Page 234 of Unhinged Omega

I force my attention back to the book. Stay detached. Stay focused. I've spent too many years clawing my way out from under Nikolai's shadow to get pulled back into his orbit now. Even if watching him burn with fever makes my chest ache in a way I refuse to acknowledge.

My contacts better come through soon. Finding this Azarel character is proving more challenging than expected, and I'm running out of time. Forty-eight hours seemed generous when I made the deal with Cosima, but I'm down to less than twelve now, and I still have nothing concrete to show for it.

I can't lose her.

Not when I've only just found her.

Nikolai groans in his sleep, shifting restlessly beneath the tangled sheets. He's been like this for hours. Delirious mumbling interspersed with bouts of agitated movement. Most of it's been incoherent—curses and snatches of Vrissian that I only half understand.

But I've caught her name.

Cosima.

Over and over, like a prayer or a curse. Sometimes followed by bitter ramblings about mating with a monster.

Sour grapes, as far as I can tell. He can't stand that another alpha got to her before he could. Typical. Nikolai always did hate losing, especially when it comes to what he considershis.

I'm about to turn the page when he speaks again, clearer this time.

"Raven."

My name on his lips stops me cold. Not shouted in anger or sneered in contempt, but soft. Almost... tender. Like he used to say it, before everything shattered between us.

The book slips from my fingers.

I'm on my feet before I realize what I'm doing, moving to the bedside on instinct. His face has changed. The feverish flush is fading, his features more relaxed than they've been since we dragged him in here.

I press my palm to his forehead.

Clammy, but cooler. The fever's broken.

Relief crashes through me with such force it makes my legs feel like they've turned into jelly. I hate that I still care. Hate that after everything, some part of me still can't bear the thought of a world without Nikolai Vlakov in it.

His eyes fly open, gunmetal gray and suddenly alert. Before I can react, his hand shoots out and locks around my wrist like an iron manacle. With one powerful tug, he yanks me down onto the bed, his other arm wrapping around my waist to flip our positions.

My back hits the mattress, Nikolai's weight pinning me down, one of my knees wedged between his legs. His face is inches from mine, eyes wild and unfocused—well, one eye at least. His prosthetic remains unchanged, that cold gunmetal gray, while his natural eye's pupil is blown wide, nearly solid black.

I freeze, heart hammering in my chest. But I don't panic. I know this dance too well. It's not about me. It's hardwired fight or flight, the survival instinct of a man who's never slept easily. Who fully expects a friend to turn enemy and put a bullet in his skull while he sleeps. I've seen it a hundred times before, back when we shared quarters on the road.

He growls, low and dangerous, pressing me harder into the mattress. His grip tightens on my wrists, and there's somethingferal in his expression that sends an unwelcome heat spiraling through my body. Despite everything—despite knowing better—my pulse quickens for entirely different reasons than survival.

Dammit. I hate my body sometimes.

Then his free hand flies up to his prosthetic eye, and he comes back to himself instantly. I can tell from the way his pupil shrinks down a fraction. It's just enough that I don't think he's going to tear my throat out with those sharp canines.

I roll my eyes. "Relax. We didn't take your eye out. Knew you'd be pissed about that."

Something in his expression shifts. Relief, quickly masked by his usual stoicism. It's almost comical how self-conscious he still is about it, even after all these years. The mighty Nikolai Vlakov, terror of the wastes, worried about his appearance.

It pisses me off all over again that he took Geo's eye, especially since I'm pretty sure Geo's situation is worse.

And for what? Because Geo made some crack about Nikolai's eye when they were trying to kill each other and Nikolai thought it would be more fun to leave him alive but maimed?

Typical alpha posturing bullshit.

"Nikolai," I say, keeping my voice steady. "It's me. Raven. You're safe."

I watch the haze clear from his wild gaze, reality seeping back in. Recognition dawns, followed immediately by something that might be embarrassment if I didn't know better. He releases me abruptly, rolling off to the side.

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