Chapter 42: Whiskey

Chapter

Forty-Two

WHISKEY

I look between the giant motherfucker who just stepped out of the car in that dramatic-ass dark cloak and Plague, my brain struggling to process what I'm seeing.

" That's your big bro?" I blurt out. "He's not just big, he's fuckin' huge!"

Plague ignores me completely and steps forward. "How did you escape?" he asks his brother, his voice tight with emotion. And that's like getting beer out of a fucking cactus.

"I didn't," Azarel says flatly. His voice is deeper than Plague's, rougher. More like Thane's. And like Plague, the only hint of his Surhiiran accent is the posh lilt to his words. "But when the Surhiirans started sniffing around, asking about a prisoner going by one of my contingency aliases, I knew I had to act before you completely blew my cover. Imagine my surprise when they send you ."

Something tells me he doesn't mean it in an, "Oh, sweet, a cake—what a fun surprise" way, either.

Damn, this fucker's cold.

I watch Plague's shoulders tense up. "You've been quiet for months," he snaps. "Our mother thought you were dead."

Azarel gives a dry laugh that sounds about as warm as a fucking iceberg. "That's rich, coming from the traitor who ran in the middle of the night and went to work for the enemy."

Plague clenches his jaw. I can tell he's about to snap.

"This is a touching family reunion and all," I drawl, keeping my hand near my weapon. Can't help but notice Azarel's hand hasn't moved away from his gun. "But let's not get too sappy."

I catch Ivy shifting uneasily beside me, her ocean eyes darting between the brothers. She's worried too. And she should be. This reunion is about as warm as a Vrissian winter.

Plague's eyes narrow as he gestures to the uniform and brass peeking out from beneath Azarel's coat. "What do you call that, brother?" he asks bitterly. "A general's epaulette? It seems the enemy has grown quite fond of you."

"I call it being covert," Azarel sneers, fixing me with a judgmental look that reminds me way too much of his stuck-up younger brother, without any of the redeeming qualities. "You should try it sometime."

"I'll make your ass covert, bro," I snap back.

Ivy raises an eyebrow at me. "Not your best comeback," she mutters under her breath.

"Haven't had coffee yet," I grunt, but she's right.

That was weak as fuck.

Maybe I should've gone with something about shoving that Reinmichian uniform so far up his ass, he'll be shitting medals for a week.

Too late now.

The tension in the air is thick enough to choke on as the brothers stare each other down. It's like watching two alpha wolves circle each other, both waiting for an excuse to go for the throat.

It's fucking badass, if I'm being honest.

Or it would be if I didn't happen to love one of those wolves.

I watch the whole scene unfold like a train wreck in slow motion. The breeze shifts and Azarel suddenly goes rigid, his nostrils flaring as he catches Ivy's scent. Even with the suppressants and sprays Plague's been giving her, there's no mistaking what she is up close.

A growl builds in my chest before I can stop it. Pure alpha instinct taking over at the threat to our omega.

For once, Plague doesn't give me shit about it.

If anything, he looks ready to throw down himself.

"You brought an omega here?" Azarel demands, his voice sharp as a knife.

Guess being a judgy bitch runs in the family.

Then again, the queen's a fuckin' delight and Revi's a big teddy bear, so maybe these two get it from daddy dearest.

"What can I say? She likes car rides and we can't trust her alone in the house," I quip, trying to diffuse the tension before someone gets stabbed. "Keeps chewing up the furniture and biting us. She's a little feral."

I catch Ivy subtly flipping me off from the corner of my eye, but I can see she's fighting back a smile. Good. Keep her relaxed while the rest of us get ready to throw down if we need to.

"So it's true. You really did escape with an omega," Azarel murmurs, glancing thoughtfully between us. "And here I thought the Ghosts would have disbanded."

"Stronger than ever, baby," I say, staring the bastard down.

Hope he takes it as the warning it is.

Azarel tilts his head slightly and looks like he wants to say something else, but decides against it, shakes his head. "I don't have time for this," he mutters. Then his eyes lock onto Plague with an intensity that makes my hand twitch toward my weapon. "The girl. Where is she?"

"She's safe," Plague says carefully. The fact he's not telling his own brother where Cosima is speaks volumes.

And here I thought my family was fucked up.

Azarel takes a step closer, and there's something dangerous glinting in those eyes that look so much like his brother's. "You will return her," he says, his voice dropping to a growl. " Immediately ."

I watch Plague's eyes narrow as he studies Azarel. I've been on the receiving end of that look enough times to know exactly what's going through his head. He's analyzing every micro-expression, every twitch, building a diagnosis of what the fuck is wrong with his brother.

"You can drop the act," Plague says finally. "You don't need to do Arthur Maybrecht's dirty work anymore. We're extracting you. We're going to attack Reinmich."

The laugh that bursts from Azarel's throat is harsh and bitter, like broken glass in a blender. "Attack Reinmich?" he sneers. "With what army? Your little band of rejects?"

"We have Surhiira," Plague says firmly.

"And some very flashy mercenaries," I add helpfully.

Azarel's eyes snap to me, cold and calculating. "You really think you can lead a full-blown invasion against Reinmich?" His gaze drifts back to his brother. "I always knew you were naive, Hamsa, but this is beyond foolish."

"Don't call me that," Plague snaps.

Huh.

"What should I call you then?" Azarel's lip curls. "Plague? Is that what your new family calls you?"

The way he says 'family' makes my blood boil.

Like we're something he scraped off his fancy-ass boots.

"We're doing this, Azarel," Plague says firmly. "And I have the backing of the royal family. It's your choice whether that includes you or not."

Azarel gives a bone dry laugh. His eyes stay icy, though, which makes it even creepier.

"If you want to get yourself killed, brother, so be it," he says, his voice dripping with disdain. "But I won't let you drag Surhiira down with you. Not when I've spent years protecting?—"

"Is that what you call it?" Plague cuts him off, his voice sharp as a scalpel. " Protecting Surhiira? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've gone so deep undercover, you've forgotten who you really are."

Oh shit.

This is about to get good.

Or bad, depending on how you look at it.

"And what does that make you?" Azarel snarls back. "A runaway prince playing healer and soldier?" His lips curl into a crueler smile. "Do you really think you can atone for what you did? For killing your lover?"

The temperature seems to drop about twenty degrees. I feel it coming a split second before it happens. That electric charge in the air right before lightning strikes.

Both brothers move at the same time, like this moment has been coming to a head their whole lives. Which, knowing Plague's family, it probably has.

Plague draws his Surhiiran blade. It catches the morning light, all pristine white metal and gold filigree. Because of course even their weapons have to be beautiful.

Azarel responds by drawing a sword from beneath his cloak. One of those Reinmichian ceremonial pieces with the Council's insignia worked into the hilt. They don't just hand those out at company parties.

Bro's in deep.

I feel Ivy tense beside me, ready to jump in, but I hold out my arm to stop her. "Not yet, wildcat," I mutter, not taking my eyes off the fight breaking out in front of us. "This is a brother thing. When they draw guns, then we can intervene."

Ivy clearly doesn't like it, but she stands back. What she doesn't know is I'm having just as much trouble as she is.

But I get it.

This is some deep-seated family bullshit that needs to play out. And judging by the fact Valek hasn't put a bullet through anyone's skull yet, he must feel the same way.

The brothers circle each other, neither making the first move. It's like watching a fucked-up mirror. Despite looking so different, they have the same graceful way of moving. But where Plague's face is all cold calculation, Azarel's is blank in a way I didn't know a person could be.

Like his face is a mask.

"I'll ask you one more time," Azarel says in a dangerous tone as void of emotion as his expression. "Where. Is. The. Girl."

"Funny," Plague says in that suspicious tone that always makes the hair on my neck stand up. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were here in a personal capacity rather than as Reinmich's errand boy."

Oh shit !

Azarel's blank mask cracks for just a split second. Just long enough for me to catch a glimpse of raw fury before he launches himself at his brother. Their blades meet with a sound that makes my teeth ache, sending sparks flying in the early morning light.

I flinch hard, my muscles coiling with the need to intervene.

To protect what's mine.

Because Plague is mine, just like he's Ivy's and the rest of the pack's. The fact that this beast of a man shares his blood doesn't change that.

But Plague is holding his own, barely. What he lacks in raw power, he makes up for in speed and precision. He dances away from Azarel's brutal attacks like smoke, that fancy blade flickering out to draw first blood.

A shallow cut across his brother's bicep.

The next clash of metal on metal makes me wince. Azarel puts his full strength behind the blow and Plague goes flying back, his boots skidding in the dirt as he struggles to keep his balance. My fists clench so hard I feel warm blood trickling between my fingers where my nails break skin.

A small hand slips into mine. I glance down to see Ivy looking up at me with worried eyes, her fingers intertwining with mine. The gesture helps ground me, but only barely.

Every muscle in my body strains toward the fight.

"Stay back," Plague barks at us, clearly sensing our intention to help. "This is between brothers?—"

The warning costs him. Azarel's boot connects with his knee and Plague stumbles. His brother follows up with a vicious slash that would have opened Plague's throat if he hadn't managed to get his blade up in time.

I think they're actually trying to kill each other.

At least Azarel is.

Holy fucking shit.

The fight turns savage, all pretense of ceremony abandoned. Azarel fights like a man possessed, his attacks growing more brutal with each exchange. But there's something off about it. His movements are too rigid, too controlled even in his rage.

Like he's fighting himself as much as his brother.

Plague matches his intensity, but I can see him tiring. His precise strikes are getting sloppier, his footwork less sure. Blood trickles from a cut above his eye where Azarel's pommel caught him.

I don't know if I can hold back much longer, but I'm afraid if I do charge in, I'll make everything worse. I'm like a wrecking ball. I don't have the precision necessary to actually make a goddamn difference here.

All I can do is watch and keep myself between them and Ivy.

Fuck.

The fight is getting brutal when Plague finally lands a solid hit, his blade slicing across Azarel's chest. It's not deep, but it draws blood and it tears open Azarel's cloak. Apparently that's the last straw for this psycho beast because he flings his sword across the space between them and it pierces the dirt at Plague's feet.

Then again, he is Plague's brother.

Maybe he just likes the cloak.

"I tire of these games," Azarel snarls, throwing off his shredded cloak to reveal the gleaming gray-and-gold uniform of a Reinmichian lieutenant general beneath and drawing his sidearm in one fluid motion.

"Plague!" Ivy cries.

That's it.

Now I intervene.

But before I can take more than a step, a shot cracks through the morning air like thunder. The gun goes flying from Azarel's hand in a spray of blood as he roars in pain and rage, clutching his bleeding hand. Somehow, Valek managed to shoot clean through the center of his palm.

Holy shit .

That crazy fucker is precise.

I've seen him make impossible shots before, but this is something else entirely. Threading the needle doesn't even begin to cover it.

Azarel whirls around, scanning the cliffside as he tries to spot the sniper. His eyes are wild now, that mask of control completely shattered. Blood drips steadily from his ruined fingers. "Show yourself, coward!"

I take advantage of his distraction to put myself between him and Plague, drawing my own gun. Plague's breathing hard, blood trickling from various cuts, but his eyes are sharp as ever.

When Azarel spins back toward us and takes a menacing step forward, another shot rings out. A bullet strikes the ground in front of his feet, sending dirt and grass flying up. He stumbles back, that perfect posture finally broken.

"You can't even fight your own battles?" he spits at Plague, his face twisting with disgust. "How dishonorable. "

A dry laugh escapes Plague. "All is fair in war, brother."

"If you truly believe that," Azarel says coldly, "you're more like them than I thought."

"Maybe," Plague replies, his voice taking on that dry edge that always makes me nervous. "Or maybe I've just learned there are some things worth fighting dirty for."

His eyes flick briefly to Ivy, and I catch his meaning.

We're not just fighting for ourselves anymore.

We're fighting for her .

And we're fighting for a future where omegas like her aren't treated like property. Even if we are currently using the aggro one in the dungeon as a bargaining chip.

But big picture, right?

And if that big picture means bringing a snake to a sword fight, so be it.

"Hey, look at it this way," I say, desperate to lighten the mood before someone gets killed. "At least now you can give yourself crazy handjobs."

Azarel looks like he's gonna kill me instead, but at least his anger is deflected off Plague.

"You need a hospital," Plague says, his doctor voice slipping through. Even now, even after everything, he can't help but care. "You won't be able to use your hand again if you don't get immediate surgery."

Azarel's fury recedes back behind that carefully crafted mask of stone. "Save your concern for those who still consider you family," he snarls.

But Plague doesn't flinch. His face goes completely blank, too. It's the same expression he wears when he's about to do something particularly brutal.

"Very well," Plague says, his voice as cold and sharp as a scalpel. "If you won't help us as family, then we'll proceed with negotiations as originally planned." He straightens up despite his injuries, and even covered in blood, he somehow manages to look regal as fuck. "As enemies."

Azarel's eyes narrow dangerously. "You dare threaten me?"

Seems like a weird thing to say, considering they were fighting to the death two minutes ago, but I guess Icy Balls has different standards.

"It's not a threat," Plague replies. "It's a statement of fact. Surhiira will be invading Reinmich. The only variable is how much blood will be shed in the process."

I catch a glimpse of Ivy tensing out of the corner of my eye as she comes up behind us. Plague continues. "If you truly care for our homeland, you'll ensure our forces can enter with minimal casualties. But either way, Maybrecht's daughter stays where she is until we've breached Reinmich's defenses."

Oh shit. He's really doing this.

"And then?" Azarel demands, his massive frame practically vibrating with barely contained rage. His hand's still bleeding as he clutches it, but the blood's slowed down. Looks like Valek didn't so much as nick an artery.

Too bad.

Then again, I don't think Plague wants Azarel dead.

"Then I'll arrange for her location to be sent to you," Plague says simply. "Whether I'm alive or dead."

Ivy makes a quiet sound of distress. I reach over and rest my hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. A silent promise that we won't let that happen.

That we'll protect him.

Protect all of us.

"You would use an innocent omega as leverage?" Azarel's voice drips with disgust. "You truly have fallen far."

"Innocent might be a stretch," I say dryly. "Girl's got a wicked swing."

Azarel's eyes narrow and he gives me a look that says he's thinking about tearing me apart like string cheese.

"Says the man who's spent years playing lap dog to the Council," Plague shoots back before he can reply. "Tell me, does Arthur Maybrecht know how personally invested you are in getting his daughter back? For that matter, does Monty Filch?"

Holy fuck .

The way Azarel's face twists tells me Plague hit the nail right on the head with that one. Guess being a nosy bastard runs in the family, too.

"You know nothing," Azarel snarls.

"I know enough," Plague replies. "And I know I will do anything for my omega. If there's any part of me that runs through your blood," he says, giving Azarel a judgmental once over that could freeze hell, "you'll do the same."

I watch the silence stretch between the brothers like a rubber band about to snap. My muscles stay coiled, ready to throw myself between them if Azarel decides to go for round two. The fact that Valek hasn't taken another shot tells me he's waiting to see how this plays out, too.

Finally, Azarel's massive shoulders slump slightly. "Three days," he mutters, sounding resigned. "Bring your army to the old mining outpost at the edge of the northeastern checkpoint. After that, you're on your own." His eyes harden. "And if I see any of you again, I won't hesitate to shoot. I won't compromise my cover for your suicide errand."

"I understand," Plague says solemnly, and I catch the slight tic in his hand as he wipes blood from his eye. "I'll have someone deliver Cosima's location to you. Someone already positioned in Reinmich. You have my word."

"Your word?" Azarel's bitter laugh makes me want to punch him in his perfectly chiseled face. His eyes drift over to where I stand with Ivy, and the contempt in his gaze has my hackles rising. "That used to mean something."

I bare my teeth at him. "Watch it, asshole."

He ignores me completely, which is probably for the best. "It will have to do," he says to Plague.

Without another word, he turns and stalks back toward his car. I watch as he bends down to retrieve his fallen sword, switching it awkwardly to his left hand since Valek fucked up his right one. Blood still drips steadily from the wound as he sheaths the blade.

"Well," I mutter as the car roars to life and makes a beeline down the overgrown dirt road. "That could've gone worse."

"How?" Plague asks flatly.

"He could've actually killed you instead of just trying really hard to."

I expect him to bitch at that, but instead, he laughs. An actual laugh. It's a relief to hear that sound again, especially after everything that just happened.

He puts a hand on Ivy's shoulder, then mine, and pulls us both into a tight embrace as he breathes a burdened sigh.

Today is just full of surprises.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "Both of you."

I pull my arms around Plague and Ivy, still not used to being so openly affectionate with another alpha, especially out in the open. But fuck it. After what just went down, I need this as much as they do. Their scents are weirdly comforting as they mingle together. Ivy's wild honeysuckle and Plague's clean scent like the smell before a storm.

I could stay here forever.

Plague finally pulls away, his voice rough as he murmurs, "Come on, let's go home."

Wish I had the guts to tell him I am home, as long as I'm with the two of them. But that's sappy shit, even for me.

"Wait." Ivy's eyes drift to the cliffs where Valek's sniper nest is hiding. Her small hand catches Plague's sleeve before he can turn toward the car. "You two go on ahead. I need to talk to him."

I exchange a doubtful look with Plague. Every protective instinct screams at me not to leave her alone with the snake, even if he did just save our asses in an admittedly badass fashion.

"I'll hitch a ride back," she adds, clearly reading our hesitation.

"Ivy…" Plague starts.

"He's changed," she insists. "You saw that today. We have to start trusting him at some point."

She's got me there. That shot through Azarel's hand was fucking surgical. Could've killed him easy, but he didn't. Just disabled him enough to keep Plague alive.

"He did save our asses," I admit grudgingly. The words taste like vinegar coming out of my mouth, but they're true.

Plague sighs, that weary sound that means he's about to cave. He leans down and presses a kiss to Ivy's forehead. "Be careful," he murmurs. "And take this."

He pulls his fancy Surhiiran blade from its sheath, pressing it into her small hand. The white metal and gold filigree catch the morning light as she clips it to her belt with a smile.

"I'll see you at home," she says softly.

Home .

The word hits different now. Makes my chest do weird things.

"Don't let him sweet talk you," I warn as we head for the car. "Snake's got a silver tongue when he wants to use it."

Ivy just rolls her eyes at me, but there's fondness in her expression. "I think I can handle Valek."

"That's what I'm afraid of," I mutter, but I'm already heading toward the getaway car. No way I'm letting Plague drive with those cuts he's sporting.

We both turn back to watch as Ivy runs for the cliffs, and I have to restrain my inner alpha from giving chase. She disappears into the brush like the wild thing she is, but she's close enough to Valek that I know she'll find her way.

I turn to Plague, watching the pensive look that comes over him as she disappears from view.

"You okay?" I ask. "That was pretty rough back there."

"Not really," he says in a tone of quiet detachment. "Not for Azarel. We've never been on the best of terms."

I snort. "That's putting it mildly." We stand together in silence for a few moments, both of us watching the cliffs for the occasional flash of red in the brush, like a fox going up into the hills. "You think we can really trust his intel?"

"Azarel is a man of his word," Plague answers thoughtfully. "For better or for worse."

I catch a glimpse of white in the brush as Valek comes out from his cover.

He's got her.

Relaxing, I put a hand on Plague's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. "Come on," I say, giving him a nudge toward the passenger's side. "Let's go."

"You're not driving," he says with a half-hearted scowl.

"Yeah? Watch me," I say, hauling ass around the car for the driver's seat. "It'll give you time to brood and stare out the window. Besides, I'm a better driver than you any day."

"That's highly debatable," he says flatly, but he gets in.

I grin, starting the engine up. "Driver gets to pick the tunes."

"That's the eject button, you idiot," he says right as I'm about to reach for the big black button on the console.

My hand freezes and I glance over at him, not sure if he's serious or just trying to keep me from blasting rock all the way home. "You're joking, right?"

He doesn't answer, just turns and looks out the window with a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Whatever.

Guess I don't really mind the silence when it's with him.