Page 127 of Unhinged Omega

"You're fucking lying," he finally whispers.

I let out a bitter laugh. "Seems like we're at a standoff then, doesn't it?"

Raven falls silent again, his gaze distant as he mulls over this new information. I can see the exact moment it really sinks in. His jaw clenches and he lifts his chin in a defiant little tilt.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "No, that's impossible. Someone as pure and elegant as Cosima could never be destined to be with such a…barbarian. It's a fate too cruel."

I can't help it. I throw my head back and laugh even though the movement sends fresh pain shooting through my back. It's worth it for the way Raven's face contorts with indignation.

"Pure?" I wheeze through my laughter. "Have you even met her? She's more of a psycho than either one of us."

And I mean it as a compliment. She's everything I never imagined an omega could be.

Raven's fists grip the bars that separate our cells. "I'll cut out your tongue if I ever hear you sullying her name like that again," he snarls.

"It was a compliment, you anthropomorphic feather boa."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means,fop."

"Mongrel!"

"Spoiled brat."

"Irradiated psychopath!"

"Neurotic whore!"

"Illegitimate mafia trash!"

That one hits harder than I'd like to admit. My lip curls back in a snarl, ready to remind him exactly who pulled him out of that brothel, who taught him everything he knows about survival. But before I can unleash the venom building on my tongue, the heavy door at the top of the stairs creaks open.

Raven and I exchange a look, an unspoken truce passing between us as footsteps echo down the concrete steps. We immediately fall back into old rules that haven't bound us for years, but still chafe against the thought of outsiders seeing us at each other's throats.

That's private.

Family business.

A tall man in a white doctor's coat I can only assume is the one who patched me up appears at the bottom of the stairs, medical bag in hand. He looks between us warily, no doubt sensing the tension in the air.

"Well," he says dryly, "at least you're both conscious this time."

"Ryefield," Raven says bitterly.

I take it they know each other.

I eye the doctor warily as he approaches my cell, keys jingling in his hand. He's tall and lanky, with graying hair at his temples and wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. The kind of guy who probably would have had a cushy job in some fancy hospital before the world went to shit. Instead, he's patching up criminals in an underground dungeon.

Funny how life works out.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his tone clinical as he unlocks my cell door.

"Like I've been shot in the back," I drawl. "Twice."

He gives me an unimpressed look as he kneels beside me, pulling various instruments from his bag. "Your sense of humor remains intact, I see. That's a good sign."

"I aim to please," I say with a sharp grin. "Speaking of aiming, where's your boss? Still nursing his wounded pride after shooting a man who was walking away from him?"

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