Chapter 36: Ivy

Chapter

Thirty-Six

IVY

I can't tell if Valek is being a dick, but it's generally safe to assume yes.

Even if he has been different lately.

I'm not sure why, exactly, because he seems like he's back to his weird but lucid self. But whatever it is, I'm too tired and stressed to figure it out now.

What I do know is I still want him here.

Sometimes, I'm not sure if it's because I love him or because I want to torture him. Sometimes it's both. But either way, he's part of the pack.

My pack.

The rest, we can figure out.

First things first, we need to figure out what the hell is going on with our captive, and whether we can even use her as leverage.

Whiskey is right. Her shitty excuse for a mate just left her at the club without a second thought, even though she literally went to bat for him.

With a statue.

Even if my pack is a little chaotic, completely unhinged, and full of warring personalities that could make an experienced drill sergeant throw in the towel, I have no doubt that every single one of them would walk through hell itself just to get me. They've proven it time and again. All of them, even Valek.

Her beta's betrayal has to hurt.

But as the sedative wears off and the other omega rouses from her drugged state, the confusion in her violet eyes clears to reveal nothing but ice underneath.

Yeah. Not so helpless.

"Where am I?" she demands, looking around the white stone walls of the dungeon cell we're all packed into, pulling her silky robe tighter around her voluptuous body. It's the kind of thing you wear in… well, a sex dungeon. Not a literal dungeon.

The alphas are keeping themselves positioned between me and our captive, as if I'm not the one who choked her out.

Plague steps forward. "You're not in any position to be asking questions," he says in a cold tone I doubt he's ever used on an omega before.

Thane moves closer to the cot, his massive frame casting a shadow over her. "What's your name?"

She glares up at him, her full lips pressed into a thin line.

"We want to do this the easy way," Thane continues, his deep voice rumbling through the cell. "But if you don't talk, we're not going to have a choice."

"What, are you going to torture an omega?" she says with a bitter laugh.

"No," I mutter, stepping around Wraith's bulk. "But I will."

Our eyes lock, and for a moment, it's like looking in a mirror. I see the same fire, the same stubbornness that's kept me alive all these years. Even if it looks more like ice in hers.

And there's something else I know well.

Bitterness.

"Tell us your name," Thane says again.

She's finally the first to look away. "Cosima," she says.

"Cosima?" Valek echoes, sounding surprised.

Before she can reply, Whiskey chimes in with his usual misplaced confidence. "Nah, bro, it's Cosmo."

The omega's head snaps up, violet eyes flashing. "It's Cosima , you buffoon!" she hisses, her vague accent thickening. " Cos-ih-muh . Say it right."

"That's not a Vrissian name," Valek muses, confirming he picked up on her faint accent, too.

Cosima's lips curl into a sneer. "Vlytek vakh myv vakrav vodznyc," she spits.

Whiskey blinks, glancing between her and Valek. "What'd she say?"

A low chuckle escapes Valek. "Nothing I can repeat in front of the lady," he says, nodding toward me.

I roll my eyes, drawing my Surhiiran glass dagger from its hiding place. The blade gleams in the low light as I stalk forward. Cosima shrinks slightly back against the wall, but her glare never wavers.

"We don't have time for this," I mutter. The adrenaline from our escape is fading, leaving me raw and on edge. "What's a Vrissian princess like you doing with a Council beta?"

She hesitates, jaw clenching. "My mother is Vrissian," she finally says through her teeth.

"And your father?" Thane presses.

Another pause. Her fingers twist in the silky fabric of her robe. "He's a merchant."

Thane's eyes narrow. "I want a name."

I wiggle the knife in the air, a gentle reminder. Cosima's gaze flicks to the blade, then back to me. For a moment, I think she might lunge. But then her shoulders slump slightly.

"Arthur Maybrecht," she says, the name falling from her lips like a curse.

The silence that follows is deafening. I watch as recognition dawns on the alphas' faces.

"Well, well," Valek drawls. "This is an interesting development."

I glance between them. "Who is that?"

Plague's voice is tight when he answers. "An incredibly wealthy financier. He made his fortune sending out raiding parties to hoard medical supplies immediately after the first bombs, then cornering the market in the aftermath."

"Merchant, my ass," Whiskey scoffs, folding his arms over his broad chest. "He's one of the rich cocksuckers who bankrolls Thane's daddy. And other powerful assholes throughout Reinmich."

"Thought I told you to stop calling him that," Thane says flatly, shifting uncomfortably. But I can see the gears turning. Every mention of his father seems like a dagger going into his back.

Wraith's, too.

Cosima's eyes widen slightly as her attention fixes on Thane. " You're General Hargrove's son?" A bemused laugh escapes her. "The one who ripped out his commanding officer's skeleton?"

"His spine," Whiskey corrects her. "But he's the guy."

That earns another glare from Thane.

Cosima tilts her head, her eyes raking appraisingly over Thane's massive frame. "Hmm. I thought you'd be… taller."

Thane bristles. "I'm six foot eight," he says incredulously.

It's obvious the omega is just trying to get under our skin.

And it's working.

Alphas are so fucking predictable.

I turn back to Cosima. "What were you doing at the Alpha's Alpha?" I demand before another pissing match unfolds. "Why were you with Monty?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she asks in a bored tone. "I'm his omega."

I frown. "He's a beta. There aren't enough of us to go around for every powerful pack of alphas that wants one. So why would they give you to him?"

"Please. Money and power can buy anything. Any one ," she adds bitterly, looking around at my alphas. "You should know that better than anyone."

I bristle at the implication, even if it's not far from the original truth. I was just a prize given to the Ghosts.

Although I was really a ticking time bomb meant to tear them apart.

That realization still hasn't fully sunk in.

But no matter how it started, that's not what it's become.

Seeing myself through another omega's eyes, though, is a reminder of just how much has changed.

"We're not the same," I say firmly. "For one thing, my alphas would never leave me the way Monty left you. Are you really willing to risk your life to protect that coward?"

Something flashes in her eyes.

Pain, maybe.

Or anger.

It's gone before I can be sure.

"The only person I'm protecting is myself," she answers. "And you're all idiots if you think my useless mate is the key to getting the Council to call off the hounds."

"Oh, we're a long way past that," Thane says soberly. "Right now, we're at the 'burn everything to the ground and see what happens' stage."

Cosima swallows audibly, but her expression remains stoic and unchanged, like a porcelain doll. She looks back at me. "You said it yourself, Monty is a coward. If you're planning on using me as leverage, you're wasting your time."

"Monty might not," Plague muses, studying her like a mouse in a cage. "But I'm willing to bet your father has a bit more steel in his spine. A man who managed to turn nuclear winter into an empire is many things, but a coward isn't one of them."

"Damn, bro," Whiskey says in a reverent whisper. "That went harder than it needed to."

Plague's gaze flickers over to him in irritation. "Not the time or the place."

The look on Cosima's face suggests Plague isn't wrong.

"You're a Council member's omega," Plague continues. "You must see and hear plenty of things—especially when Monty is showing you off at his sex parties."

"That depends," she says flatly.

"On what?" he asks.

She smirks. "On whatever 'things' it is you're referring to."

I see the tension in Plague's lean frame, the only sign he's growing irritated with her deflections and playing innocent. "A man named Zeran. He would have been a prisoner. Captured four, maybe five months ago."

My heart quickens as I realize what he's getting at.

His brother.

Zeran must be an alias for Azarel.

"Zeran?" Cosima echoes. "Doesn't ring any bells. What does he look like?"

Either she's an actress who'd put Mila Molotova to shame, or she's telling the truth.

"He's seven feet tall, around the same build as Thane." Plague steps forward, taking off his mask. "But pretty much like this."

Cosima's eyes grow wide as she takes in his appearance, and for the first time, she seems to lose her composure.

It only lasts a split second, but it's enough.

And I can tell the others notice, too.

"So you have seen him," Plague remarks, his voice taking on an edge I've only heard in it a few times. As strained as I can tell Plague's relationship with his brother is, it's still his brother.

Still family.

"No," Cosima says, her indifferent expression and bored tone slipped back into place like a mask. It's one she wears well, but I can see the cracks. She doesn't look away like most people who've been caught lying would, which means she's practiced at it.

Guess all omegas have to be.

Her cage may have been gilded while mine was rusty with jagged bars, but we were both prisoners. She's a literal one now. Unfortunately, that doesn't make us enemies any less.

"You're lying," Plague says before I have the chance. His eyes narrow. "Why?"

She looks up at him with a derisive scoff, but her eyes betray her. "What reason would I have to lie about some prisoner?"

"That's what I intend to find out," Plague remarks, his gaze flicking over to me.

I remember the knife in my grip and raise it.

But before I have the chance to at least scare Cosima, the sound of scuffling guards in the hall draws everyone's attention. A door slams further down the corridor and a cacophony of drunken, indignant protests echoes off the stone walls.

Whiskey jumps at the sound, too quickly, and the tip of the horn on his mask hooks the edge of Wraith's lupine mask, tearing it off. He goes blank as he realizes what he just did, with all of us confined in a tight space.

"Oh, shit ?—"

Wraith's scars and sharp teeth flash before his hands fly up to cover his face with an anguished roar that fills the cell.

The other alphas spring into action, moving away from him like he's going to explode into a feral rage, but I'm moving, too. I sheath my knife back in its hidden holster as I rush to Wraith's side, grabbing his fallen mask, but the scream of pure terror that echoes through the cell tells me it's too late.

Protective rage flashes through me, but I ignore Cosima's panic, focusing instead on Wraith. He's still covering his face with his hands and quaking like he's going to explode, but I pull his head down toward me and press my forehead against his to try to calm him down.

"It's okay, it's okay," I say softly, kissing the backs of his hands. "Look at me."

His hands move slightly and I catch a glimpse of his blue eyes on mine. I search worriedly for the feral rage that overtakes him when something like this happens.

To my shock, there's no rage there. Just confusion, shame, and a hint of concern as he looks over me.

Like he's worried about me .

He cautiously signs to me. You okay ?

I stare up at him, watching as the others remain frozen, their hands resting on their weapons in varying states of preparedness to control the impending chaos.

Chaos that… isn't happening, apparently.

"Yeah," I croak, still fixated on Wraith and vaguely aware that the omega's screams have faded to ragged breathing. But I'll deal with her later. "Are you?"

Wraith glances down at the wolf mask in my hand and motions for me to give it to him. When I do, he quickly puts it back on, tying the ribbon as he glances warily to the other corner of the room.

Cosima has flung herself off the bed and into the corner, her eyes fixed on Wraith, pupils blown so wide there's only a sliver of violet around them.

He looks back at me and sighs. He gives a curt nod.

I breathe a sigh of my own and the other Ghosts relax visibly. I lean up on my toes, pressing a kiss to Wraith's jaws through the mask, and I hope the bitch sees. "I'm proud of you," I whisper so only he can hear, smoothing my hands down his chest.

My emotions sharpen to serrated edges as I turn back to the omega who's still cowering in the corner, looking like she just saw a demon crawl out of the pits of hell. And I fucking hate that she's not the only one who looks at him like that.

"What… what is he?" she chokes out, unblinking.

Fresh rage blossoms in my chest. "We're done with the nice way," I say, drawing my blade again. It makes a satisfying snikt sound against its holster on the way out. I saunter over to Cosima, brushing past Thane's outstretched hand and ignoring the way he calls my name like he's worried I'm going to do something crazy.

He should be worried.

I can barely hear him over my heart thundering in my ears.

"Ivy, we need her alive," Plague says in a wary tone.

"Oh, she'll be alive," I say, my voice sounding unusually calm, given the situation. "I won't cut off anything vital."

"A woman after my own heart," Valek purrs.

"Shut up," I snap.

Cosima's self-preservation seems to have kicked in and she snaps out of the trance she was in a second ago, flinching away from my knife. "I'm sorry," she blurts out, holding up her manicured hands. They're trembling. Good. "I thought… I thought he was someone else."

I freeze at her words.

Is she bluffing to save her ass?

No… she sounds sincere.

But that leaves even more questions.

"That'd be a first," Whiskey mutters under his breath.

Thane elbows him in the side so I don't have to, hard enough that he wheezes.

"What do you mean, you thought he was someone else?" I spit, every word laced with venom.

Cosima hesitates, her gaze traveling surreptitiously between me and Wraith. He's pressed himself back into the furthest corner of the cell now and I can tell he's trying to hide from Cosima behind the others.

One step forward, two steps back.

But at least he's not flying into a panic-induced rage like he usually does when he loses his mask.

That's progress.

A lot of progress.

"Nothing," Cosima says, looking down at the floor, her icy composure back in place.

Too little, too late.

"Answer me," I say through my teeth, pressing the blade to her throat. She freezes and stops breathing, clearly terrified to move.

She knows I'm not bluffing.

She's that smart, at least.

Her lips part and her breath falters on them, and I can tell she's trying not to swallow. But there's still spite in her eyes as they meet mine. And if I'm not mistaken, a hint of grudging respect.

"His… face ," she says, choosing each word carefully, as if she knows her life depending on it. "I've… seen it before. Someone like him. Sharp teeth. Blue eyes. Scars. And I thought…" She shuts her eyes, her brows knitting together as if she's suddenly more afraid of whatever she's seeing behind them than me.

We'll have to fix that.

"You thought what?" I demand, pressing the blade in just enough to draw a droplet of blood on her milky throat. She flinches and I pull it away before she can panic and kill herself before we get the answers we need. "You've seen someone like him before? Where?"

"You wouldn't believe me," she says bitterly.

"Try me."

She hesitates, glancing down at the knife, then at Wraith. I'm about to carve her eyeballs out if she looks at him wrong again, but there's no horror there anymore.

I'm not sure the pity I find is much better.

But it stays my hand.

For now.

"In a dream," she says quietly.

"A dream?" I echo. "You dreamed about Wraith ?"

Now I'm not sure if I'm going to cut her out of protectiveness or jealousy.

"No," she says, the impatience returning to her voice. If anything, it's the only thing that convinces me she's telling the truth. "Not him . Someone with the same…" She hesitates, eyeing me warily as she chooses her next words. " Smile ."

Valek snorts a laugh he quickly masks as a cough even before I can give him a death glare.

"It wasn't him," she continues. "The m— man I've seen doesn't have a face. The scars are more… extensive."

"More extensive than that ?" Whiskey blurts out. He flashes Wraith an apologetic grin. "Sorry, bro. Meant it as a compliment. You're… unique."

Wraith growls softly in irritation.

So do I.

If Whiskey were anyone else, I'd bite him. But considering literally every inside thought Whiskey has makes its way to the outside, I guess it's not as bad as half the other shit that comes out of his mouth.

"The man you saw in this dream," I say, turning back to Cosima and trying to think rationally even though all my instincts are on a hair trigger right now. "What was he like?"

"I mean, he's not really a person," she says, her voice taking on a raw edge as she stares at the wall. Through it. "He doesn't communicate or think, he just… he follows."

"Follows what?" Thane echoes warily. "Who?"

Her eyes dart over to him, wide and wild again. " Me . He follows me . He wants me . It's always me ."

"Okay," Plague says, his voice slightly softer now. The voice he uses with unruly patients. Ones he thinks are teetering on the edge of sanity, and I'd know, considering he's used that voice with me before when I was fully feral. "And what do you think he wants with you?"

She shakes her head, pulling her knees to her chest tightly and wrapping her arms around her legs. "I don't know," she mutters. "I've been having the same dream every night my whole life, and I know when he catches me, he'll devour me. I know he will. That's how the dream always ends."

Looking at her now, hearing the way her voice cracks as she speaks of this monster… I wonder if Plague is right and that she isn't exactly in touch with reality. And it puts her reaction to Wraith into a slightly different context. The realization that she wasn't reacting to my mate's face, not really, makes me a little less stabby.

A little.

"It's a dream," Plague says firmly. "A dream can't hurt you."

"This one can!" she seethes. The scent of blood hits the air and I realize her sharp nails have carved crescents into her thighs. "He'll find me. If I'm out here, he'll find me, and he'll rip every last one of you apart. You have to take me back."

My alphas and I exchange a wary look. Not a word passes between us, but we're all thinking the same thing.

"There are at least a hundred feet of reinforced steel and solid stone between you and the outside world," Plague says in his logical, matter-of-fact tone, but it only seems to agitate her further. "No one is getting in. Or out."

"You're fucking idiots," she seethes. "You can't stop him. The only one who can is in Reinmich, and we're all sitting ducks out here."

"Be that as it may, you're not going anywhere," Plague says calmly. "Not until someone's willing to cut a deal."

Whiskey, on the other hand, is not calm. He keeps glancing back over his shoulder and turning himself to be able to see into the hall, like the monster is going to appear right behind him and go straight for his ass.

"I told you, Monty isn't going to give you shit," she hisses.

I can't help but flinch on her behalf at the certainty in her tone. The absolute conviction that the man she calls her mate won't lift a finger to save her.

"I wasn't referring to him," Plague replies. "But something tells me your father will want you back. That's who you were referring to, isn't it? The man who can protect you from this big, bad monster?"

Cosima's gaze turns back to ice, but she says nothing. Instead, she sinks back against the stone, letting her head drop against it with a thunk that makes even me wince, and her musical laugh echoes through the cell.

"We're all fucked," she says in a singsong.

The alphas exchange another look before Thane jerks his head toward the door. "Come on," he mutters. "We're not getting shit out of her like this."

"Don't say I didn't warn you when he comes for me," Cosima says, closing her eyes with a resigned sigh. "And all of you, too."

I think Thane might be right.

I slip my knife back into its holster, and one by one, we file out of the cell. Plague is out last and pulls the door shut with a resounding thud that echoes through the now silent corridor. Whatever unruly prisoners the guards brought in earlier have gone silent now, or passed out.

"So, that was…" Thane trails off.

"Creepy as fuck," Whiskey finishes for him with a shudder. "I didn't know omegas could be that scary." He glances over at me. " You're just spicy. I'll take biting over whatever the fuck that was any day of the week."

"As would I," Valek chimes in, sounding hopeful. It's the first time he's spoken in a few minutes. Must be a new record. He's been uncharacteristically somber.

Oh. That's right.

He just watched me threatening to torture someone.

He's probably turned on and in a better mood.

"I'll keep that in mind later," I say dryly.

"You think the crazy thing is an act?" Thane asks warily, glancing over at Plague. Considering he's our pack doctor and basically our psychologist, it makes sense.

"It could be," Plague says thoughtfully. "But I doubt it."

"So do I," I admit. "She seems… genuinely scared."

Lucky for her, too, because I was about to cut that prissy smirk off her face. Then Wraith wouldn't be the only one with a "unique" smile.

The others fall silent, but as usual, Whiskey is the one who breaks the silence. "She was definitely lying about not seeing your brother," he says to Plague.

Plague nods. "I caught that, too. But I don't think questioning her any further when she's in this state is going to do any good. And unfortunately, I don't think torturing her will, either," he says, a hint of amusement in his gaze as it drifts to me.

I snort. "I'll live."

"If you're yearning to stick that knife into some flesh, I happily volunteer mine," Valek purrs.

Something tells me he isn't joking. If it wasn't for the aggressively normal scientists and assistants I encountered at the lab, I'd think Vrissians are just chaos in human form.

But nope.

Pretty sure it's just Valek.

And now the creepy little porcelain doll who just might be our only chance at getting into Reinmich without getting ourselves killed. If she really is the daughter of some obscenely rich bigwig, that is.

"If you earn it," I tell Valek flatly.

He flashes me that devious grin of his, but the glimmer of hope in his eyes alongside it keeps me from rolling mine too hard.

Whiskey shoots Valek a wary look before rolling his shoulders and glancing around again, still clearly on edge. "About that omega's little horror story," he says awkwardly. "Are we sure she's bullshitting?"

"I doubt she's bullshitting ," Plague replies in a dry tone. "Her fear was real. She's just clearly suffering from some sort of delusion."

"Yeah, well, she knew about the teeth," says Whiskey, drawing jagged lines in the air in front of his mouth. "I had no fuckin' clue that kind of shit was possible before…" He trails off, gesturing awkwardly at Wraith and glancing at me like I'm going to bite him if he says the wrong thing.

A valid concern.

"It is strange," Valek admits, leaning on a doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

Whiskey looks over at him, then at Wraith. "You sure you never saw anything like that at the lab? What does the Knight look like under his mask?"

Wraith shakes his head.

"His mask is soldered on as far as I can tell," Valek replies. "I don't think it comes off. But I suppose it's technically possible something like that is hidden beneath it."

"We are not entertaining the possibility of a psychic omega," Plague says, not hiding his irritation at the conversation. "Can we get back on the subject instead of wasting our time wondering about things that aren't possible?"

"I fuckin' hope not," Whiskey mutters.

"He has a point," Thane says, pacing again. "We got out of the mission alive, but we still don't have Monty. Or our army."

"No," Plague muses, clearly glad we're discussing plans again. "But we might have something better. If Cosima really is Arthur Maybrecht's daughter, he should be willing to exchange her for my brother. And if Azarel has been there for so long, I guarantee he knows something that could help us win."

"There's still the army," Thane reminds him. "The queen was clear we need to come up with something before she's willing to risk Surhiiran troops."

Plague falls silent. He clearly doesn't have an answer for that.

"I might know someone," Valek chimes in.

Thane gives him a silencing glare. " Your last contact fucked us over."

"Technically, Raven came through," Valek muses. "He just left out a few important details."

Thane gives a weary sigh, but he doesn't argue, which speaks to just how fucked up our odds are. "Who is it?"

"It's someone we all know, actually," he answers. "Nikolai."

"Nikolai?" Whiskey blurts out. "That flashy psychopath with the red glasses?"

"We need an army," Valek says with a shrug. "He's the most feared mercenary in the Outer Reaches. What better army than one for hire?"

Thane looks as if he takes personal offense to that.

"Even if we trusted Nikolai, he thinks you're Prytel. And how the fuck are we gonna pay him enough to keep from double crossing us?" Thane demands. "In case you haven't noticed, we don't exactly have access to the Council's funds anymore."

"No, but we do have a prince," Valek says, gesturing to Plague. "And as you said, Nikolai's loyalty can be bought. He won't take the deception personally as long as we bring a fair price."

"Why do I get the idea his idea of fair is everything in the Surhiiran vaults?" Plague asks dryly.

Valek simply shrugs. "It was merely an idea."

Plague sighs that sigh that tells me he's actually considering it. "I suppose it's not the worst idea."

"An army is an army," I say. "The longer we wait, the more time these assholes have to prepare for whatever's coming."

They're all looking at me now.

"Ivy's right," Plague says with clear reluctance, turning to the other Ghosts. "And if nothing else, Nikolai's reputation might be enough to make some of the Council's supporters think twice about which side they choose."

"Or make them think twice about which side not to choose," Whiskey mutters.

"That's kind of the point," I say.

Thane keeps pacing, his boots echoing off the stone. I can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs our options. Finally, he stops, turning to face us.

"We do have the means to contact him now," he says in a tone of resignation. "It's risky, but we don't have much of a choice."

The others are silent for once.

There's nothing else to say.

We don't have a choice.

We have a war to plan and a monster to kill.

And it's not the monster Cosima's so afraid of.