"Then I guess we should head to your bedroom," I said, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere closer to breathless anticipation. "Round two awaits."
His answering smile was slow and predatory, full of promise and just the right amount of danger. Without another word, he carried me through the door and down the hallway toward his master bedroom, where I had no doubt the electronics were about to have another very bad, very good night.
Chapter Six
~ Nicolai ~
I opened my eyes before the sun fully crested the horizon, my body attuned to the rhythm of dawn after a century of life. Beside me, Mishka's sleeping form radiated warmth that called to my bear, urging me to stay, to curl around his smaller frame and protect what was mine.
I resisted the impulse, though every instinct rebelled against leaving him alone after what had happened last night. The evidence of his power was all around us—digital clocks blinking 12:00, the security panel by the door cycling through its reboot sequence, the lingering smell of ozone mixed with our scents.
My bear rumbled in protest as I carefully extracted myself from the tangled sheets. Mishka didn't stir, his breathing remaining deep and even. Good. He needed rest after expending so much energy.
I stood beside the bed, studying him in the soft golden light filtering through the half-drawn curtains. His dark hair fell across his forehead, making him appear younger, almost innocent, but I knew better.
The power that had surged through him last night, shorting out every electronic device in the building, spoke of something extraordinary, something that made him both vulnerable and dangerous.
His face in sleep was unguarded, a stark contrast to the wary expression he typically wore. The sharp angles of his cheekbones softened, his lips slightly parted. A bruise darkened the skin just below his collarbone—my mark, my claim.
The bear in me rumbled with satisfaction.
I hadn't meant for last night to happen. When I'd offered him protection from O'Rourke's hunters, I'd intended to keepmy distance, to treat him as I would any asset under my care. Professional. Detached.
Then he'd looked at me with those defiant eyes, challenging me even as he stood in my territory, and something primitive had awakened inside me.
The aftermath of our passion was evident throughout the room. Besides the reset electronics, several lightbulbs had shattered at the height of his pleasure.
The security camera in the corner hung useless, its circuitry fried. Even my phone—military-grade and supposedly EMP-proof—had died and restarted itself twice.
I moved silently to the bathroom, my reflection in the mirror revealing what I already felt—the lingering intensity in my eyes, the slight reddening of my skin where his fingers had gripped with surprising strength.
I switched on the shower, adjusting the temperature before stepping under the spray. Hot water cascaded over my shoulders, but it did nothing to wash away the memory of his touch or the persistent concern gnawing at my gut.
O'Rourke wanted him. Badly. And now I understood why.
The bear inside me growled at the thought, possessive and protective in equal measure. Mine, it insisted. Ours to protect.
But the man—the syndicate leader who had survived a century by making calculated decisions—recognized the danger Mishka represented not just to my enemies, but potentially to me and everything I'd built.
I shut off the water with more force than necessary, the pipes groaning in protest. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I returned to the bedroom to find Mishka had shifted in his sleep, one arm now stretched across the space I had occupied.
Something tightened in my chest at the sight.
Fool, I chided myself. A century of existence, and you're acting like a lovesick boy.
I dressed quickly in a charcoal suit, the familiar routine grounding me. As I adjusted my cufflinks—platinum bears, a gift from Yuri decades ago—my gaze drifted back to Mishka.
He would need clothes when he woke. The ones he'd arrived in were torn and bloodstained, and what he'd worn last night was... no longer suitable.
From my closet, I selected a soft black sweater and dark lounge pants. I figured he could synch them at the waist and roll up the bottoms. They would be too large for his leaner frame, but they were the closest match I could provide.
I placed them carefully at the foot of the bed, then moved to my desk and withdrew a sheet of heavy stationery embossed with my family crest.
The pen felt awkward in my hand as I considered what to write. A century of existence and I couldn't recall the last time I'd left a morning-after note. Most of my liaisons were transactional, fleeting things that required no explanation or follow-up.
But Mishka was different. The way his power had flared last night, the way he'd looked at me with equal parts desire and suspicion—he was unlike anyone I'd encountered in my long life.
Clothes for you. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Stay in the apartment.
