Chapter 35 – GEO
GEO
"So we're all in agreement, we hate him, right?"
Raven's voice carries that particular brand of venom he usually reserves for people who are about to get an intimate view down the barrel of his gun.
"Obviously," Nikolai mutters, adjusting his gaudy red glasses like they're going to help him see through whatever bullshit Azarel's spinning in the other room.
We're holed up in some side chamber of the palace where they keep the inconvenient guests while Azarel gets interrogated by his family.
Everything's draped in silk and gold, making me feel like a feral dog someone let into a museum by mistake.
The medical staff patched everyone up well enough, but my knee still feels like someone took a blowtorch to it, and every other alpha in this room looks about as rough as I feel.
Cosima's standing by the window, arms crossed, staring out at the gardens where that shitshow with Azarel went down.
She hasn't said a word since we all went back inside, but the fury radiating off her is thick enough to choke on.
The silk robes they gave her are torn from the struggle, and there's still garden dirt in her silver hair.
Somehow, she makes even that look regal.
Knight's positioned himself between her and the door like a living barricade, those burning blue eyes tracking every movement in the room through the eyeholes of his impassive silver mask.
He hasn't stopped growling since Azarel showed his face, a low rumble that's more felt than heard.
Every so often, his metal arm sparks, damaged from the fight but still functional enough to tear someone's head off if needed.
Can't believe I'm jealous he almost got the chance, but my alpha instincts are all haywire where Cosima's concerned. I'm supposed to be the one holding these idiots back, but one look at Azzhole or whatever the fuck his name is and I wanted to shoot the smug look off his face.
Especially knowing he tried to take her from us.
"The fucking audacity," Nikolai snarls, pacing like a caged animal again. "Shows up after abandoning her for weeks, tries to throw her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and expects what? A tearful reunion?"
"Don't forget the part where he lied about literally everything," Raven adds, perched on the arm of an obscenely expensive couch.
His nose is still bruised to hell, but if there's one silver lining to Azarel showing up, it's that he's stopped bitching about it for a second.
"Being a prince, his identity, his intentions. The man's a walking red flag factory."
I grunt in agreement, though my mind's churning through the long-term implications of this clusterfuck. Azarel's not just some random alpha trying to claim Cosima. He's a fucking prince, second in line to the throne of Surhiira, with all the resources and power that comes with it.
And he's also working for Arthur Maybrecht.
Which means we're caught between two of the most powerful men on the continent, both of whom have a claim on the woman we're all stupidly attached to.
"We need a plan," I say, because someone has to be the voice of reason in this circus. "Standing around bitching about him isn't going to change the fact that he's here, he wants her, and he's got the home field advantage."
"I vote we kill him," Nikolai says with the casual tone of someone suggesting we order takeout. "Quick, clean, problem solved. The Queen's got two other sons. She won't even notice."
Knight's growl deepens in what sounds like agreement.
"As satisfying as that would be," Raven says, examining his nails with affected casualness, "murdering a prince in his own palace might complicate our new employment situation."
"Fuck the employment situation," Nikolai snaps. "You saw how she looked at him."
I did.
We all did.
Made me want to nuke the whole damn world all over again. I never want to see that kind of pain in her eyes again.
We all turn to look at Cosima, who's still staring out the window like she can will herself somewhere else. At least she's not dissociating right now, but I'm not sure her current state's much more pleasant.
The dimming sunlight catches in her silver hair, turning it to liquid moonlight, and my gut twists into knots.
"So maybe we kill him," I mutter.
Raven's eyes light up like he's been waiting for this all along. "Then it's settled! We form a temporary truce until Azarel is dead."
"Yeah, fine," Nikolai says with a burdened sigh. "Just until he's dead."
Knight growls again in agreement, flexing his metal hand. A few sparks shoot out of the joints. Pretty sure we need to get him to a mechanic instead of just a medic.
"No one is killing anyone."
The voice comes from directly behind us, so fucking close that Nikolai actually jolts like someone just tasered him. He spins around, hand going for the weapon the Surhiiran guards already confiscated, and finds Cosima standing there with her arms crossed and a withering glare on her face.
"Fuck!" Nikolai hisses, pressing a hand to his chest like he's checking his heart's still beating. "Where the hell did you learn to move that quietly?"
She shrugs, a ghost of her usual smirk playing at her lips. "Finishing school. They taught us how to enter and exit rooms without disturbing the alphas' important business discussions."
"That's the creepiest fucking thing I've ever heard," I mutter, though I'm secretly impressed. Most omegas from Reinmich are taught to be seen and not heard and all that other bullshit, but apparently Cosima's education included actual stealth training.
"You were literally just planning murder," she points out, raising an eyebrow. "But I'm the creepy one?"
Before any of us can answer, the door opens with the kind of slowness that says whoever's on the other side knows they're walking into enemy territory.
Azarel steps through like he owns the fucking place.
Fair enough, I guess.
He's cleaned up since the garden brawl, traded his bloody cloak for the clearly expensive yet plain black clothes I've seen some of the higher ranking guards wearing rather than the royal gear Plague and Revi have on. Interesting.
The bruising on his jaw from Knight's backhand is already starting to purple, but he wears it like it's nothing. Like getting his ass handed to him by a mutant alpha is just another Tuesday.
His eyes—those same pale blue eyes that bastard Plague has—scan the room before landing on Cosima. Something shifts in his expression, raw and desperate but quickly masked behind his former composure.
I'm starting to understand why Cosima, as perceptive as she is, never clocked this guy as a prince in hiding. Revi acts like he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and even Plague has that bearing that only comes with the scepter of royal authority shoved up your ass, but Azarel…
He's something else entirely.
I've known men like him all my life. Hard men.
Soldiers with cold, dead eyes and the kind of steel in their spine that would drop a hundred innocent men without hesitation, all for the sake of the mission.
There's a certain brand of unmistakable confidence that only comes with a bone-deep conviction that you're serving a purpose far greater than your own, and he has it.
The only question is, who the fuck is he working for? Arthur Maybrecht? What little I know of the fucker makes it seem unlikely he's capable of inspiring that kind of loyalty.
"May I speak with you?" he asks Cosima, and his voice is different from before. Quieter. Like a lion trying to whisper when his nature is to roar. "Alone?"
"No."
The word comes out of three mouths simultaneously. Mine, Nikolai's, and Raven's. We don't even look at each other, don't need to coordinate. For once in our fucking lives, we're completely on the same page.
Knight's snarl is loud enough to rattle the decorative vases on their pedestals, his metal arm sparking as he flexes his claws.
The message is crystal fucking clear.
Over my dead body.
We move without thinking, all four of us shifting to put ourselves between Cosima and Azarel. It's instinct, pure and simple. The need to protect what's ours from a threat, even if that threat is wearing Surhiiran finery and asking politely.
Azarel's jaw tightens, but he doesn't back down. "I'm not going to hurt her."
"Like you weren't going to hurt her when you threw her over your shoulder and tried to take off with her?" Nikolai's voice drips with enough venom to kill a horse. "Real reassuring, your highness."
"I was trying to protect her," Azarel snaps, and for the first time since he walked in, that mask cracks a little. "From all of you."
"Protect her?" Raven laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Is that what you call lying to her for years? Letting her think you were someone you're not?"
Azarel's jaw tightens enough to creak. "You don't understand—"
"We understand plenty," I cut him off, my hand drifting to where my gun would normally be. Won't stop me from ripping his spine out. "You're a lying sack of shit who abandoned her when she needed you most. End of fucking story."
Azarel's eyes flash with something dangerous, and for a second I think he might actually try to go through us and give us an excuse to kill him dead right on the pristine marble floors of his childhood home.
But then Cosima sighs, the sound heavy with exhaustion that goes bone-deep. "I'll talk to him."
We all turn to stare at her.
"Cosima—" Nikolai starts.
She holds up a hand. "It's fine."
"He tried to fucking kidnap you," Nikolai snarls, his voice rising. "Not even an hour ago. Or did that head trauma make you forget already?"
She rolls her eyes, though I can see the exhaustion beneath the surface of that attitude she wears like fucking armor. She's running on fumes, has been since that dissociative episode on the train, and every minute she stays upright is probably taking everything she's got.
"We're surrounded by Surhiiran guards," she says, gesturing vaguely at the door. "We're all glorified prisoners here until the Queen decides what to do with us. You really think he's going to succeed at kidnapping me any more than he did the last time?"
I hate that she has a point. Really fucking hate it. But she's right. The palace is crawling with guards, all of whom are probably on high alert after our little stunt earlier. And his. If Azarel tries anything again, he'd have to get through them.
And us.
"Fine," I mutter, though every instinct screams against it.
If she wants to talk to this prick, as much as I hate it, that's her choice.
Even if the thought of her going back to him makes me want to go on a rampage that would make Knight's berserker episodes look like tantrums. "But we're staying close. "
"No," she says, and there's steel in her voice now. "This is between him and me."
"Cosima—"
"I need to do this." She looks at each of us in turn, and there's something in her eyes that stops us all cold. "I need answers. Real ones. And I'm not going to get them with you four breathing down his neck."
Knight makes a low, rumbling sound of discontent. She reaches up to cup his mask, thumb stroking the metal where his cheek would be. Azarel's eyes glint possessively at the gesture, and I can't help but smirk.
"I'll be fine," she murmurs to him. "I promise."
He leans into her touch, that massive frame practically melting at the contact. It would be pathetic if it wasn't so fucking relatable. We're all whipped for this omega, and she knows it.
I catch her arm as she moves past me, gentle but firm. She looks up at me, those violet eyes questioning, and I have to swallow past the lump in my throat.
"You don't owe that prick shit," I tell her, lowering my voice so only she can hear. "Remember that."
Something in her gaze softens, and for a moment she looks vulnerable in a way she rarely lets herself be. Her hand covers mine where it rests on her arm, squeezing gently.
I let her go, even though every fiber of my being wants to drag her back, lock her in a room, and stand guard until this whole fucking mess blows over.
But that's not what she needs. What she needs is answers, closure, whatever the fuck else she thinks she's going to get from talking to that lying bastard.
She walks toward Azarel with her chin up, shoulders back, every inch the aristocrat she was raised to be even in someone else's palace. He steps aside to let her pass, and I don't miss the way his hand twitches like he wants to touch her but thinks better of it.
Good. Saves me the effort of separating it from his wrist.
Once the door closes, we all stand there staring at it like we can will ourselves to see through the wood.
"This is fucking stupid," Nikolai announces to no one in particular.
"Incredibly," Raven agrees, moving to lean against the window. "But it's her choice."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it," Nikolai counters.
I'm already watching the garden, since that's the only exit he'd have any prayer of escaping through with her. This window's locked—part of why they put us in here, I'm sure—but I could break it and be out there in four seconds flat if I had to.
Knight plants himself directly in front of the window, a mountain of muscle and metal that says he's thinking the same damn thing.
"How long do we give them?" Raven asks, his fingers tapping against his folded arms in that nervous habit that's always driven me fucking insane. I'm about to call him on it when I realize I'm tapping my foot on the floor for the same damn reason.
"Five minutes," Nikolai says immediately.
"That's not enough time for a conversation," I point out, even though I agree with the sentiment.
"Fine. Ten minutes."
"Still not—"
"I don't give a fuck," Nikolai cuts me off, already pacing again. "Ten minutes, and then I rip his heart out of his chest and feed it to Knight. That's more than enough time for her to get the only answer he's going to give, which is utter bullshit."
He has a point.
Not one I feel compelled to argue.
"So," I finally mutter, scrubbing a hand down stubble that's probably a hell of a lot grayer than it was this morning, "About that truce…"