I'm shaking. Fear knots low in my stomach. Then Petrov steps in close. “Sedate him.”
“No,” I say. “Please?—”
Viktor bucks hard enough that two men stagger. “Jonah,” he snaps. “Stay the fuck away from him!”
Petrov already has the syringe ready. “This is containment, Viktor. Nothing personal, young bear. You need to sleep until further notice.”
The needle goes in.
Viktor roars. His body jerks violently. It takes four men to pin him, their combined weight barely holding against the force of him.
“Hold him. He needs to learn that he doesn't keep his toys when he is this weak.”
They do. I watch as Viktor's strength starts to fail in uneven pulls. His breathing stutters. His head drops back.
“Jonah,” he manages. “Stay?—”
His legs give. They drag him to the bed and force him down. He struggles once more, furious, then stills. Petrov watches his chest, counting.
“He's under. Take him back to bed.” He gives me a leery wink. “Stay by his side, pretty nurse.”
Sokolov grins. “Check his stitches when he wakes up. If they aren't holding, it's on your head.”
They leave. The door locks. Viktor lies still. I reach the bed and take his hand. His fingers twitch, then curl around mine. He's barely conscious but still holding on.
“Stay,” he murmurs.
My chest caves in. “I'm here.”
I watch him finally go quiet. In some unexplainable way, I already miss him the moment his eyes slip shut. The room feels empty without the heat of his stare.
They needed restraints, bodies in the doorway, and a syringe pressed into his neck. I sit there shaking, holding his hand, trying to breathe in a house that suddenly feels smaller.
CHAPTER
NINE
VIKTOR
I didn't sleepmuch after last night.
My body won't move right. My arms and legs feel slow, thick with heat like I've been lying here too long. The world is still a grey, sluggish blur from whatever Petrov pumped into me, but I force my body to move anyway, overriding the chemical fog with the singular need to see him break.
I blink, exhausted before my eyes fully open. The ceiling blurs. A line of light cuts across it. I can't tell if it’s morning or if I lost a day. I curl my fingers into a fist. The movement lags. I'm still here. They didn't kill me.
They should’ve killed me.
Jonah lies on top of the blanket, curled toward me with his knees drawn up. His head is resting against my ribs. One hand is tucked near my stomach, gripping a folded cloth. He stayed close. He chose the heat of my bed over the safety of the chair across the room.
The room smells different. Clean. The sharp trace of blood is gone. My skin feels stripped of grit, touched by water and cloth. I don't have to think long to understand what happened. He washed me while I was under. Changed the dressings. Kept working while the drugs shut me down.
That should bother me. Instead, it registers as a fact. Something to file away. He couldn't leave, but he didn't stop either. According to my logic, that makes him mine.
Settling my hand on his shoulder, I feel the muscle shift. He breathes against my ribs and curls in tighter before he wakes. Then his whole body goes rigid. His breath changes.
“Vik...” He cuts himself off, eyes opening wide, a smile breaking through before he can stop it. “You’re awake. I thought you...”
He pushes up too quickly, the blanket sliding off his shoulder to expose a strip of skin. My gaze locks on the curve of his shoulder before he can pull the tee back in place. His face colors as he scrambles upright. “Never mind. You’re awake. Good. Wait, there’s food. Let me get it for you.”
