Page 18 of Truth or Lie

Alex

IT HAD BEEN absolutelyvital that I get the hell away from the guesthouse during Leona’s heat. Fortunately, there were other distractions available—and Nikolayev’s main house had something like four dozen bedrooms, so finding an empty one wasn’t difficult.

Unfortunately, the most pressing distraction involved an official visit from a Belarusian official and his retinue. This wouldn’t have been a problem, in and of itself. We needed potential allies on the world stage.Desperately. The problem—if you could call it that—was that this particular Belarusian official happened to be the mate Irina had used to replace me... and she was here, too.

Mate wasn’t the right word. They were married, beta-style, and the very idea made my skin crawl. She’d offered herself up as afucking bribe, in order to cement a political alliance. The moment I learned the details, I wanted to kill Dzimitry Polonsky on sight.

He was the People's Commissariat for Social Welfare, a member of the Council of Commissars on the Soviet end of the Euro-Soviet Confederacy. In other words, he was a big deal in international politics, and he was in a position to help our cause immensely.

Ripping Dzimitry Polonsky’s spine out through his ass because he’d laid hands on my former mate would not be a smart move. Beckett would look at me with dire disappointment, and Nikolayev would probably have me hauled in front of a firing squad or something. On the positive side, behaving civilly toward the man was exactly the kind of psychological self-flagellation I currently craved.

I stood against the far wall of the room like the leashed guard dog I was—spine straight, hands clasped behind my back. The fingers of my left hand ached in time with my heartbeat. I must have been clenching the muscles unconsciously—what a shock. Against another wall, Polonsky’s two-man security team watched me impassively.

I’d found it interesting that Nikolayev would allow armed security into his private sanctum. I assumed that meant he trusted his Belarusian ally. Or maybe it was meant as a demonstration of power and confidence. If Polonsky turned on his host, the presence of two security grunts wouldn’t prevent him from ending up as a blood smear on the wall when Nikolayev’s private army stormed in.

Without my permission, my thoughts wandered back to the guesthouse, and what was no doubt taking place inside. I wondered if my idiot alefs were mated yet. With an irritated internal headshake, I yanked my attention back to my surroundings.

“I believe the risk involved with a small gathering of officials in Belarus is outweighed by the potential benefits,” Polonsky was saying. “Chancellor Shevchenko will certainly attend, and I suspect he can bring others on board from Poland and Hungary.”

Shevchenko was the Ukrainian official that Nikolayev’s omega sister had married under a new identity after Nikolayev fake-murdered her when she was a teenager... because apparently selling female omegas into political marriages was a thing this family did with some regularity.

Nikolayev sat back and tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the polished surface of the massive table. “I agree,” he said at length. “It is time to bring our shadow alliance into the light, if only to normalize the idea that some countries are open to change.”

“To breaking publicly with the Committee, you mean,” Polonsky said in a dry tone. “Though what that even means these days is something of an open question, now that you’ve eviscerated half of it.”

Nikolayev didn’t react, beyond the flicker of a gray eyebrow. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, Commissariat. All organizations evolve. The Euro-Soviet Committee has merely evolved to see the error of its ways.”

“Leaving a trail of dead officials and destroyed careers in its wake, yes,” Polonsky agreed. Irina, seated across from him, failed to stifle a soft snort. I stared at the back of her head, trying to dissect the omega-shaped hole in my mind. I had the distinct impression that if I were somehow magically given the power to plug my former mate back into that hole, she would no longer fit. The idea was disconcerting.

“Evolution is seldom kind to the unfit,” Nikolayev was saying. “Very well. I agree in principle to a regional conference where we will discuss ways to move forward within a new framework of laws and treaties.”

Polonsky wove his fingers together, leaning forward on his elbows. “And may we expect the presence of your new spokesperson at this conference? I must say, she’s been garnering quite a bit of attention in the worldwide media over the past few months.”

I perked up. Bringing Leona and Kameron out of hiding and onto the world stage had always been a part of the plan, but the timetable for doing so hadn’t been finalized until now.

“Yes,” Nikolayev said. “One can hardly have a meaningful dialogue about the future of alphomic policy without the presence of alphomic individuals.” His gray gaze moved to Irina.

“Indeed. What a groundbreaking concept,” Polonsky said, with the deadpan air of someone who was in on a private joke.

“What about the security considerations?” Irina asked, all business.

Again, I prodded at the gap inside me where the roots of our bond had been torn out, trying to find the pain. It was there, throbbing in time with the bone-deep scars crisscrossing my left hand—but I no longer had the sense that it could be eased by trying to force things back the way they had been before Irina’s arrest. I wasn’t entirely certain what that meant.

Nikolayev caught my eye and summoned me to the table with a sharp jerk of his chin. I forced a mask of professionalism into place and joined the discussion of how best to keep anyone from getting killed, filling in for Beckett as best I could until Nikolayev and I could consult him directly, inside his posh bedroom prison.

* * *

Afterward, DzimitryPolonsky intercepted me before I could slip away.

“Monsielle Alex, if I might have a word?” he asked in French, using the non-gendered honorific that had once been preferred for addressing unaligned alphas and omegas.

I paused, caught off guard. “Of course, Commissariat Polonsky,” I replied in the same language, uncomfortably aware of my earlier gut reaction urging me to wring his beta neck.

Irina watched the exchange intently, but she made no move to join us as Polonsky indicated a door leading to an anteroom off the main conference room. Interestingly, neither did the two security goons—although they were wearing the perfectly blank expressions common to paid guards everywhere who thought their charges were about to do something utterly foolhardy.

Being somewhat familiar with the experience, I could relate.

Nikolayev hadn’t missed the exchange either. His expression warned me not to do anything that would endanger the delicate web of diplomacy he’d been weaving. I steeled myself not to react to any potential provocation from Polonsky, desperately hoping this wasn’t going to involve some sort of beta breast-beating over the ownership of a woman.

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