Chapter 4 – NIKOLAI #2
"Since I have enough guns to be a diplomat," I answer with a sneer. My gaze tracks across what was once the most active airfield in the region. A country that no longer exists.
But that's the way it is out here.
Empires rise and fall like dominoes, so why not add another to the mix?
A glint of excitement flashes in Lex's eyes. "Diplomacy was never my strong suit," she muses, running a hand through her short-cropped hair. "But I could see myself as a general. Those fancy Surhiiran swords are something else."
I can't help but laugh at that. "We play our cards right," I drawl, "finish this deal with the Ghosts, and you can have all the fancy swords you want." I pause for effect, watching her eyes widen. "And an omega to hold each one."
Lex throws her head back and laughs, the sound harsh and grating in the smoke-filled air. "You're a crazy fucker, you know that?" She shakes her head, still chuckling. "But that's why I'd rather work for you than your old man."
My mood sours instantly at the mention of my father. The great patriarch of the Vlakov Family.
I push the thoughts away, focusing on the matter at hand. "Speaking of prisoners," I say, my voice carefully neutral. "How's our other guest doing?"
Lex's brow furrows and she drops the laugh like a hot coal.
"That's the thing, boss. It won't eat any of the meat we throw down there.
Just stands and stares at the sky all night, at least when it's not tryin' to rip apart anyone who gets too close to the pit with those fucking claws.
Sometimes it moves around like it's trying to stand under the moon.
So maybe it's got some moon version of photo-sympathy. "
I arch an eyebrow. "Photosynthesis?"
"Yeah, that's it."
I sigh. "Maybe it doesn't eat meat."
"The fuck am I supposed to feed it then?" Lex asks, exasperated. "Kibble? You know Bess doesn't share."
The scruffy shepherd mix that shadows her all the time pants up at me with her distinctly microwaved-cod-scented breath as if to agree.
"It could eat people," I muse.
"It sure ate some of our men like it had five minutes to finish its last bucket ever of chicken fingers," Lex says with a snort.
That earns a wary stare from me. "And what the fuck is a chicken finger?"
“Best damn food on the planet. Popular back in Columbia before they started using synth meat instead because it was more cost-effective,” she says, waving me off.
"You wouldn't get it. I'm sure you only go to those bougie places where you drink pricey champagne out of a stripper's ass with a paper straw. "
"I think you and I have very different definitions of 'bougie,'" I say dryly. I need to get this conversation back on track. Lex's specialty may be derailing trains, but it's also derailing a goddamn conversation. "Maybe it eats people."
"The stripper's ass?" she asks, bewildered.
"No," I snarl. "The monster in the fucking pit."
"Why didn't you just say so?" Lex mutters.
"And yeah, that's a good point. But it's not like we have a bunch of bodies lyin' around we can throw to it to test that theory.
" She glances up at Mikey and Reese as the alpha lumbers by with the prattling beta close behind him like a mangy puppy dog.
"Unless these two morons fuck something else up. "
I grunt, already striding toward the pit we dug out on the far side of the airfield. "I'll take a look at it."
The closer we get, the more the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. There's something... off about the air around the pit. A heaviness, like the calm before a storm.
Or maybe I'm just on edge from lack of sleep.
I peer over the edge, and sure enough, there it is. The Knight. Standing perfectly still in the center of the pit like it's meditating, its iron-masked face tilted up toward the sky. Following its eerie gaze, I spot a thin sliver of crescent moon peeking through the clouds.
Even motionless, the thing is a sight to behold.
At least eight feet of pure muscle and metal, its skin a patchwork of scars and grafted armor plating.
The iron mask fused to its face gleams in the moonlight, those eerie blue eyes glowing from within like trapped stars.
It would look human except for the chip in the lower left quadrant, enough to reveal monster jaws full of sharp exposed teeth.
Rods of metal jut from its back like a twisted parody of wings, and its right arm is solid metal and fully articulated, ending in a clawed hand with massive curved blades where fingers should be.
Despite the off-and-on rain we've been getting, there's still blood on those claws from what it did to twenty-six men.
My men.
I should throw a few bombs into the pit for that. It was the most gruesome, violent thing I've ever witnessed out here, and that's fucking saying something. But I knew the moment I saw it in action, I had to have it in my arsenal.
And not in pieces.
"Thought you said it was being aggressive," I mutter to Lex, unable to tear my eyes away from the creature below.
She throws up her hands in exasperation. "It was! Snarling and clawing at anyone who came near the edge of the pit. That's what all those marks are from." Her frustration ebbs back into a smirk. "Maybe it's got a crush on you. Calmed right down as soon as you showed up."
"Fuck off," I growl. My mind is racing, piecing together fragments of rumors and half-forgotten stories. The Vytoskyk facility. Vrissian experiments pushed beyond the limits of human endurance.
"What should we call him?" Lex asks.
I give her a weary look. She insisted on naming that mutt we found scrounging around in the ruins, gnawing on a human arm bone, too. Bess is a hell of an innocuous name for a beast that's eaten half my favorite boots and pissed in my favorite chair.
"They call it the Knight," I answer. When I see the look she's giving me, I add, "Finally dug it out of the Ghost who wears the plague doctor mask. Says they encountered it on their escape from that lab. Guess their feral omega got attached."
She snorts at that. "An omega? Bit skittish for that, aren't they?"
"Perhaps," I muse, studying the beast below as it continues gazing up at the night sky with a fixation that borders on worship, as if it's completely oblivious to our presence. "All the ones I've encountered have been."
"You should go encounter the one in our basement," she scoffs. "Maybe you can charm her into giving us some intel on where her daddy keeps the big bucks before we hand her over. Don't think she likes women."
"Maybe she just doesn't like scumbags," I counter, already headed toward the entrance to the other storage facility turned dungeon.
"You're one to talk!" she shoots back.
I flip her off and tug open the door leading into the pitch black corridor below.
Fucking fuse must have blown again. But when I flip the switch, the lights come on one by one, illuminating the row of storage rooms we've been using as a makeshift jail.
Usually, the cells are only occupied when my men get a little too rowdy.
Or Lex. It's often Lex.
But for right now, they're all reserved for our VIP.
I flip the switch and watch as the lights flicker to life, illuminating the dank corridor before me.
The smell of mildew and stale air hits me as I descend the stairs, my boots echoing off the concrete walls.
It's a familiar scent, one that reminds me of countless other hideouts and safehouses I've inhabited over the years.
But as I reach the bottom of the stairs, another scent cuts through the musty air. Something... different.
Intoxicating.
Impossible.
My steps falter as it washes over me, unlike anything I've encountered before. It's sweet, but not cloying. Pure, but not innocent. It calls to something primal within me, something I thought I'd buried years ago beneath layers of ambition and dried blood and ruthlessness.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. I've smelled omegas before. Plenty of them. But never like this. Never so...
Fuck .
A part of me wants to turn back, to retreat to the safety of my office and send someone else to deal with our "guest." Because suddenly, I'm not so sure I can trust myself.
But I am a Vrissian alpha. I may be Vrissian scum , but I am Vrissian nonetheless. Not some spineless Reinmichian coward hiding behind the Council or a posh elitist Surhiiran who'd rather hide in a university tower rather than get his hands dirty in the real world.
I face my problems.
Head fucking on.
I force myself to keep walking, even as that scent grows stronger with each step. It wraps around me like a silken cord, tugging me forward. By the time I reach her cell, my heart is pounding in my chest in a way it never has all the countless times I've faced death, my mouth dry as cotton.
I peer through the small window in the heavy metal door, and for a moment, all I can see is a spill of silvery-white hair across the pillow.
She's facing away from me, curled up on the cot like a sleeping cat.
But even from here, I can tell the curves of her body beneath the thin blanket are all woman, soft and inviting in a way that makes my fingers itch to stroke something other than a trigger for the first time in months.
For a moment, I wonder if she's in heat. That would explain the intensity of her scent, the way it's affecting me. But no—there's none of that musky undertone that comes with a heat cycle.
This is just... her.
Pure and undiluted.
Pure what…?
I rack my brain for any scent to compare it to, but despite the fact that I come up empty, there's an undeniable familiarity there.
No, that scent isn't like anything else on earth. But I do have a frame of reference. An image—no, a full-sensory fucking experience—that pops into my mind as she stirs in her sleep and the threadbare sheet slips away from those gloriously thick, milky thighs.
Moonlight.
What the fuck does that even mean?
How can something smell like moonlight?
No one's even set foot on that useless rock since we decided killing each other and blowing up this one was a better use of funds. Even if I could ask the last trillionaire asshole who went up there, he'd probably say it smelled like fucking space dust and astronaut breath, not…
Whatever the fuck this is.
Before I realize what I'm doing, my hand is on the door handle. The rational part of my brain screams at me to stop, to think this through. But that voice is drowned out by the blood rushing in my ears, by the need to get closer to the source of that impossible scent.
The door swings open with a metallic groan, and she stirs at the sound. I hold my breath as she sits up slowly, that silvery hair cascading down her back like a waterfall.
And then she turns, and I'm lost.
Her eyes hit me first. They're the color of royalty, a shade of violet so deep and rich it puts the finest Surhiiran silks to shame. They widen slightly as they meet mine, and for a moment—just a fraction of a second—I think I see a flicker of the same awe I'm feeling reflected in their depths.
But then her gaze hardens, and the spell is broken.
Well, not broken exactly.
I'm still locked in it.
Because in spite of the clear disdain twisting her features, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Who am I kidding? The spite only enhances it. Like a little pepper in a gourmet dish.
My eyes travel over her face and body, committing every detail to memory. The delicate arch of her eyebrows, the heart-shaped face. Her nose is straight and slightly turned up at the bottom, flushed slightly across the bridge. And that mouth...
Full lips, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top, currently pressed into a thin line of hate. I find myself wondering what they'd look like parted in pleasure instead. Or wrapped around my cock.
The thought sends a jolt of heat through me, and I have to clench my fists at my sides to keep from reaching for her. My gaze drifts lower, taking in the graceful curve of her neck, the hollow of her soft throat where her pulse flutters visibly.
The silky robe clinging to her plush curves looks rough and harsh in comparison to her skin. The robe has slipped off one shoulder, revealing a tantalizing expanse of creamy skin just begging for me to bury my fangs as deep as my…
Fuck.
No.
Fuck no.
Get it together, you fucking assclown.
I've spent years building my empire, clawing my way to the top through blood and betrayal. I've sacrificed everything—my family, my conscience, any chance at a normal life—all in pursuit of power.
And now, standing before this slip of an omega with eyes like amethysts and hair like moonlight, I realize how fragile it all is. Fragile enough that all it would take is a glimmer of moonlight to bring it all crashing down.
This omega is going to cost me everything.