Jonah swallows, feeling warm against me. “Okay.”
Good.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
JONAH
Ever since the pelmeni lesson,Lev and I have been cooking together more often. Viktor allows it, but he doesn’t like it. That much is clear. I love that he doesn’t. I love that it shows. It makes me feel desired, as ridiculous as that might sound.
Part of me knows I need to go back to my old life soon. Or what’s left of it. I don’t know if the hospital will take me back and accept my excuses for the absence. I don’t know if the landlord has already rented out my trailer to some other pathetic fool. My hospital badge is still buried in the pocket of my sweats. It's a hard rectangle I keep pretending isn’t there.
Whenever Viktor asks for me, some part of me braces for an ending. I keep expecting to hear that whatever this is was temporary. A mistake he’s finally naming. But then I look at his sleeping face. I feel his possessive arm around my waist and the ache of his claim from the night before. I know I don’t want to leave. I wish things were different, but I’m already addicted to the weight of him.
Today I decided to redecorate the Winter Room. After washing the old furniture and wiping off the dust, I let the place air out. It’s all pale light and cold floors, with large windows thatoverlook the garden. We never really had a garden where I grew up, but I think I might have a green thumb. I’m thinking of the garden when a soft knock lands on the door.
Sasha peeks in, respectful as always. “Viktor asked me to bring you upstairs.”
“Now?”
“Da. You coming?” Sasha steps back to give me space.
“Sure.”
My chest tightens while a physical weight is settling behind my ribs. This is it. The moment I’ve been dreading. This is where he’ll tell me he doesn’t need a nurse anymore. Where he can stand on his own. He’s reclaiming his throne, and I’m just the man who patched the holes in his skin.
With one longing glance at the garden, I follow Sasha out. We walk the stairs in silence and stop outside one of the smaller rooms near Viktor’s bedroom.
“He’s waiting for you.” She leaves without another word.
I push the door open. Viktor is practicing with his blades. They’re laid out neatly on a table with the edges aligned with obsessive care. A target board is tied to the wall. Several knives are already buried in it, their handles vibrating faintly.
When I walk in, he doesn’t look up. He throws a dagger. It hits the very center. The clean sound of the impact goes straight through me. Precision. Control. Things I don’t have. Things he possesses with a lethal grace.
“Come in, krasavchik.”
He takes another knife, resets his stance, and throws again. It lands clean beside the first. I clear my throat, suddenly unsure where to stand. The nervousness clenches my chest. Viktor plucks a knife from the board and turns at last, the blade loose in his grip.
“I’ve been thinking of taking you out.”
My heart jumps straight into my throat. That’s the end of it. He watches my face closely, a slow smile tugging at his mouth as if he can smell my fear.
“You’re a nurse.” He pivots and throws the knife without looking. The blade sinks dead-center again. “You have a job. Responsibilities.” He glances back over his shoulder, one eyebrow lifting. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d rather keep you inside this house. Preferably tied up in my bed.”
Heat floods south instantly. My cheeks burn. Viktor rolls another blade between his fingers, moving slower this time. “But I know what it’s like to be locked up.” The knife stills. His gaze sharpens on me. “I didn't like it. Did you?”
I hesitate because I don't want to go. I really don't. But he expects agreement. He expects strength. I don’t want to sound needy or weak. “No.”
My chest tightens immediately. I’m bracing for dismissal, for the moment where he decides I’m more trouble than I’m worth. Instead, Viktor studies me for a beat. He nods once, like he already knew.
“You’ll be guarded non-stop.” His hand settles at my waist, grounding me. “But you’ll also need to learn how to fight.”
My breath stutters before I can stop it. Viktor steps in close and pulls me flush against him, my back pressing into the cold edge of the table. Colder steel is just inches from my hip. His body cages me in, solid and unyielding. I am surrounded by things that can kill me, and yet my body is humming, leaning into the danger.
“Come here, krasavchik.”
The command leaves no room to hesitate. He nudges my chin up with two fingers and reaches for a blade. “Take the training blade.” He places it in my hand. It’s heavier than I expect. The handle is smooth, balanced in a way that makes my wrist adjust instinctively.
