Whiskey's arm is still locked around my throat, his bicep pressing against my windpipe. He's trying to pop my head off like a fucking champagne cork. But even he pauses, his grip loosening just enough for me to suck in a partial breath.
Then I see Raven take off running toward the sound like his ass is on fire.
"Are you seriously abandoning me in the middle of a fucking fight?" I roar after him, my voice rough from Whiskey's chokehold.
But that's what Raven does, isn't it? He runs. Always has. Left me years ago without a backward glance, and now he's doing it again. Some patterns never fucking change.
I drive my elbow back into Whiskey's gut with everything I've got. He lets out a wheeze and his grip loosens just enough for me to wrench free and leap up onto the cliff face, my boots finding purchase on the rocky outcropping.
"Hey, I wasn't finished kicking your ass!" Whiskey bellows from below, still catching his breath from having it driven out of his lungs.
"In your dreams, government mutt!" I snarl back, already hauling myself up past a startled Plague who looks like he can't decide whether to grab me or get out of my way.
Smart man chooses the latter.
My muscles burn as I scale the cliff, but I've climbed worse in worse condition. The wasteland doesn't coddle weakness, and neither do I. By the time I reach the top, my hands are scraped raw and my shoulder's screaming from where one of Whiskey's punches connected earlier, but I barely notice.
Because there's Raven, frozen like a statue about twenty yards ahead.
I follow his line of sight and slump with relief. Cosima's there, conscious and on her feet. Not fully there—I can see it in the way she sways slightly, the unfocused glaze in those violet eyes—but alive. Standing.
That's when I notice what's wrong with this picture.
Geo's got his gun at his side, looking around like he's scanning the trees for something. It takes me a second to realize why he's not aiming at Thane. The Ghost looks like he's been on the wrong end of a beating. No weapon that I can see. Raven's aim keeps shifting between Thane and whatever Geo's looking forhidden in the trees and cliffs, and considering everyone else is present and accounted for, that means…
Valek.
The psychotic bastard is well hidden, would've missed him if I wasn't looking for threats. White clothes blend with the pale bark of the dead palms and stone, that rifle of his catching just enough sunlight to give away his position.
"Put the gun down," I snarl, raising my weapon to aim at Valek's position. "We've got you surrounded."
Valek's laugh echoes off the rocks, that manic jackal sound that makes my skin crawl. "Oh, Nikolai. Still playing the hero? How unlike you." His voice carries that singsong quality that means someone's about to die. Usually messily. "I've been watching long enough to know our one-eyed friend's gun is empty. And while pretty boy there could probably shoot Thane about as fast as I could shoot any of you..." He pauses, letting the threat hang. "You're not quite fast enough, are you?"
I grind my teeth hard enough to crack. Hate that he's right. Raven's always been the faster draw between us. So is Valek, the slippery fuck. My specialty is brute force and tactical planning, not quick-draw contests.
Behind me, I hear Plague and Whiskey scrambling up the cliff. Once they catch up, we'll be outnumbered three to five, and Valek will call my bluff faster than I can blink.
"Let the omega walk away," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the rage boiling beneath the surface, "and we can settle this like men."
Another of those skin-crawling laughs. "There's only one omega I'm willing to fuck myself over for," Valek says. "And she's safe at home."
"Hopefully," Thane mutters under his breath, and even from here I can see the way Valek's eyes narrow at that single word.
I catch Raven's gaze, and an understanding passes between us. Years of fighting side by side, of knowing each other's moves before we make them. He's going to take the shot at Valek, switching his aim from Thane to where I've got the psycho pinpointed. We don't have any other options. Not good ones, anyway.
Not unless Knight hurries the fuck up. Is he still fighting Wraith? I hate that I'm almost worried about him.
Shit, I'm getting soft.
Raven's eyes flick toward Valek's position, the movement so subtle anyone else would miss it. But I know him. Know how he thinks, how he moves, how he?—
"Enough! Everyone stand down. That includes you, Valek.
Plague's voice cuts through the air like a blade, commanding and absolute. The prince may be disheveled, with blood on his face and a dislocated shoulder, but he still carries himself like royalty.
Valek's head snaps toward him, disbelief written across his sharp features. "You can't be serious."
But Plague is already moving forward, Whiskey right behind him. They both look rough, but there's something in Plague's expression that makes my trigger finger itch.
