"No." The answer came quickly, firmly. "But that doesn't answer my question."
I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "You're in no position to demand answers, yet here you are, doing exactly that. Interesting."
After another moment of hesitation, he reached out and placed his hand in mine. The contact sent a jolt through my system that I hadn't experienced in longer than I cared to remember. His hand was half the size of mine, the fingers long and slender, almost delicate compared to my thick, calloused ones.
I pulled him effortlessly to his feet, noting how light he felt, how easily I could lift him if necessary. He came up to just below my shoulder, forcing him to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. The height difference should have made him appear weaker, but instead, there was a defiance in his posture that my bear found utterly captivating.
"I'm Nicolai Aleksandrovich," I said, releasing his hand after perhaps a moment too long. "And you are?"
A mischievous grin crossed the man's lips. "You may call me Mishka."
"Mishka." Just the single name, offered hesitantly, and stealing the word I had given him. Whether it was his real name or not didn't matter for the moment.
I chuckled, liking that answer.
"Well, Mishka," I said, testing the name on my tongue. It fit him—a diminutive that suggested softness while hiding potential strength. "Perhaps you can explain how you made my phone move across my desk without touching it."
His eyes widened slightly. Ah, so he hadn't expected me to make that connection. I almost laughed. I'd been alive for over a century—very little escaped my notice.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he tried, though his heart rate spiked, giving away the lie.
"Let's not insult each other's intelligence," I replied, gesturing to one of the leather chairs positioned before my desk. "Please, sit."
He hesitated but eventually complied, perching on the edge of the chair as if ready to bolt at any moment. I moved around to my side of the desk, not sitting immediately but instead pouring two glasses of vodka from the crystal decanter on my credenza.
"Drink," I offered, placing one before him.
"I don't accept drinks from strangers," he said automatically.
Smart again. Cautious. I respected that.
"A reasonable policy," I acknowledged, returning to my chair without pushing the issue. "Though at this point, I'd say we're more... unorthodox acquaintances than strangers."
His gaze traveled around my office, taking in the details. I watched him catalog the expensive art pieces, the rare first-edition books meticulously arranged by author and publication date, the subtle security cameras disguised as decorative elements. Everything in perfect order, precisely placed. Nothing left to chance.
A reflection of its owner.
"This is quite the place," he commented, his finger tracing the edge of the untouched vodka glass. "Very... organized."
"I find disorder inefficient," I replied. "A century teaches you the value of precision."
He looked up sharply at that. "A century? What are you, a vampire?"
Now I did laugh, a short, rusty sound that seemed to surprise him as much as it did me. "No. Not a vampire."
"Then what—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind. I probably don't want to know."
"Probably not," I agreed, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the desk. The movement brought our faces closer, and I caught his scent again—that intoxicating blend that made my bear stir restlessly. "What I want to know is why Patty O'Rourke is so interested in a young man who can manipulate electronics without touching them."
His jaw tightened, and for a moment I thought he might deny it again. Instead, he surprised me. "Because he collects people like me," he said quietly. "People with... abilities. Uses them. Controls them."
"And what exactly can you do?" I pressed, genuinely curious now.
He hesitated, then reached out toward my desk phone. His fingers hovered over it, not quite touching, and the device suddenly lifted an inch off the surface, floating as if suspended in invisible water. After a moment, he let it drop back down with a soft thud.
Impressive. And valuable, certainly, in our increasingly electronic world. No wonder O'Rourke wanted him.
But that wasn't the only reason I found myself unwilling to let him leave. My bear was practically clawing at me from the inside, demanding that I keep this young man close, protected.
