"No, we photosynthesize and occasionally feed on the tears of IT professionals," I deadpanned. "Of course we eat. My ability doesn't change my biology."
He nodded as if I'd confirmed a theory. "How does it work? Your ability."
I watched him place a pot on the stove, adding ingredients with measured movements. "Why do you want to know? Trying to figure out if I'm worth whatever trouble O'Rourke is going to cause you?"
"Curiosity," he replied simply. "In my long life, I've encountered various supernatural abilities, but electronic manipulation is new to me."
I drummed my fingers on the counter, debating how much to reveal. "It's like... hearing a conversation in another room.Most people know there's something electronic around them, but they can't really sense it. I can. Not just sense it, but join the conversation. Redirect it."
"Fascinating." He sounded genuinely interested as he stirred the pot on the stove. "And is it limited to direct contact or can you affect systems from a distance?"
"Trying to figure out if I can disable your security from the guest bedroom?" I smirked. "Depends on the system and how complex it is. Simple things, further away. Complicated things need more focus, closer proximity."
Nicolai nodded, then moved to a bread box on the counter. He extracted a loaf of what looked like dark rye and began slicing it with practiced efficiency. Each slice was perfectly even, arranged on a wooden board with the same precision I imagined he applied to organizing his criminal enterprises.
"So you're harboring a fugitive now?" I challenged, watching him work. "Doesn't seem like standard crime boss protocol."
His dark eyes flicked up to mine, then lingered on my lips just long enough to send an unexpected warmth through my chest. "Nothing about this situation is standard."
The way he said it—low and rumbling—made me swallow hard. I was suddenly very aware of the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders as he reached for bowls in an overhead cabinet. The fabric strained against muscles that hadn't come from a gym membership, but from a lifetime of... whatever bear shifter crime bosses did to stay in shape.
Mauling rivals?
Forest cardio?
Focus, Mishka. This is not the time to admire the physique of the predator who's currently making you dinner.
But it was difficult not to notice. Especially when he moved around the island to place a steaming bowl of borscht in front of me, the rich aroma making my mouth water instantly. The soupwas a deep burgundy, topped with a dollop of sour cream that slowly melted into the heat. Beside it, he placed the board with slices of dark bread.
"Eat," he instructed, his voice softer than his command suggested.
I didn't need to be told twice. The first spoonful nearly made me groan aloud—rich, savory, with layers of flavor I couldn't begin to identify. I tried to eat slowly, to maintain some dignity, but hunger won out over pride.
Nicolai sat across from me with his own bowl, watching me with an intensity that should have been uncomfortable but somehow wasn't. I noticed his nostrils flare slightly whenever I shifted position, as if he was cataloging my scent. The bear, I realized, was always present, just beneath the surface.
"Good?" he asked, though my rapid consumption had already answered the question.
"It's edible," I conceded, then added more honestly, "It's actually amazing. Did they have culinary school a century ago or is this a skill you picked up between territorial disputes and whatever else bear shifter crime bosses do?"
He looked amused. "My mother taught me, before I was turned."
That pulled me up short. "Turned? You weren't born a bear shifter?"
"No." His expression closed slightly. "That's a story for another time."
I tore off a piece of bread, using it to sop up more soup. "Fine, keep your origin story to yourself. But you still haven't explained why you're helping me. What's your angle?"
"Does there need to be an angle?" he countered.
"In my experience, yes," I replied flatly. "Nobody does anything without expecting something in return. Especially not people in your... profession."
Nicolai set down his spoon, fixing me with that intense gaze. "Perhaps I simply find the idea of O'Rourke adding your abilities to his collection distasteful."
"Professional rivalry, then?" I raised an eyebrow.
"In part," he admitted. "O'Rourke is... problematic. His methods lack finesse."
I snorted. "Unlike your refined approach to organized crime?"
