inclining his head in a gesture of respect that somehow doesn't look servile coming from him.
He switches to Surhiiran, and while I can't make out what he's saying, I know enough to get the gist. He's bribing them.
And the fact that they don't shoot us in the face suggests they're amenable.
I watch silently as Raven produces a small pouch from within his robes and hands it to the guard along with what look like travel documents. The guard opens the pouch, examines the contents—gold coins, by the weight of it—and nods slightly.
"Traveling party?" the guard asks, switching to Vrissian once more for my benefit.
"Five," Raven answers. "Myself, my companions here, and three more waiting in the train. We travel as a pack."
The guard's eyebrows rise slightly at the word "pack." It's uncommon these days, especially with the war. Most packs were decimated, families torn apart. The ones that survived tend to be military, or criminal. We're clearly not military.
"Tell Larin that Shadow sends his regards," Raven adds smoothly. "He'll vouch for us."
The guard studies Raven for a long moment, then nods to his companion, who disappears into the office. We wait in tense silence. I scan our surroundings, noting potential escape routes, vulnerabilities in the perimeter. Old habits die hard, apparently.
"Is there any language you don't speak?" I ask under my breath, more to break the tension than out of genuine curiosity.
Raven's lips quirk up at one corner. "Arrogant prick," he replies without missing a beat. "But you've got that one covered."
I snort despite myself. It's almost like old times for the briefest moment. That easy back-and-forth we used to have before everything went to shit.
The second guard returns, accompanied by an older man in civilian clothes but with the bearing of someone accustomed to authority. He studies us with sharp eyes, then nods once.
"Shadow's friends are welcome here," he says, his Vrissian heavily accented but clear. "Your papers are in order. You may proceed."
Raven bows slightly. "Thank you for your hospitality."
The man—Larin, I presume—hands Raven a bundle of documents and a set of keys. "Your vehicle is waiting, as requested. I hope it will be large enough for all?"