His eyes widen. “W—what?”
“Where the fuck is he?”
“I…don’t know. Your grandmother sent me. I wasn’t meant to be here. I mean, I—” He falters.
“Hm.” I turn that over as I push myself up, the world tilting. I recognize the molding on the ceiling. My breath hitches. I haven't set foot in this room since Lev and I fled eight years ago,the night the air in this estate turned to poison. Now, Sergei has dragged me back to my childhood bed like a disobedient toy. I could break the IV and use the pole to find a way out, but I’m too weak to make it past the door. For now, the nurse is the only leverage I have.
“Hang on… wait.” Jonah’s already moving. “You shouldn’t walk alone. You need the bathroom? Let me help you.” He slips my arm over his shoulder and pulls me upright. “Here, lean on me.”
Every muscle in my back screams as he pulls me upright. My knees are a joke, but I force my weight onto them, refusing to let my body betray the name I carry. I lock my jaw, refusing to collapse against him, but the heat of his body is an intrusion I can't ignore. He’s too close. I can smell the antiseptic on his skin and the faint, sharp scent of his sweat. It makes my stomach knot with a hunger that isn't about food.
The IV pole stands beside the bed, the line taped to my hand. I curl my fingers around the tubing and start to pull, growling, “I can go by my fucking self.”
“Stop.” His hand closes around my wrist. “Please. You’ll tear it out and I’ll have to redo it. It might hurt.” I look at his hand. Then at him. “If you pull it loose, you’ll bleed all over your sheets. And then I’ll have to explain it to your grandmother. I’d rather not.”
He offers his arm again. I grind my jaw and let him take more of my weight than I want to give. Pain flares under my ribs as we move toward the bathroom. Whatever the fuck happened to me, it hurts. I won’t fucking fall in front of him.
“If you need anything, just tell me.” Jonah adjusts his grip, then steps back fast. “I’ll be right outside.” He swallows, his cheeks flushed.
“Get the fuck out of the bathroom.”
“Sure. Yes. Sorry.” He backs toward the door.
I brace a hand on the cold tile and piss. Every muscle in my back aches. I wash my hands and splash cold water on my face until my vision steadies. Someone tried to kill me. The gown clings to my chest, damp with cold sweat. A reminder of how close the bullet came to my heart. I don’t know who pulled the trigger yet, but the list is long. Whoever it was made a mistake. They left me breathing.
By the time I’ve dried my hands, my knees are wobbling. I leave the bathroom slowly, jaw locked, determined to make it back on my own. Then the room sways.
“Don’t,” I bark as Jonah grabs my arm. “I’ve got it.”
“You don’t. And that’s okay.” He works fast, sliding my arm over his shoulder.
I want to tell him to shut the fuck up, but my throat is too dry and the pain too sharp. Instead, I let him help me back to the bed and against the pillows, breathing through the agony and hating how much I need the support.
“Okay,” Jonah says softly. “One final check before I let you rest.” His hand settles at my waist, careful around the bandage.
He’s close enough now that I get a proper look at him. He’s too clean for this place. Blond hair, blue eyes, and skin that looks like it’s never seen a day of real violence. Faint freckles dust the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, looking like a map I want to crush under my thumb. He keeps his focus on the bandage, but I can feel his hands shaking. He’s a lamb standing in a slaughterhouse, and he doesn’t even know the blade is already at his throat.
“Do you need something?” When Jonah finally looks up, he pinches his eyebrows when he catches me already staring. “Water, medicine, anything. I can get it… well, that’s what I’m here for. To help you survive.”
He looks innocent, but I’m still deciding what he is. If Babushka put him here, he isn't safe. I don’t trust anyone in thishouse, especially not a stranger with access to my IV line while I sleep. I watch his lips as he speaks, and the heat in my groin is an arrogant throb. He’s mine to break. I want to see how long he can look me in the eye before he realizes he’s already been claimed.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I feel is pressure at my wrist. My eyes snap open, hand searching for my dagger under the pillow. Nothing. Of fucking course.
“What the hell’s going on?” I grunt. My voice sounds wrecked.
“Nothing,” Jonah says quickly. His fingers are already on my pulse. Then his hand moves to my forehead. “You’re burning up again. I’m going to push something through your line. It’ll help bring the fever down.”
“Mmh,” I mutter. My eyes slide shut again. Cool spreads through my arm, dragging my body down with it. I’m aware of Jonah staying close. Too close. His hand rests at my upper arm. Then higher. Fingers at my throat. Down toward my chest.
“Don’t fall asleep, Viktor. Your body needs to strengthen up. Let’s get you something to eat, then you can sleep again. Here.”
The rim of a cup presses to my lips. I swallow. The water burns going down. Jonah pulls it back, his eyes flicking to the door before settling on me.
“Why are we locked in?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.
My jaw tightens. “Because I should have been dead.” The lock keeps the world out as much as it keeps us in. It buys me the time I need to stop being a target and start being a hunter again.
He lets out a dry, nervous chuckle. “Ah, so they wanted you dead?—”
