But what the hell arewe going to do with her? What the fuck do we know about helping someone through this kind of breakdown? We're criminals and killers, not therapists.
I could use my alpha bark. Force her to snap out of it, to drop the gun, to come back to us. But looking at her now, seeing how far gone she is, it feels like too much of a risk. She could panic, shoot herself or someone else in the confusion. Knowing how godsdamned stubborn she is, she'd probably resist and that could be just as lethal.
Fuck it. I'm done standing around. Something's gotta give.
I push past Raven, ignoring his startled "Geo, what are you?—"
Cosima's head snaps toward me as I approach, and suddenly that gun is pointed directly at my chest in a hand that's trembling violently, but it's a relief. If she shoots me, one of them can grab her.
Huh. Exactly when the fuck did I start giving a shit about anything but saving my own ass? Questions for Future Geo to answer, I guess, assuming he lives that long.
Her pupils are blown so wide I can't even see the violet around them anymore, just endless black that reflects nothing but whatever horror she's reliving. She hisses something in Vrissian, the words sharp and venomous. I don't understand a damn word of the language, but I don't need to. Her tone makes it crystal fucking clear.
It's a threat.
"She thinks you're someone else," Nikolai warns, his voice tight. "She said she'll paint the walls with your blood if you come any closer."
"Cute." I keep walking.
"Don'tfuckingtouch me!" The words come out in Reinmichian this time, but they're not really meant for me. They're meant for whoever she's seeing instead of me. Some ghost from Cosima's past that's more real to her right now than any of us.
I hold my hands up, keeping my voice as steady as I can manage. "Easy there, dollface. I'm not gonna hurt you."
The words feel hollow even as I say them. Why should she believe me? She doesn't even know who I am right now, and even if she did, what reason has anyone ever given her to trust an alpha's promise?
She's shaking now, the gun wavering between my chest and my head like she can't decide which would be the better target. Clearly that shooting lesson I gave her didn't stick. Behind me, I can feel the others tensing, ready to move if she pulls that trigger.
"Geo," Raven chokes out, voice strained with fear. "Be careful."
"What's it look like I'm doing?" I ask through my teeth, keeping my eyes trained on Cosima, who's at least looking at me now. Or at least through me.
"I'm sorry," I tell her, and I mean it.
Sorry for what I'm about to do.
Sorry for adding one more violation to what's clearly a long fucking list.
Raven realizes what I'm planning a second before I do it. "Geo, don't?—"
I hear a disbelieving gasp from Plague's direction. Clearly everyone thinks it's a stupid idea, and I can't say they're wrong. But we're running out of options.
But I'm already summoning that primal power, the one thing I've always found most distasteful about being an alpha. The "gift" I only use on motherfuckers who deserve it.
Until now.
"Give me the gun, Cosima."
The bark rips from my throat, commanding and absolute. Now that my life's the only one on the line, it's worth a shot, even if the odds of it working versus making her pull that trigger are about fifty fifty. Maybe worse.
Cosima's body goes rigid and her hollow eyes blow wide, as if I just shot her. Judging from her reaction, I think she might have preferred that. She resists at first, her whole body trembling as she fights against the compulsion, just like I knew she would.
That kind of control doesn't come automatically, not even with a will as strong and stubborn as hers. It's born of years of resistance. Of desperate fighting and clawing for agency, even if it's been utterly futile the last hundred times. A lesser alpha's bark might not have worked at all, but I've got years of practice keeping unruly, power hungry assholes in line.
It's hardly a fair fight. She fights it anyway, a few seconds longer than anyone ever has, before the gun finally slips from her delicate fingers. It falls to the floor with an anticlimactic clatter, and I kick it away before she can grab for it.
Then she collapses, and I catch her before she hits the ground. She's so fucking small and soft in my arms, all that attitude and fury wrapped in a layer of protective steel reduced to dead weight. I pull her against my chest, one hand cradling her head while the other strokes her silver hair.
"That's it. That's my good girl," I whisper into her hair, the words coming out without thought.
