Chapter 50 – RAVEN
Chapter
Fifty
RAVEN
I 've read the same paragraph at least twenty times now. The words blur together, my mind refusing to focus on the weathered pages of the pre-war novel I borrowed from Geo's extensive collection. Something about star-crossed lovers and forbidden romance.
The irony isn't lost on me.
Geo doesn't have a romantic bone in his body, so I'm sure he only has this in his collection because of the time it was written. It's as if he thinks if he cobbles together enough of the old world, he'll be able to open up a portal and escape the clusterfuck we were all born into.
Not a half bad idea, all things considered. And if this shithole didn't happen to possess one moonlight-scented saving grace that makes up for everything else, I might be tempted to join him.
My eyes drift to Nikolai again. He's finally stopped thrashing, at least. That's something.
His white hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, his sharp features softened by the fever that's been ravaging him for the past day and a half.
The steady rise and fall of his chest is the only thing keeping me anchored to this chair.
Not that I care if he lives or dies. Not anymore.
That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.
I force my attention back to the book. Stay detached. Stay focused. I've spent too many years clawing my way out from under Nikolai's shadow to get pulled back into his orbit now. Even if watching him burn with fever makes my chest ache in a way I refuse to acknowledge.
My contacts better come through soon. Finding this Azarel character is proving more challenging than expected, and I'm running out of time. Forty-eight hours seemed generous when I made the deal with Cosima, but I'm down to less than twelve now, and I still have nothing concrete to show for it.
I can't lose her.
Not when I've only just found her.
Nikolai groans in his sleep, shifting restlessly beneath the tangled sheets. He's been like this for hours. Delirious mumbling interspersed with bouts of agitated movement. Most of it's been incoherent—curses and snatches of Vrissian that I only half understand.
But I've caught her name.
Cosima.
Over and over, like a prayer or a curse. Sometimes followed by bitter ramblings about mating with a monster.
Sour grapes, as far as I can tell. He can't stand that another alpha got to her before he could. Typical. Nikolai always did hate losing, especially when it comes to what he considers his .
I'm about to turn the page when he speaks again, clearer this time.
"Raven."
My name on his lips stops me cold. Not shouted in anger or sneered in contempt, but soft. Almost... tender. Like he used to say it, before everything shattered between us.
The book slips from my fingers.
I'm on my feet before I realize what I'm doing, moving to the bedside on instinct. His face has changed. The feverish flush is fading, his features more relaxed than they've been since we dragged him in here.
I press my palm to his forehead.
Clammy, but cooler. The fever's broken.
Relief crashes through me with such force it makes my legs feel like they've turned into jelly. I hate that I still care. Hate that after everything, some part of me still can't bear the thought of a world without Nikolai Vlakov in it.
His eyes fly open, gunmetal gray and suddenly alert. Before I can react, his hand shoots out and locks around my wrist like an iron manacle. With one powerful tug, he yanks me down onto the bed, his other arm wrapping around my waist to flip our positions.
My back hits the mattress, Nikolai's weight pinning me down, one of my knees wedged between his legs.
His face is inches from mine, eyes wild and unfocused—well, one eye at least. His prosthetic remains unchanged, that cold gunmetal gray, while his natural eye's pupil is blown wide, nearly solid black.
I freeze, heart hammering in my chest. But I don't panic.
I know this dance too well. It's not about me.
It's hardwired fight or flight, the survival instinct of a man who's never slept easily.
Who fully expects a friend to turn enemy and put a bullet in his skull while he sleeps.
I've seen it a hundred times before, back when we shared quarters on the road.
He growls, low and dangerous, pressing me harder into the mattress.
His grip tightens on my wrists, and there's something feral in his expression that sends an unwelcome heat spiraling through my body.
Despite everything—despite knowing better—my pulse quickens for entirely different reasons than survival.
Dammit. I hate my body sometimes.
Then his free hand flies up to his prosthetic eye, and he comes back to himself instantly. I can tell from the way his pupil shrinks down a fraction. It's just enough that I don't think he's going to tear my throat out with those sharp canines.
I roll my eyes. "Relax. We didn't take your eye out. Knew you'd be pissed about that."
Something in his expression shifts. Relief, quickly masked by his usual stoicism. It's almost comical how self-conscious he still is about it, even after all these years. The mighty Nikolai Vlakov, terror of the wastes, worried about his appearance.
It pisses me off all over again that he took Geo's eye, especially since I'm pretty sure Geo's situation is worse.
And for what? Because Geo made some crack about Nikolai's eye when they were trying to kill each other and Nikolai thought it would be more fun to leave him alive but maimed?
Typical alpha posturing bullshit.
"Nikolai," I say, keeping my voice steady. "It's me. Raven. You're safe."
I watch the haze clear from his wild gaze, reality seeping back in. Recognition dawns, followed immediately by something that might be embarrassment if I didn't know better. He releases me abruptly, rolling off to the side.
"Sorry," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. "Old habits."
"It's fine." I sit up, brushing invisible dust from my clothes with practiced nonchalance, as if my pulse isn't still racing, as if my skin doesn't still burn where he touched me. "Your fever broke. Looks like you'll live after all."
I try for ambivalence but miss by a mile. The relief in my voice is painfully obvious, even to my own ears.
"How long have you been here?" Nikolai asks, his voice rough from disuse. He's eyeing me with that penetrating gaze that always made me feel like he could see right through every wall I ever built.
"An hour or so." The lie slips out smoothly. "Figured someone should be around to call the coroner if you died. Geo would throw a fit if there was a corpse in his bed for long."
Nikolai's lips twist into a humorless smile. "Bullshit."
"Excuse me?"
"You've been here every time I've surfaced. Talking to that doctor. Keeping watch." His eyes narrow. "Why?"
I look away, unwilling to meet his gaze. "Don't flatter yourself, Vlakov. I was bored."
"Since when do you run out of ways to entertain yourself?" he presses. "You could be out there chasing our omega, but instead, you're sitting in a dark room watching me sleep like some kind of guardian angel."
The casual acknowledgment— our omega—at once makes my heart flutter and my teeth grind.
He's always been a possessive son of a bitch, and that's exactly the kind of thing that's going to send Cosima running for the hills sooner than later.
I turn back to him, forcing a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.
"Maybe I just wanted to make sure you didn't die before I got the chance to kill you myself."
It's a weak deflection, and we both know it. But I can't let myself be vulnerable around him. Not again. I've made that mistake too many times—too recently, to my unending shame—and all it's ever earned me is heartbreak.
"Where is she?" Nikolai asks suddenly, his tone shifting to something almost panicked. "Cosima—where?—"
"Calm down," I cut him off. "She's still here. For now."
His shoulders slump with visible relief, but it's short lived. It doesn’t last. "For now? What does that mean?"
"It means she's agreed to stay for forty-eight hours while I gather information on her Surhiiran alpha. After that, she's leaving, with or without what she came for." I shrug as if it doesn't matter to me either way. Another lie. "That was our deal."
"You can't let her leave," Nikolai says, struggling to sit up. "It's not safe out there, especially not with an eight-foot-plus hell monster that could turn on her any second."
I bark out a laugh. "Oh, that's rich coming from you. What's your plan? Lock her in a tower again? Chain her up?"
"Don't be dramatic. I'm talking about protection?—"
"That's always the answer with you, isn't it?" Something inside me snaps, years of buried resentment bubbling to the surface. "A cage? You think that'll work with her any more than it did with me?"
His eyes flash dangerously. "That was different."
"Was it?" I move closer, beyond caring if I'm poking the bear. "You told me it was for my own good, too. That you were protecting me. But we both know what it was really about. Control. You couldn't stand the thought of me making my own choices, having my own life."
"That's not?—"
"Not what?" I snarl. "Not the same? Because it looks pretty fucking identical from where I'm standing. You see something you want, and you try to own it. Possess it. Like it's your gods-given right."
Nikolai's face darkens. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" I laugh again, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "I know you better than anyone, Nikolai. Better than you know yourself, apparently. Because you still haven't learned that you can't cage something and expect it to love you."
Even if I was stupid enough to.
But Cosima is different.
He's going to learn that the hard way.
He opens his mouth to retort, but the radio on my belt crackles to life, saving us both from whatever he was about to say.