Chapter 44 – COSIMA
Chapter
Forty-Four
COSIMA
I watch the door close behind Geo with a confusing mixture of relief and fresh wariness.
His one-eyed stare had been intense, searching, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
I'm not sure I like the idea of being anyone's puzzle, especially not a dangerous alpha who clearly runs this place like his personal kingdom.
But at least he's agreed to help.
The Knight shifts on the bed beside me, the expensive mattress groaning under his weight. His glowing blue eyes are fixed on the door, as if he expects Geo to burst back in at any moment.
"He's gone," I say softly, my hand still resting on his arm. The steady heat of him seeps into my palm, warming me through. "It's just us now."
The Knight rumbles low in his chest, a sound I'm starting to recognize as acknowledgment rather than threat. It's strange how quickly I've learned to interpret his various growls and rumbles. Like learning a new language made entirely of primal sounds.
"Can we talk?" I ask, turning to face him more fully. The silk of Raven's borrowed robe whispers around me as I move. "I mean, can you talk?"
He just stares at me, those blue eyes unblinking behind his ornate mask. The silver gleams in the soft light of the room, the craftsmanship making him look almost regal despite the scars and metal visible on the rest of his body.
"I know your mouth is..." I hesitate, searching for a word that won't offend him. "Um. Different . But is that why you don't speak? Or is it something else?"
More staring.
Then he slowly lifts his human hand and taps his mask vaguely, followed by his temple.
Holy shit.
Progress .
"Both?" I guess, trying not to show my excitement that he's making more specific gestures.
A jerky nod.
"So physically, it's difficult, but also..." I trail off, trying to understand. "You've forgotten how? Or you never learned?"
His massive shoulders rise and fall in what might be a shrug. It's such a human gesture that it catches me off guard. Then he taps his temple again, more insistently this time.
"Your mind won't let you," I murmur, understanding dawning. "Even if you wanted to."
Another nod, slower this time. His glowing eyes seem to dim slightly, and I catch a glimpse of something that might be shame.
"Hey," I say gently, reaching up to touch his mask without thinking. "It's okay. We'll figure it out."
He jerks back from my touch with a warning growl, his hand flying up to protect his mask. I immediately withdraw my hand, cursing my thoughtlessness.
"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I wasn't going to take it off. I promise."
The growl subsides, but he still watches me warily. His massive frame is tense, ready to spring away at the slightest provocation.
" Would you take it off?" I ask carefully. "Just for a moment? So I can see..."
He shakes his head immediately, the movement sharp and decisive. No room for negotiation there.
"Okay," I say, holding up my hands in surrender. "That's fine. It was just a thought…"
The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, but I can tell he's still on edge. Trust is a fragile thing between us, built on the strange foundation of shared nightmares and one heat-induced coupling.
I don't want to shatter what we have.
"Well, at least you're communicating more now," I say, attempting to lighten the mood. "Even feral alphas respond to an omega's touch, apparently."
The Knight sighs—actually sighs —and I can't help the small laugh that escapes me. It's such a human sound, so at odds with the appearance that had me terrified just days ago. Yesterday? My sense of time is beyond screwed up.
"Sorry," I say, not feeling sorry at all. "But you have to admit, it's kind of funny. Tamed by pussy. Imagine that."
He gives me a look that somehow manages to be withering even through the mask. I laugh again, the sound echoing in the opulent room.
"Don't worry," I tell him, touching his hand before I can think better of it. Luckily, that seems to be okay. "Your secret's safe with me. I won't tell anyone you're actually a big softie underneath all those... muscles and metal and... teeth."
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. The Knight tenses immediately, a warning growl building in his chest as he shifts to position himself between me and the potential threat.
"Come in," I call, placing a calming hand on the Knight's arm again.
The door opens to reveal a disheveled man in a white coat. The doctor, I presume. He looks like he's seen better days—his hair is mussed, his eyes bloodshot, and there's a slight tremor in his hands as he carries his medical bag into the room.
"Dr. Ryefield," he introduces himself with a curt nod. His gaze flicks nervously to the Knight, then back to me. "Geo sent me to check on your..." He gulps loudly. " Friend ."
"Thank you for coming," I say, feeling a bit better when I see he's scared shitless. I don't like doctors, but a frightened one may be tolerable. "I'm Cosima. This is... Knight."
It's less of a mouthful than the Knight. I tell myself that's the only reason I've made it more of a real name. That it has nothing to do with the strange feelings I'm developing for the alpha I've been terrified of my entire life.
"Yes, I know who you are," he says, setting his bag down on a nearby table. "Everyone in this hellhole knows who you are by now."
Wonderful. Just what I need. More attention.
Knight's growl deepens as the doctor approaches, his massive frame coiling with tension. I tighten my grip on his arm, willing him to stay calm.
"It's okay," I murmur to him. "He's here to help. Remember?"
The growling subsides to a low rumble, but Knight's burning blue eyes never leave the doctor as he unpacks his supplies.
"I need to examine his wounds," Dr. Ryefield says, pulling on a pair of latex gloves with practiced efficiency. "Can you control him?"
I bristle at the implication. "He's not a pet ."
"No," the doctor agrees, eyeing Knight's metal claws warily. "He's much more dangerous than that. But Geo says you have some sort of... influence over him."
I exchange a glance with Knight. "We have an understanding," I say finally. "He won't hurt you unless you try to hurt me. In which case, well… that would be a different story."
"Fantastic," the doctor mutters dryly. "No pressure at all."
Despite his obvious fear, Dr. Ryefield approaches the bed with professional composure. "I need to see the wounds on your back first," he tells Knight directly, as if speaking to a normal patient. "Can you turn around for me?"
To my surprise, Knight complies without prompting, shifting on the bed with an irritated growl to present his scarred back to the doctor. I move with him, keeping one hand on his arm, as much for my own comfort as his.
"Good lord," Dr. Ryefield breathes as he takes in the extent of the damage. "What happened to you?"
Knight, of course, doesn't answer.
"Explosions and bullets," I say.
The doctor hums thoughtfully as he begins to clean the wounds. Knight flinches at the first touch of antiseptic, another low growl rumbling in his chest, but he doesn't pull away. I move my hand to his and squeeze it. As much as I can, anyway. My hand barely wraps around half his palm.
"These aren't just from a fight," Dr. Ryefield says after a moment, his fingers gently probing the deep vertical gashes on either side of Knight's spine. Knight flinches in clear pain and my heart clenches. "These are surgical. Or they were, before something was ripped out."
I lean forward, peering over Knight's massive shoulder. The wounds are deep and ragged, as if something had been forcibly removed. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure," the doctor admits, reaching for a suture kit.
"But judging by the placement and the surrounding scar tissue, I'd guess some sort of structure connected to his nervous system, given how they align with his upper spine.
" He begins to stitch the first wound closed with neat, precise movements.
"Whoever did this to him didn't care about his comfort. Or his survival, for that matter."
Knight remains perfectly still as the doctor works, but I can feel the tension radiating from him. His breathing is carefully controlled, each exhale measured as if he's counting the seconds until this is over.
"Can't you give him something for the pain?" I ask, worried. I know antiseptic, let alone anesthetics, are in short supply out here, but there has to be something.
Dr. Ryefield glances up with a look that's not unsympathetic. "I'm afraid the metabolism of an alpha who's capable of surviving injuries like this would burn through anything I have on hand almost immediately. It would just be more needles for no benefit."
"Oh."
Even though we're both sitting on the bed, I still have to stretch my arm up to reach his bone-white hair.
I card my hand through it, trying to soothe him.
He relaxes fractionally at my touch. Still, each time the needle slides into his skin and the stitches tug, Knight winces.
His scarred skin feels cold and clammy to the touch.
"This is far beyond anything I've encountered," the doctor continues, stitching up the next set of wounds.
"I've heard of experiments being performed, especially in Vrissia, but this is…
particularly extreme." He pauses, his gaze lifting to Knight's masked face.
"I need to check for head injuries as well. Can you remove your mask for me?"
"Oh, he won't do that," I say quickly, squeezing Knight's hand as hard as I can in hopes I can convince him through my touch to not tear the room apart. "The mask stays on."
The doctor reaches for it anyway. Knight jerks away with a snarl, his hand flying up to protect his mask just as it did when I asked. Dr. Ryefield stumbles back, nearly dropping his suture kit.