Chapter 26 – RAVEN #2
The scene I find defies all logic. Whiskey's back on his horse somehow, with a semi-conscious Plague strapped to his back like the world's most reluctant backpack.
Nikolai faces them down with the golden gun I gave him, aimed steady despite the chaos.
And Whiskey, the absolute madman, has his rocket launcher trained on Nikolai.
"Not so fast, lover boy." I draw on Plague as I skid to a stop, keeping the bike between me and any stray rockets.
Whiskey's head swivels toward me, and his eyes narrow. "Oh. You."
"As much as I appreciate a big man with an even bigger gun," I say, letting my gaze drift appreciatively over his bare torso because clearly, discomfort is a powerful weapon and I'm a master at wielding it, "I'm going to need you to put it down.
Unless you want me to redecorate the desert with your prince's brains? "
Whiskey's jaw works like he's chewing on particularly tough jerky. But slowly, grudgingly, he lowers the launcher. The fact that it takes him that long speaks to either remarkable stupidity or remarkable confidence. Possibly both.
"I had it under control," Nikolai snaps. "Didn't need your help, peacock."
Peacock. That's a new one.
"Would it kill you to just say thank you for once?" I demand, fighting the urge to shoot them both and be done with it. "Where's Cosima?"
"She's with Geo." At least Nikolai has the decency to answer quickly, his eyes never leaving Whiskey. "Last I saw, he was heading for cover."
Relief floods through me, so intense my knees almost buckle. She's alive. She's with Geo. I'd rather them be miles away from this war zone, but it's better than the alternatives racing through my mind, all of which lead to me flinging myself into a well.
Why is a well always my plan B? Probably a question for a therapist, but somehow I always end up shooting them.
Of course, that's when Whiskey decides to fire his launcher at the ground near us. And near him, for that matter.
The blast is deafening. The world explodes in a shower of sand and rock, the shockwave lifting me clear off the bike. I hit the ground hard, ears ringing anew, vision white at the edges. Somewhere in the chaos, I hear a horse's terrified whinny and the crash of bodies hitting earth.
Stupidity it is, then.
When the dust settles, we're all sprawled across the sand like discarded toys. The horse has wisely fucked off to safer pastures. Whiskey and Plague are a tangle of limbs nearby, both groaning.
I suppose that would wake you up.
"I told you not to fuck with the rocket launcher," Plague mutters, achieving consciousness just in time to bitch about his mate's tactical decisions.
Whiskey rolls over with a groan, his cheeks stained with soot from the blast. "Nice to see you too, babe. You're welcome for the gallant fucking rescue."
The domesticity of their bickering would be adorable if my entire body didn't feel like it had been put through a blender. Twice.
Nikolai hauls me to my feet, though his grip on my arm is firm enough to leave bruises.
Just in time as Whiskey and Plague get back on their feet.
We draw on each other simultaneously, including Plague, who's somehow managed to steal a knife off the holster strapped to Whiskey's thigh in the time it took him to get up.
"This feels right," I mutter to Nikolai as we stand side by side, unable to resist taunting him a little. "Just like old times."
"Shut up," he growls, but there's something in his voice that wasn't there before. Something almost fond.
Whiskey fires first because of course he does. No finesse, no strategy, just pure Columbian bravado. Nikolai dodges with the fluid grace of someone who's been shot at more times than he can count, then barrels into him like a fucking freight train.
They go down hard, trading punches with the enthusiasm of men who genuinely enjoy violence because there's nothing else going on inside their heads.
And sure, I enjoy it, too, but only because I have daddy issues and a personality disorder. Sophisticated reasons.
Meanwhile, Plague advances on me with that stolen knife, moving with deadly coordination despite the lingering effects of Cosima's poison.
"No hard feelings about that whole kidnapping thing, right?" I dance backward, narrowly avoiding a strike that would have opened my throat. "An eye for an eye and all that. Or am I getting my religions mixed up?"
Plague's expression remains frustratingly neutral as he presses his attack. "Wouldn't know," he says sarcastically. "I've always been a bit of an agnostic myself."
He nearly takes my head off with the next swing. Only years of practice save me, muscle memory kicking in as I draw my own knife. My gun stays in my left hand, a constant threat as we circle each other.
Behind us, Nikolai and Whiskey fight like barbarians, all brute force and grunts. No style whatsoever. At least Plague has technique, even if he is trying to kill me with it.
"You have skill," Plague observes, parrying my thrust with insulting ease. "But you lack focus. A clearly defined leader to unify you."
I laugh, the sound bouncing off the cliff walls. "What do you think we are, a fucking boy band?"
"I assumed you were a pack, considering you're clearly willing to die together," he says, because every fucking word out of this asshole's mouth is a barb.
He raises a valid point, though. Are we a pack? The word feels strange. We're just a group of damaged alphas drawn together by a goddess. That doesn't make us pack.
Does it?
Movement in my peripheral vision alerts me to danger. Whiskey's got Nikolai in a headlock, muscles straining as he tries to choke him out. Without thinking, I fire a shot that grazes Whiskey's bicep and would have hit his skull if Plague didn't tackle me viciously at the last second.
"You're welcome!" I call across the chaos, kicking the other alpha off me.
"Had it under control, peacock!" Nikolai shoots back, then proceeds to shove Whiskey a good three feet away out of sheer spite.
The fight shifts, opponents changing as we adapt to each other's movements. Suddenly I'm facing off against Whiskey, who looks at me with a quizzical expression that seems out of place on a battlefield.
"Settle something for me," he says, oddly conversational for someone who just shot at us with a fucking rocket launcher. "Back at the Alpha's Alpha... who was the 'cute one'?"
I preen despite myself, letting my gaze trail over his glistening, bulky torso with obvious appreciation. "You, of course."
Something shifts in his expression. Surprise, maybe. Then a smug grin as he puffs out his chest. "Huh." Then, louder, directed at Plague, "Told ya!"
Plague attacks me with renewed vigor, apparently offended by my harmless flirtation with his mate. "Relax, your majesty," I laugh, dodging a particularly bloodthirsty swing. "My whoring days are over! I'm not interested in taking your boyfriend."
"Husband," Whiskey corrects automatically, throwing a punch at Nikolai that would have taken off his head if he didn't dodge at the last second.
Plague stops mid-strike to stare at him incredulously. "Since when? And if anything, you're my husband."
"What's the difference?" Whiskey asks with a shrug.
Nikolai and I exchange a look.
"I hate to interrupt your foreplay," I say, taking aim at a bunch of mutated thorny fruit hanging from the tree above that look just the right size and density to crack a skull. "But I'm going to need you both to hurry up and die."
Plague's eyes widen as I fire the shot and he barely manages to dive in time to shove Whiskey out of the way.
The fruit explodes, pulp spraying in a sticky arc that catches the edge of Plague's sleeve. The look of pure disgust on his face is almost worth the swift retribution that follows—a blur of movement ending with his knife slicing through the air where my throat had been a heartbeat earlier.
"I'm sure you can afford the dry cleaning bill, your majesty," I taunt, dropping into a roll that brings me up behind Whiskey's massive frame. I use him as a human shield, which earns me a backward elbow that cracks a few ribs.
"Coward," Whiskey grunts, spinning with surprising agility. His meaty fist grazes my cheek as I duck, the wind from it ruffling my hair.
Across the dune, Plague and Nikolai are back at it. Metal flashes as knives clash, the sound singing through the open expanse. Neither gives an inch, their movements so fast they blur together in a lethal choreography.
I barely have time to appreciate their exchange before Whiskey barrels into me like a freight train, sending us both crashing into a sandy hill that's a hell of a lot more solid than it looks.
The air is violently expelled from my lungs as I'm crushed between Whiskey's bulk and what I'm pretty sure is actually a rock covered in a thin layer of sand.
The force of the impact sends my gun flying out of my hand, and I squeeze out from under him, scrambling to reach it.
"Oh, no you don't, you little shit," Whiskey growls, grabbing me by the back of the neck and slamming my head into the stone. My beautiful, perfectly straight nose breaks immediately.
Son of a bitch.
I ignore the blood streaming down my face and grope the ever-shifting sand until my fingers find the cool, reliable metal I'm searching for. "I'm six… foot… five," I grit out as the other alpha grabs a fistful of my hair, trying to pull me back.
I twist in his grasp as soon as my hand seizes the gun, but before I can fire off a shot, a blur of white hair whizzes past me and barrels into Whiskey.
"Nikolai?" I choke out, watching in shock as the two alphas roll down the side of the dune while Plague staggers to his feet, clutching what looks like a dislocated left arm. Courtesy of Nikolai, I assume.
"You don't. fucking. touch. him," Nikolai snarls in a demon's voice.
When I look back, he's landed at the bottom of the dune on top of Whiskey, his fist reared back before it connects with the other alpha's face.
And judging from the dazed look on Whiskey's face, and the matching rivulets of blood streaming down his nose, it's not for the first time.
He throws another punch, then another, before Whiskey manages to grab Nikolai by the arm and throw him off.
"Didn't realize he was your boyfriend," Whiskey sneers, staggering slightly as he wipes the blood off his face with the back of his hand.
Nikolai is back on his feet, the two alphas facing off. Before I can fire a shot to assist Nikolai, something barrels into me from behind.
Fucking Plague.
Since when do I let myself get distracted in a fight?
I can hear the battle between Nikolai and Whiskey raging below as Plague drives me into a nearby tree.
I spin around, taking aim at him with my gun as he springs back like a fucking cat.
And he's got that damn knife in his good hand, the other one still hanging limply at his side.
A knife I have no doubt could end up buried in my chest in the time it would take me to fire.
It's maddening.
Despite our best efforts, we're evenly matched. For every advantage gained, there's an immediate counter. For every opening exploited, a defense materializes. Nobody's gaining a fucking inch of ground.
Plague seems to realize the same thing. He switches tactics, voice taking on a different quality. "Why did you do this? Why go to all this trouble to kidnap me? You have to know you're not getting away with it."
"You'd be surprised the things I've gotten away with," I say, circling around him.
"Who hired you?" Plague presses, eyes narrowing. "Was it Maybrecht? My brother?"
The confusion on my face must seem too genuine to fake. Plague's certainty wavers.
"Don't play innocent," he snarls. "How much did they pay you to kidnap me?"
I laugh, bright and genuine. "Me? Innocent? That's a first."
"Then what could have possibly possessed you to betray us, if not for the money?" he demands. "Copious sums of it."
"Betrayal seems a bit extreme," I scoff, gesturing with my gun. "You came to me for information, I gave you the information, I came to you for information, your friends gave me a lead, and I acted on it. It's hardly my fault they thought I'd get killed in the process."
"The omega," he says, squinting. "This really is because of her?"
"I thought that was obvious enough on the train," I say slowly, as if he's having trouble understanding, because I can tell questioning his intellect is the only thing that'll ruffle this bird's feathers.
"She has a name, you know. Or are you a typical alpha who only sees omegas you're fucking as people? "
That does it. Plague strikes out with the blade, and presents an opening.
I have to let him slice my shoulder open to exploit it, but I grab the front of his shirt and spin us both so his back is to the edge of the dune Whiskey and Nikolai just tumbled down—the one they're still fighting viciously at the bottom of, if the sounds are any indication.
Huh. Never really realized how much fighting alphas sound like they're fucking.
Plague staggers, his back to the dropoff, his back foot dangerously close to losing purchase on the shifting edge.
I aim my gun at his chest and he freezes, his face a masterpiece of disbelief. "Are you fucking serious? You kidnapped me because my fucking brother lied to your omega?"
"And?" I challenge. "You've clearly never been in a complicated relationship."
"Plague doesn't do feelings," Whiskey calls up helpfully, his voice strained and followed by a wheeze like Nikolai just punched him in the gut.
Plague's glare could strip paint but he doesn't take his eyes off me, that knife still clutched in his grasp, ready to throw even if I've clearly got the advantage at the moment. "Whose side are you on?"
Whiskey grins, unrepentant. "Yours, love. Always. But you're still emotionally..."
"Constipated?" I suggest.
I can see Whiskey's fingers snap in the air just over the edge of the drop off. "Yes! That's the word."
"This is fucking unbelievable," Plague mutters, looking like he's questioning every life choice that led him to this moment. "This is by far the most reckless, harebrained, pointless endeavor I've ever—"
A roar cuts through his words. Bestial, furious, and achingly familiar. It echoes off the canyon walls, primal rage given voice.
Knight.
My heart leaps even as concern floods through me. He's alive. Of course he is. Nothing short of complete obliteration could stop him. And that means he'll be coming for Cosima, even if he has to tear the world apart to do it.
Even if he has to go through all of us.