Page 209 of Psycho Pack

"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 sidenotto 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.

Wedon'thave a choice.

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

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

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

IVY

Ilean back against the cool stone wall of the new temporary base's lounge, trying to get used to the white marble and gold filigree that seems to be everywhere in Surhiira. Even though this mine is outside the capital city, it's relentlessly beautiful.

Plague's aversion to concrete and steel definitely makes more sense now.

The carved marble walls should feel cold and sterile, but somehow, they don't. Maybe it's the way the gold filigree accents catch the soft lighting from the lanterns, or maybe it's just because my alphas are here with me, making any space feel like home.

Whiskey sprawls across one of the plush velvet couches, taking up way more space than necessary. He tried to get me to join him, but no matter how much he enticingly patted the cushion beside him to try to change my mind, I'm too nervous to sit down. He's still wearing his formal clothes from the club, though his jacket is unbuttoned and his tie is long gone. His partially dehorned mask dangles from a finger.

"All I'm saying is, we should've grabbed some of that rich people booze before we left," he says, continuing the debate he started with Plague a few minutes ago. "Your wine's fuckin' delicious, don't get me wrong, but that was the opportunity of a lifetime. Just one of those bottles was more than a soldier makes in a year."

"There wasn't exactly time for that," Plague replies dryly from where he's perched in an ornate armchair, his legs crossed in front of him. He’s replaced his mask with a scarf. "And I'm sure you were grossly underpaid when you were just a regular soldier."

I catch Wraith's eye from where he stands to my right, looming over me. He's still wearing his suit, too, but like Plague, he’s wearing a scarf instead of his masquerade mask. He notices me watching him and his eyes crinkle a little at the corners. His way of smiling.

I smile back to him and move a little closer. He snakes a strong arm around my waist, pulling me closer against his warmth as we look back to the great debate that's been keeping my mind occupied while we wait for Thane and Valek to return. I can tell everyone's on edge about them being off together without anyone else around, but I don't think Valek would screw us over.

Not since he started his groveling era.

"The fuck would you know about my salary, Your Highness?" Whiskey demands, but he doesn't actually seem angry. If anything, he seems to enjoy needling Plague about his royal status. They've been getting along better than usual lately. None of their bickering has much heat to it anymore.

"I know enough about Columbia to know they weren't exactly investing in soldier comfort," Plague says, examining his gloved hands with exaggerated interest. "Their fireworks budget was higher than that."

"Yeah, well..." Whiskey trails off, clearly unable to argue that point. "Still should've grabbed the booze."

I can't help but laugh a little. The bickering is a nice distraction. That's probably why the Ghosts do it all the time. "Pretty sure getting out with our leverage was more important than stealing alcohol," I muse.

"Speak for yourself, wildcat," he jokes with a grin, glancing over at me. "I got my priorities straight."

Wraith lets out a low rumble, his version of a laugh. It's good to see him somewhat relaxed again after what happened in the cell.

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