Chapter 28: Plague

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

PLAGUE

T he weight of my mother's gaze follows us as we leave the dining hall, Ivy half-asleep and stumbling between Thane and Wraith. My chest aches at the sight of her, so small and vulnerable between their massive frames.

She shouldn't have to bear the burden of our broken world.

None of them should.

But she chose this.

Chose us .

The thought still baffles me.

We make our way through the winding corridors of the palace, the pristine white walls a stark contrast to the darkness I feel creeping at the edges of my vision. Every step feels like I'm walking through molasses, the weight of the past dragging at my heels.

When we reach the guest wing, Ivy's already more asleep than awake. Thane scoops her up effortlessly, cradling her against his broad chest. She nuzzles into him, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

"I've got her," he murmurs, his deep voice uncharacteristically gentle. "You all get ready to get some sleep."

I nod, not trusting my voice. The others start stripping off their formal attire, but I can't bring myself to move just yet. My eyes are fixed on Ivy's sleeping form as Thane carries her to the massive bed dominating the center of the room.

She looks so peaceful.

So untouched by the horrors of the world.

But I know better.

We all do.

Whiskey's hand on my shoulder startles me out of my thoughts. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low.

I force a smile that feels more like a grimace. "I'm fine."

He snorts, clearly not buying it. "Sure you are. And I'm the fucking princess of Reinmich."

Despite everything, a chuckle escapes me. "I'm pretty sure that's not how that saying goes."

"Yeah, well, I'm improvising." He starts unbuttoning my jacket, his fingers surprisingly nimble. "Come on, let's get you out of this fancy getup before you pass out standing up."

"It's not as if it's a corset," I say dryly.

Whiskey smirks. "Mine is."

I should protest. Should maintain the careful distance I've cultivated for so long. But I'm so tired of running. Of hiding. I let him undress me, my eyes drifting closed as his hands move over my body.

By the time we're both stripped down, the others have already settled into bed around Ivy. She's curled up between Wraith and Thane, her fiery hair spilled over their broad chests. Thane's spooned up behind her, one arm draped protectively over her waist as she nuzzles into Wraith's scarred neck. Valek, surprisingly, has wedged himself between Wraith and the headboard, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light as it falls over his closed eyes.

Together, they look... right.

Complete.

I hesitate at the edge of the bed, suddenly unsure.

Do I belong here?

After everything I've done, everything I've hidden...

Whiskey's hand finds the small of my back, gently urging me forward. "Come on," he murmurs. "You're one of us, whether you like it or not."

I let him guide me onto the bed, settling in beside Thane. Whiskey sprawls out next to me, his bulk radiating heat. Ivy stirs slightly as the mattress dips, her eyes fluttering open.

"Hamsa?" she mumbles, reaching for me with a sleepy smile.

The sound of my real name on her lips sends a jolt through me. I take her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"I'm here," I whisper. "Go back to sleep."

She hums contentedly, her eyes drifting closed again. Within moments, her breathing evens out, deep and steady.

We lie there in silence for a long time, the only sound the soft whisper of breath and the occasional rustle of sheets. I stare up at the ornate ceiling, tracing the familiar intricate geometric patterns with my eyes. Anything to distract myself from the storm of emotions raging inside me.

"You're thinking too loud," Whiskey murmurs beside me. "I can practically hear the gears grinding in that big brain of yours."

I turn my head to look at him, surprised to find his honey-brown eyes fixed on me. There's a softness in his gaze I've never seen before. It makes my stomach twist.

"Sorry," I whisper. "I'll try to think more quietly."

He snorts, the sound muffled against the pillow. "Smart ass." His hand finds mine under the covers, his fingertips brushing against mine. "Wanna talk about it?"

I hesitate. The words are there, bubbling up in my throat, but I can't seem to let them out. Years of careful control, of burying everything deep inside, make it almost impossible to open up.

But Whiskey just waits patiently, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of my hand. The simple touch anchors me to the present when I feel like I might float away on a sea of strange and uncomfortable nostalgia.

"I don't know how to do this," I admit finally, my voice barely audible. "How to be... me again. Whoever that is."

Whiskey's quiet for a long moment, considering. Then he tugs gently on my hand. "Come on," he says softly. "Let's get some air."

"Not naked, we aren't," I mutter.

His low chuckle vibrates through me. "You don't wanna show our cocks to all of Surhiira?"

"No. I don't."

He rolls slowly out of bed, pulling me with him. I watch, amused, as he rifles clumsily through the wardrobe like a giant bear. He finds a couple of silky robes and tosses one to me without warning. I catch it, but not before it covers me like a damn sheet over a ghost.

He chokes back a laugh that surely would've woken everyone else up. "New Plague disguise just dropped."

"Shut up," I grumble, pulling the robe off my head and shrugging into it. But I'm laughing a little, too.

"Now I do look like the princess of Reinmich," Whiskey says wryly, tying the sash around his waist. I can't help but let my gaze roam over his strong body, noting how he fills the robe out nicely, the fabric pooling on his broad shoulders and hanging open over his padded midsection.

"You know there isn't one, right?" I ask, suddenly not sure.

"Not yet," he says, grinning. "There might be if Surhiira takes over. Would you be the king then? Kind of a weird thought."

"I'm only third in line, but even if I wasn't, I have no interest in any crown," I say flatly.

"You sure got an interest in mine."

I arch an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you even know that word."

"I know plenty," he says, already heading out onto the balcony.

I follow Whiskey outside, the cool night air raising goosebumps on my skin. For a moment, we just stand there in silence, taking in the view of the gleaming white city of marble and stone spread out before us, our lake glistening like billions of diamonds in the light of the full moon.

It's strange how familiar and foreign it feels all at once.

Whiskey leans against the railing, his robe shifting open to reveal his brawny torso. "So, Your Highness," he says, a teasing lilt to his voice. "Care to give me the grand tour?"

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "I thought you wanted air, not a midnight stroll."

He grins that insufferable grin that always manages to get under my skin. "Why not both? C'mon, show me your old stomping grounds."

Before I can protest, he's already swinging his leg over the balcony railing. My heart leaps into my throat as he balances precariously on the edge.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hiss, grabbing for his huge arm.

He just laughs, the sound carrying on the night breeze. "Live a little, Doc. Or should I say, Prince ?"

With that, he launches himself off the balcony. I watch in horror as he sails through the air, landing hard on the stone roof of a lower building in a semi-crouched position. He straightens, rolling his shoulders until they pop, and turns back to me with his arms spread wide, that cocky grin still plastered on his face.

"You coming or what?"

I hesitate for just a moment, years of careful control warring with the reckless impulse to follow him. But maybe that's exactly what I need right now.

To let go.

To remember what it feels like to be free.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm climbing over the railing. The stone is cool beneath my bare feet as I gauge the distance. It's not an impossible jump, but it's been years since I've done anything like this.

I take a deep breath, bend my knees, and push off.

For a heart-stopping moment, I'm flying. The wind whips through my hair, and I feel more alive than I have in years. Then I'm rolling across the rooftop, coming to a stop at Whiskey's feet.

He reaches down, offering me a hand up. "Not bad for a pampered prince," he teases.

I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. If only because he'll be more insufferable if I refuse. "I'll have you know I'm far from pampered."

"Oh yeah?" His eyes sparkle with interest. " Do tell ."

Instead of answering, I take off across the roof, my feet finding familiar paths I thought I'd forgotten. Whiskey chases me, his raucous laughter echoing in the still night air.

And I'm laughing, too.

We pass over courtyards filled with impossibly delicate crystal trees, their leaves chiming softly in the breeze. Fountains that seem to defy gravity, water flowing upward in glittering arcs. Gardens bursting with flowers that glow from within, painting the white stone in a rainbow of soft colors.

It's breathtaking.

Magical in a way I'd almost forgotten.

We slow to a stop on a wide, flat roof overlooking the central plaza. The massive marble statue of the Heavenly Mother dominates the space, her slender beak turned down toward the balcony, gilded eyes shining in the soft moonlight as her wings spread wide as if to embrace the city.

As if to embrace us .

The view is all too familiar.

This is where it happened.

Where I killed Adiir.

Where everything changed.

"Okay, I'll admit it," Whiskey says as he joins me at the balcony, gesturing at the view. "This place is pretty fucking spectacular."

I nod, a lump forming in my throat as memories wash over me. Memories I don't want to dwell on right now. "I used to come up here all the time as a kid. It was my secret hideaway when the pressures of being a prince got to be too much."

Whiskey's quiet for a moment, studying me with those honey-brown eyes that always seem to see right through me.

"Must've been lonely," he says softly.

The words hit me harder than I expect. "It was," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I had everything I could ever want, materially. But I always felt... apart. Different."

"Because you're bi-alpha?"

"What?" I choke out, a laugh forcing its way out of me in spite of the tightness in my throat. "That term doesn't even make sense."

"I don't know the word for it," he protests.

"I don't think there is one," I admit, still laughing a little. "But… yes, that was part of it. It was more than that, though." I look out over the serene scene, sighing. "I never wanted to rule. Never felt comfortable with the idea of having that much power over people's lives. I just wanted to help. To heal."

Whiskey's hand finds mine, his fingers intertwining with mine. The simple touch keeps me from spiraling into the old pain again. "Seems to me like you found a way to do that anyway," he says. "Maybe not in the way you expected, but still."

I stare down at our joined hands, marveling at how natural it feels. How right. "I suppose so," I murmur. "Though I'm not sure how much good I've actually done, in the grand scheme of things."

"Hey." Whiskey's voice is uncharacteristically serious. He turns to face me fully, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek. His palm is rough against my skin. "You've done more good than you know. You've saved all our asses more times than I can count. Especially our omega."

Heat floods my face at his words. "If you knew half the things I've done…" I trail off, unable to meet his gaze.

"We know who you are now," Whiskey interrupts. "That's what matters."

I pause, considering his words. Is that really all that matters? I want to believe it is. I want to believe I can be free of the past that feels like it's suffocating me, and when I look around at the home that once felt like a prison, it feels like I'm not the only one who's different.

If Surhiira has changed, maybe he's right. Maybe I have, too.

"I killed him right here," I whisper, the words tearing from my throat. "Adiir. My best friend. The man I thought I loved." A bitter laugh escapes me. "And now here I am, ten years later, standing in the same spot with another alpha. History has a sick sense of humor, doesn't it?"

Whiskey's quiet for a long moment, digesting this, his palm still resting on my cheek. "You're not the same person you were then," he finally says, his voice soft. "And I'm not Adiir."

I lean into his touch despite myself, starved for the comfort I've denied myself for so long. "No," I agree. "You're not."

His thumb strokes along my cheekbone, sending little sparks of electricity through me. "I'm not going to betray you," he murmurs. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here because I want to be. Because I..." He trails off, swallowing hard.

I meet his gaze, my heart racing. "Because you what?"

Instead of answering, he leans in and kisses me.

It's nothing like Adiir's kiss.

There's no desperation, no hidden agenda.

Just warmth and tenderness.

I freeze for a moment, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions surging through me. But then Whiskey starts to pull away, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, and I can't bear the loss of contact.

My hands come up to tangle in his hair, pulling him back to me. I kiss him like I'm drowning and he's air, pouring ten years of loneliness and longing into the press of my lips against his.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Whiskey rests his forehead against mine, his hands settled on my waist where our bodies fit together.

"Why are you being so… nice to me?" I ask, hating how vulnerable I sound.

Whiskey laughs a little, the sound vibrating through me. "Don't think anyone's ever asked me that after a kiss."

"Do you kiss a lot of people?" I ask pointedly.

He gives me a lazy grin. "Are you jealous?"

"Maybe," I admit softly.

Whiskey's hand comes up to cup my cheek again. "Because you deserve it, dumbass," he says softly. "And because I..." He hesitates, uncertainty flashing across his features. "Fuck, I'm no good at this mushy shit. I care about you, okay? More than I probably should."

My breath catches in my throat. I search his face for any sign of deception, any hint that this is just another one of his jokes. But all I see is raw honesty.

"Whiskey," I breathe, not sure what else to say.

He grins, but it's softer than usual. Vulnerable in a way I've never seen from him before. "Colt," he reminds me. "My name's Colt, remember?"

"Colt," I echo, testing the name on my tongue.

It suits him.

Strong and a little wild, just like him.

"Don't know if I can get used to callin' you Hamsa, though," he drawls. "So maybe we should stick with our new names, huh?"

"I think I'd prefer that," I murmur. "Who I was before… that person feels dead now. It's strange, but I'm not Hamsa anymore. Not even in this place."

"Yeah. I feel like that, too," he admits before hesitating.

"What is it?" I ask.

He stares at me for a moment, working his jaw before looking out over the balcony. "Whoever you are now," he says slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing as the words stick in his throat. "I love ya."

Those last three words come out so gruffly, so muttered, it takes me a moment to realize what he said.

"You... love me?" I manage to croak out.

"You heard me," he grumbles. "And I ain't sayin' it again."

I search his face for any sign of deception as he glances warily at me, any hint that this is just another one of his jokes. But all I see is raw honesty in those honey-brown eyes. Vulnerability I've never witnessed from him before.

He shifts uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze again. "Yeah, well, don't make a big deal out of it or nothin'."

But I can see the tension in his broad shoulders, the way his jaw clenches as he waits for my response.

He's afraid.

Just like I am.

"I..." The words stick in my throat.

After Adiir, I swore I'd never let myself be that vulnerable again. Not with another alpha. Never.

But isn't that exactly what I've been doing, without even realizing it? Letting my guard down bit by bit, not just with Ivy, but with all of them.

With him .

"Look, forget I said anything," he mutters. "I know you've got a lot of shit to deal with. I just wanted you to know in case we fuckin' die. I'm not?—"

I cut him off by grabbing the front of his robe and yanking him back to me. Our lips crash together, and for a moment, it's all teeth and desperation. Then he melts into me with a low groan, his hands coming up to tangle in my hair.

This kiss is different from the first. There's heat now, urgency. All the pent-up longing and frustration of months—years, if I'm being honest with myself—poured into a single point of contact.

I lose myself in the taste of him, the feeling of his solid warmth pressed against me. His stubble scrapes my chin, so different from the softness of Ivy or the memory of Adiir. But it grounds me, reminds me that this is real.

That he is real.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. He rests his forehead against mine, his hands still buried in my hair.

"Fuck," he pants. "That was..."

"Yeah," I agree, unable to keep the smile from my voice.

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes searching mine. "So, does this mean...?"

"Yes." I take a deep breath, steeling myself. It's now or never. "I love you too, you insufferable idiot."

The grin that spreads across his face is brighter than the sun. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I can't help but smile back, feeling lighter than I have in years. "Goddess help me, but I do."

I haven't believed in her for so long.

And I still don't.

Logically, I know it's just my imagination.

But as we stand there on the balcony, embracing each other with our foreheads pressed together in full view of Surhiira in the shadow of the statue of our Heavenly Mother, I swear her eyes are twinkling.