Chapter 40: Valek

Chapter

Forty

VALEK

I adjust the silk cravat in the mirror, studying my reflection with a critical eye. The white suit Plague's servants brought fits perfectly, though I miss my usual tactical gear.

And my scarf.

Still, I have to look the part of Prytel, the wealthy financier, for our meeting with Nikolai.

He made contact tonight and agreed to meet me—or rather, Prytel—at a dive bar on the other edge of Surhiiran territory.

It could be a trap, but what else is new?

It's also the only choice we have if we're going through with this suicidal plan to invade Reinmich in the name of… what?

Making the world a better place?

The concept is as foreign to me as the superhuman levels of self-control I've had to maintain over the past three days to keep my promise to Ivy that I wouldn't do anything to take the edge off my arousal.

Three long, torturous days.

And not just because Nikolai has kept us waiting.

My hands shake slightly as I smooth down the lapels. Every nerve ending feels like a live wire. True to my word, I haven't allowed myself any relief, not even a touch.

This is truly exquisite torture.

She is a woman after my own heart.

Even if it means I'm barely sleeping, and I very much need the sleep. I've burned through every contact I have for the Ghosts. For Ivy. Geo, Raven, and now Nikolai. Even if I actually wanted to leave, I'd be completely fucked out there. No more favors to call in, no more doors that would open for me.

And now I'm sleep deprived to boot.

But she was right.

I am a slave to my instincts when it comes to her.

My whole life, self-preservation drove my every decision. Every betrayal, every calculated risk—it was all to keep myself alive.

But now?

Now I have something I value more than my own survival.

I have her.

Even if she never lets me touch her again, I'd rather grovel at her feet begging for the crumbs of her attention than be free without her. The irony isn't lost on me as I study my reflection. I always imagined love was its own kind of prison, but I've discovered there is no freedom without Ivy.

Even if she hates me.

But that night I found her with Wraith and Thane… that night was the first time I've had a glimmer of hope that there might be some part of her, however small, that holds love alongside that hatred.

The door swings open and Whiskey's bulk fills the frame. "Time to head out," he says gruffly. "You better not fuck this up, psycho."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, yes. The one with the stick up his ass already threatened me."

"Plague?" he asks, frowning.

"Thane," I correct him, smoothing my hair back. "Though your boyfriend got in a few choice warnings, too."

I brush past him before he can sputter out a response, making my way to the main area of our new base. The others are already gathered, dressed in their finest. My breath catches when I see Ivy in a flowing white dress, her wild auburn hair tamed into elegant waves.

She'll be playing the role of my omega today.

And she certainly looks the part.

I couldn't have dreamed up any greater perfection. Of course, it is just a role. Her random act of mercy doesn't change that.

But a man can dream.

Even a wicked one.

"You look lovely, little omega," I purr, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

She allows the gesture but fixes me with a warning look. "Don't push it."

I let her hand fall with a smile, and I pull the door open with a flourish, waiting for her to pass through. I can't resist the temptation to study her retreating form as she walks through the door.

Self-control has its limits.

The Surhiiran vehicles waiting outside are as elegant as everything else in this impossible country. White and gold, of course. The guards accompanying us wear pristine uniforms that make them look more like art pieces than soldiers.

But I know better.

I've seen what Surhiiran warriors can do. They're not even dressed to hide their national affiliation. Prytel is a man with a nation of origin, but an allegiance to none. If he thinks I managed to enlist a Surhiiran detail, it could be the one thing that sells this crumbling facade.

Assuming the Council didn't already burn that bridge and we're all walking into his trap.

But that's a risk we have to take.

The drive to the edge of Surhiiran territory passes in tense silence. The shady bar where we're meeting Nikolai is a stark contrast to the luxury of our newfound base. It's the kind of place that exists in the shadows between territories, where rules are more...

Flexible.

Perfect for a meeting like this.

As we pull up, I catch sight of a familiar blood-red coat through the grimy windows. Nikolai is already here, which means this could go very well or very badly.

With him, there's rarely any middle ground.

I take inventory of the other figures stationed around the bar as soon as we walk inside. A cluster of alphas and betas playing an obnoxiously loud game of pool. A handful of drunkards sprinkled around the bar in varying states of debauchery. A tipsy beta in a barely-there dress playing darts with an alpha old enough to be her grandfather. And then the usual suspects filling the worn out booths lining the walls.

There are two massive alphas standing on either side of Nikolai, both clad in long, dark coats of a typical Vrissian style that make them stick out like sore thumbs, not even trying to hide. As ordinary and in place as the other patrons appear, I know any of them might easily belong to his army as well.

A man like Nikolai never comes unprepared.

I adjust my cuffs one final time, sliding into the skin of Prytel. The wealthy, arrogant financier who's about to offer an impossible sum of money to the most dangerous mercenary in the Outer Reaches.

Time to see if I can pull off one last con.

For her.

Always for her.

Nikolai lounges at his chosen table like a king on his throne, impossible to miss in that thick blood-red overcoat that stands out like a splash of blood on fresh fallen snow. The jagged scar running diagonally across his harsh features from his forehead to his mouth tugs the corner of his lips into a permanent snarl.

His cold eyes appraise us briefly through those flashy round red lenses. He studies us with the disinterest of a cobra who's spit in death's face too many times to give a shit.

"Ah, Nikolai," I purr in my most aristocratic tone, spreading my arms in greeting. "Good to see you again, my friend."

The others take their places around the table, tension radiating off them in waves. Ivy slides gracefully into the seat beside me, playing her part of the pampered omega perfectly despite the awkward atmosphere. Wraith hovers near her, his lower face wrapped in a scarf I find myself envying.

Nikolai barely pays them a passing glance, his tinted gaze locked on me.

"Let's not insult each other's intelligence," he says with a sneer. I recognize the mask he wore at our last meeting has fallen completely. One predator baring his soul to another. "You're a terrible actor."

I hold my own mask in place a bit longer, just in case he's trying to call my bluff, but I sense the others stiffen, their hands drifting to their weapons. The faint, rumbling growl building in Wraith's chest. The way Ivy's small hand drifts further up her thigh to where a blade is no doubt nestled in a holster I'd sell my soul to be reincarnated as.

I stiffen, genuinely affronted. "I beg your pardon?"

"I've always known it was bullshit," Nikolai continues with a lazy wave of his hand. "Prytel. The financier shit. All of it."

Thane leans forward, his dark eyes narrowing. "If you knew, why not call us out?"

And just like that, my mask drops, too.

Leave it to the caveman to never have heard of keeping a poker face.

But then, what's the point?

If today goes as planned, the ruse has to fall away at some point, anyway. And the fact that those gentlemen at the pool table who've suddenly taken a far greater interest in our table haven't reached for their weapons is proof he didn't order them to shoot on sight.

A cold smile curves Nikolai's lips. "Because it would have been unwise to ruffle the Council's feathers unnecessarily. I may be fearless, but I'm not reckless." He pauses, that unsettling smile widening. "And to put it simply? It was amusing. Especially the way you try not to sound like them." He nods to the others. "Your accent leaves something to be desired, Prytel. "

I resist the urge to bare my teeth at him. My pride stings more than it should—I've always prided myself on my ability to slip into different roles. To hear him dismiss my performance so casually...

"Then why come at all?" Plague asks, his voice toneless. "Why agree to meet?"

Nikolai's gaze sweeps over our group, lingering briefly on each face before settling back on me. "Because I find myself intrigued. The most wanted criminals in the Outer Reaches, reaching out through old channels—compromised ones, at that—and playing at being someone they're not..." He spreads his hands. "It reeks of desperation. How could I resist discovering what could possibly be worth such elaborate theater?"

"You could have walked into a trap," I point out, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

He laughs, the sound like breaking glass. "Please. As I said before, let's not patronize each other." His eyes glint dangerously behind those red lenses. "Besides, I brought insurance."

As if on cue, several of the "patrons" around the bar shift slightly, their hands drifting toward concealed weapons. I count at least eight that I can see, which means there are probably twice that many I can't.

"We brought our own," Thane says gruffly, nodding to the Surhiiran guards who remain in position, standing perfectly still yet ready to act with deadly grace at the slightest provocation.

"Of course you did," Nikolai says with a laugh that echoes through the suddenly silent establishment. All eyes are on us, undercover mercenaries and normal patrons alike.

Although now, I'm even starting to second guess that beta at the dart board who isn't acting quite as tipsy as she was before.

Perhaps I am losing my edge after all.

"Now then," Nikolai continues, leaning back in his chair. "Why don't we skip the pretense and get to why you're really here? What could the infamous Ghosts want badly enough to risk exposure? I'm sure you know the Council has its ants scouring every corner of the Outer Reaches for you at this point."

I glance at Thane, deferring to him now that my carefully constructed facade has crumbled. He gives a slight nod, and I feel some of the tension ease from my shoulders.

At least I don't have to keep playing a part that apparently wasn't fooling anyone anyway.

Though I still think I gave a flawless performance.

I lean forward, letting my usual flair drop away as I explain our audacious plan. "The Council thinks we're scattered, broken. They've grown complacent in their hunt for us, and tensions in the war have escalated after the Vrissian hit on that supply train from Reinmich. The Council is facing pressures from all sides now—not only from the war, but now the fact that their greatest liabilities have escaped. The perfect time to strike would be now."

When I finish speaking, silence hangs heavy in the air.

Then Nikolai gives a harsh laugh, the sound sharp and jarring in the tense atmosphere.

"Suicidal," he says, sobering quickly. "Absolutely suicidal. But I'll give you credit for creativity. And audacity." His smile turns predatory. "Of course, I'm always willing to send men to die for the right price. But this?" He gestures vaguely. "This is throwing them into a meat grinder."

His eyes narrow behind those red lenses. "And I seriously doubt you have anything left to pay me with after hiring these..." He glances dismissively at the Surhiiran guards. "Security contractors moonlighting as guards to make your little ruse more convincing."

Ah .

So he doesn't know everything, then.

"It's not a ruse," Plague says quietly. His voice carries that dangerous edge I've learned to recognize. "And what if your army wasn't the only one?"

Nikolai's head tilts slightly. "Go on."

Thane leans forward, his massive frame making the chair creak beneath him. "Surhiira has agreed to commit their forces. If we can secure additional troops first."

"Interesting." Nikolai drums his fingers on the table. He still thinks it's bullshit, that much is clear, but he's toying with us. Like a cat with a mouse pinned beneath its paw. "But tell me, why would the most notoriously isolationist nation in the world decide to throw their military might behind a bunch of dead men walking? Isolationist to the point it's easy to forget they exist. Exactly how much of a fool do you take me for to think I'd take your word for it?"

The question hangs unanswered for several moments. I find myself glancing at Ivy, gauging her reaction. But the little omega's mask remains firmly in place. The only reason I can see a hint of anger turning the serene hue of those eyes fiery is because I've spent so long gazing into them, I'd know if a single blue-green fleck disappeared.

Nikolai begins to rise. "You know, I was going to kill you, but you provided my men with such wonderful entertainment, we'll call it even."

"It's the truth," Thane growls.

"Your word as the disgraced scion of the Hargrove line holds less weight than it once did, my friend," Nikolai sneers. "Now if you'd splurged enough to rope a corrupt Surhiiran official into your little charade, that would have been?—"

"What about a crown prince?" Plague asks.

Nikolai freezes mid-motion, eyes tracking Plague's every movement dangerously. His hand goes to the golden firearm on his hip that I mistakenly assumed was just for show, and his guards tense as as Plague draws a blade from his jacket.

Not just any blade, but one bearing the royal crest of Surhiira.

The gold and white filigree catches the dim light.

For the first time since I've known him, genuine shock flashes across Nikolai's scarred features. It's gone in an instant, replaced by that familiar predatory smirk, but it was there.

Then he drops into an exaggerated bow. "Forgive me, Your Majesty," he drawls in a thicker-than-usual accent. When he straightens, his eyes gleam with newfound interest. " Now we're talking."

I can't help but smile. For all his posturing about seeing through my act, he never saw this coming.

To be fair, none of us did, really.

"Indeed we are," I purr, falling back into my natural rhythm now that the cards are on the table. "So shall we discuss terms?"

Nikolai settles back into his chair, a new respect in his gaze as he studies Plague. "Terms," he echoes thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose we should. So the feared medic of the Ghosts is none other than the long lost prince of Surhiira. I must admit, it's rare anything manages to surprise me, but this… this is interesting."

I catch the subtle shift in the room's atmosphere. The various "patrons" who were so ready for violence moments ago have relaxed slightly, taking their cues from their leader.

This is it.

The moment it's all hinging on.

"I'll save you the touching story of my family reunion," Plague says in his usual bone-dry tone. I notice the way Whiskey sticks close to him, the burly alpha's eyes fixed intently on Nikolai, one hand on his own weapon.

"Another time, perhaps," Nikolai says, flashing him a grin that could cut diamond. His attention drifts to within himself for a few moments as he studies the grains of the cheap wood on the table, and I can see the gears churning behind those lenses. The frenetic energy of madness behind his increasingly erratic movements.

Most people die in the Outer Reaches.

A lucky few survive.

Bastards like Nikolai?

They feed on the chaos.

And this is a feast.

Takes one to know one, I suppose.

I watch Nikolai tap his fingers against the scarred wood of the table, his red-tinted gaze distant as he processes everything we've laid out. The mercenary leader has always had a flair for the dramatic, but there's genuine consideration in his expression now.

"It's still foolhardy," he murmurs, more to himself than to us. His Vrissian accent thickens when he's deep in thought. "Though between my specially trained forces and the fucking Surhiiran army..." He trails off, those metallic eyes focusing sharply on us again. "We might actually stand a chance. But it would still be a blunt onslaught, and the home team always has the advantage. A blood bath no matter how you slice it."

"We have an informant," I say smoothly, leaning forward. "One we'll be extracting shortly from Reinmich on behalf of Surhiira. In a prisoner exchange."

I catch Plague's slight nod of approval. Better to make it seem like Surhiira's involvement hinges on getting their man back. More believable than the truth.

That the queen simply wants to right past wrongs.

More believable to a man like Nikolai, at least, who'd probably sell his own mother if the price was right.

Nikolai's scarred face twists with interest. "And who might this informant be?"

"That's not your concern," Plague cuts in before I can respond. His tone carries that scalpel-sharp edge that leaves no room for argument. "We'll handle getting past Reinmich's defenses. All you need to do is bring your men to the border when the time comes. A strategic invasion, not a blind charge."

I have to admire how naturally he's slipped into the role of prince.

The authority in his voice is perfect.

Not demanding, but expecting to be obeyed.

It's working, too. I can see the calculations running behind Nikolai's red lenses.

"A deal, then?" I prompt, keeping my voice carefully neutral.

Nikolai drums his fingers against the table again, that unsettling smile still playing at his lips. "We still haven't discussed the terms."

"Name them," Plague replies without hesitation.

I watch as Nikolai's scarred lips twist into a cruel smile. "I'm in," he says, "on one condition." He pauses for dramatic effect, clearly enjoying the tension. "Your informant better deliver. And considering Reinmich's... enthusiastic approach to prisoner interrogation, that's quite the gamble."

Plague stiffens beside me. I catch the slight twitch in his jaw, the only outward sign of his distress, but he remains silent.

"What's your price?" Thane demands impatiently. Always the blunt instrument.

Nikolai's smile widens, revealing his stark white teeth and the twin sets of incisors he's had filed into to fangs. That's new. A Vrissian fashion I never quite understood.

"Simple," he purrs. "If you fail—when you fail, in all likelihood—I collect your corpses. The bounties on your heads will more than cover my losses." His eyes gleam behind those red lenses. "And if by some miracle we succeed and Reinmich falls... I want access to the arsenal."

"You can't be serious," Thane growls, his massive frame tensing. "That's enough firepower to level an entire nation."

"Precisely," Nikolai replies, spreading his hands. "Why else would I risk my men on such a foolhardy mission? The potential reward must match the risk, yes?"

I watch the others exchange glances. Even Ivy looks troubled, though she maintains her mask of indifference admirably.

We all know what Nikolai could do with that kind of firepower.

The chaos he could unleash.

But what choice do we have?

Besides, once we take down the dragon, we can deal with the snake.

"A moment to confer," I say smoothly, rising from my chair.

The others follow suit, and we huddle together a few steps away. Close enough to keep an eye on Nikolai, far enough that our whispers won't carry.

"We can't give him that kind of power," Thane hisses. "He's a madman."

"We don't have a choice," Plague replies in a whisper. "Without his forces, we don't stand a chance. And if we fail..."

He trails off, but we all know exactly what he means.

If we fail, we'll be too dead to care what Nikolai does with our bounties.

Wraith's wary growl confirms he's thinking the same thing.

"Besides," he continues, "even Nikolai isn't suicidal enough to go up against Surhiira."

"You fuckin' hope," Whiskey mutters.

"Tick-tock, my friends," Nikolai calls in a menacing tone.

"Plague is right," Ivy says quietly. "We have to do this. If he gets out of line, we'll just kill him."

Wraith growls in agreement.

It might be the three-day edging I've just endured, but my cock twitches painfully in response to her words. Our fierce little omega is never more beautiful than when she's plotting murder and mayhem.

Maybe if I play my cards right, she'll eventually deign to inflict some on me.

We return to stand by the table and Plague steps forward to address Nikolai. "We accept your terms," he says with that clinical detachment that always makes him sound more dangerous, even more than when he's trying to be.

Nikolai's scarred wolfish grin returns in a flash. He reaches for a bottle of clear liquid and pours a generous measure into two glasses. "Wonderful. Let's drink to it, shall we?"

Plague just stares at him stonily.

Nikolai shrugs. "No? More for me, then."

He downs the shot in one smooth motion and slams the glass on the table with enough force to make the cheap wood rattle. "There is something else I'm curious about," he adds, his eyes drifting to Wraith behind his red lenses. I feel Ivy tense beside me immediately. "How did you manage to train it?"

A soft growl rumbles from Wraith's chest, the sound vibrating through the floor. Before any of us can react, Ivy's eyes flash dangerously. "Call him 'it' one more time," she says in that deceptively soft voice that usually precedes violence, "and I'll show you exactly how well-trained I am."

Nikolai throws his head back and laughs, the sound sharp and jarring in the tense atmosphere. His amusement only seems to enrage Ivy further. I can smell the spike of fury in her delicious honeysuckle scent.

"I meant no harm," Nikolai says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "But you must understand my curiosity. After all, it's not every day one encounters a survivor from the Vytoskyk facility."

We all freeze. The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. I catch the sudden sharp note of concern in Ivy's scent, and my muscles coil instinctively in response.

"What do you mean by that?" I ask carefully, keeping my voice neutral despite the alarm bells ringing in my head.

Nikolai's smile widens, revealing those fangs again. "Did we not agree to stop insulting each other? You didn't think I would do my research on events in my own homeland? As it happens, I recently came into possession of a similar... asset ."

I both hear and see Ivy gritting her teeth at that.

To be fair, I'm on edge now, too.

"Found it on my way here, actually," Nikolai continues, swirling another shot. "Quite the specimen."

The scent of Ivy's distress grows stronger. Wraith shifts closer to her, his massive frame radiating protective energy.

"Explain," I demand so she won't have to. And because I'm quite sure she's one stray remark away from lunging for his throat.

"Big son of a bitch," Nikolai says, gesturing expansively. "Eight feet tall at least. Iron mask fused to its face, metal arm. Rods sticking out of its back like swords driven into a knight's armor. Took out two dozen of my best men before we managed to subdue it."

Nikolai sounds almost proud. But I get the feeling he sees his men as little more than toy soldiers.

I almost envy his apathy.

My gaze drifts to Ivy, to her tense profile and the way her jaw ticks with Nikolai's every word, empathy for the Knight and rage emanating from her in equal measure.

Almost.

"Where is this asset now?" I ask, careful to keep my tone neutral. I'd be quiet content never seeing the damn beast again, but Ivy has always had a soft spot for monsters.

The fact that I'm still alive is proof enough of that.

"Currently have it in a pit," Nikolai continues as he takes another shot, seemingly oblivious to our omega's murderous fixation on him. "Quite the prize, wouldn't you say?"

"That 'asset' is a person, not a weapon," Ivy says in a flat tone, clearly having to fight to not rip him a new asshole.

Nikolai finally glances at her, as if he's just noticed her presence. I'm not sure if he's been more or less ignoring her up until now, her threats aside, out of respect for us—doubtful—or if he just doesn't want to risk an all-out gunfight in close quarters.

Either way, it's probably a good sign.

"Everyone who survives out here learns to be both, omega," he says, flashing her a dangerous grin that has me putting myself between us before I realize it.

He just looks at me, a hint of curiosity in his gaze as he appraises the situation. Calculates just how much he's willing to risk for the sake of poking the bear.

"I meant no offense comparing my new acquisition with this… esteemed gentleman," he continues, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he gestures at Wraith. "I was simply wondering if there were any tricks to taming a savage beast. But I have my answer." His upper lip curls, flashing a fang. "Perhaps I'll have to find an omega to throw to it as a sacrifice."

Ivy is trembling with barely suppressed rage, and Wraith gives a low, rumbling growl, placing his huge hand on the small of her back. I notice how it seems to soothe her, and I wish it were me instead of him.

Nikolai's eyes track around the room, his sunglasses slipped low enough that I can see how damaged his eye is from the scar. I'd be surprised if he can even see out of it. Hell, it might be a prosthetic. Perhaps that's the real reason for his glasses and not the snow glare after all.

"I jest," he says with an appeasing chuckle that doesn't match the steel in his eyes as they lock on me. "Just a little Vrissian humor. An acquired taste, is it not?"

"Some more easily acquired than others," I answer flatly.

"You should be thanking me, really," Nikolai says with a snort, sinking back into his chair. "This monster I captured was headed straight for Surhiira. Some sort of single-minded determination. Lucky I intercepted it when I did, no?"

I study his scarred face, trying to determine if he's lying. But there's no deception in his eyes. Just that usual gleam of barely contained madness.

"Why would it be heading to Surhiira?" Plague asks, his voice carefully controlled.

Nikolai shrugs, looking as if he's suddenly grown bored of the subject. "Haven't the faintest idea. But who knows? Perhaps it was divine timing. I may even be able to make use of it before our upcoming conquest." He pauses, fixing us with a pointed stare that belies the cold and calculating truth behind his bawdy charm. "Assuming you come through with your army."

"We will," Plague says firmly.

I watch as Nikolai rises from his chair, that perpetual smirk still playing on his scarred lips. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with one of my knives.

Everyone's on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It does.

The door bursts open and a Surhiiran messenger stumbles in, her pristine white uniform standing out like a beacon in this dingy establishment. Weapons appear as if by magic. Nikolai's gaudy golden revolver, my own blade, Thane's gun. Even Ivy's hand disappears beneath her dress, no doubt reaching for that glass dagger she's grown so fond of.

The guard's eyes go wide behind her veil as she takes in the arsenal suddenly pointed in her direction. Her hands shoot up, trembling slightly.

"Prince Hamsa," she says, her voice wavering as she bows deeply to Plague. "I have an urgent message, from the queen."

I don't lower my blade. Neither does anyone else. We've all survived too long to trust coincidences.

"Speak," Plague commands.

The guard straightens but keeps her hands raised. "An official from Reinmich has made contact. They're... they're willing to discuss the prisoner exchange."

The air seems to crackle with electricity.

I watch as understanding dawns on everyone's faces.

This could be our chance to get Azarel back.

To finally have some real leverage against the Council.

Nikolai is the first to lower his weapon, that unsettling laugh echoing through the bar. His men follow suit, weapons disappearing as quickly as they appeared. "Well, well," he purrs, sauntering over to Plague and clapping him on the shoulder with enough force to make the prince stiffen. "Divine timing, indeed."

It's a deliberately disrespectful gesture.

The kind of casual familiarity no one would dare show royalty.

A power play, pure and simple.

I have to admire his audacity, even as my fingers itch to carve that smirk off his face.

Plague remains perfectly still, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the slight twitch in his temple that betrays his carefully controlled rage. Whiskey shifts closer to him, practically vibrating with the need to intervene as his lip curls back in a low growl, but he manages to hold himself back.

"We'll be in touch," Nikolai drawls, already heading for the door. Despite his carefree demeanor, he knows exactly how much pressure he can apply.

And when to take it off.

He waves his revolver in the air haphazardly, his blood-red coat swirling around him like a cape. "Try not to spill any Reinmichian blood without me."

We all watch in tense silence as he stalks out of the bar and past the harried messenger, his men falling in behind him like well-trained dogs. Only when the clicking sound of his boots fades do I finally let myself relax slightly.

"Well," Whiskey mutters, breaking the silence. "That went well."

I can't help but laugh. Trust the fool to state the obvious. "If by 'well' you mean we didn't all die in a shootout, then yes, I suppose it did."

But he's not entirely wrong.

We got what we came for—Nikolai's agreement to join our suicidal crusade.

And now we might have a chance at getting Plague's brother back, too.

The timing is almost too perfect. Which means everything is probably about to go ass up for us.

But then again, everything's a trap these days.

The trick isn't avoiding them.

It's choosing which ones to spring.

I glance at Ivy, catching the way her eyes keep drifting to the door Nikolai just left through. I know that look. She's thinking about the Knight, about what Nikolai said about keeping him in a pit.

Another lost soul for her to save.

I venture closer, resisting the urge to reach out to touch her, even if at present, my instincts are aimed more toward comfort than anything else. "You did the right thing," I mutter so only she can hear. "We can help him, but first…"

"I know," she says, turning around to face me, her expression far more neutral than I was expecting.

But then, I really shouldn't be surprised.

She's had to watch suffering her whole life, while not being able to do anything to stop it. This time is no different.

Except that I promise myself it will be the last.

"We need Nikolai to stop the Council," she adds. "Then, he's fair game."

I nod, trying to hide my surprise. "Sorry I couldn't do more."

My words make Ivy's expression shift from surprise to something more contemplative. The way those endless ocean eyes study me makes my heart do strange things in my chest that I'm not entirely comfortable with.

"You actually mean that, don't you?" she asks softly.

I shrug, trying to maintain my usual nonchalance even as everything inside me screams to close the distance between us. "I always mean what I say to you, little omega. Even when I'm being insufferable."

A ghost of a smile plays at her lips. "You're always insufferable."

"It's part of my charm."

Before she can respond, Whiskey's booming voice cuts through our conversation. "Hey lovebirds, time to go! Unless you want to stick around and sample the local cuisine." He eyes the questionable-looking plates on the tables of the few long gone patrons who weren't part of Nikolai's crew with obvious disgust.

"Coming," she calls back, already moving toward the pack. But then she pauses, glancing back at me over her shoulder. "And Valek?"

I freeze in my tracks. "Yes, little omega?"

"Thank you."

She leans up and presses her lips to my jaw.

Well, at least one thing is certain.

Whatever happens, I can die a happy man now.