I stepped into the courtyard, feeling the hush of the snowfall press against the glass overhead. The air smelled like pine and there was a faintly floral aroma pumping from the heated vents hidden in the floor beneath my feet.
I wasn’t alone.
Viktor Dragunov stood at the far end, one shoulder propped against the railing, a cigarette tucked between two fingers as he watched the snow fall like it owed him money. Thin ribbons of smoke curled up against the glass, blurring the view of the city behind him. He looked even taller here, framed by soft lantern light and drifting flakes, the ember at the end of his cigarette flaring every time he took a slow drag. His smirk, when it appeared, was slow and annoyingly confident.
“Stalking me already?” I asked, folding my arms.
He pushed off the railing. “Coincidence. Revenant put me in the room next to yours.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Convenient.”
“Convenience is nice,” he said with a shrug. “Most of the time.”
I should have walked away. I should have gone back inside and shut the balcony door, but his presence lingered in the air, warm and irritating and impossible to ignore. He was the kind of man who took up too much space just by breathing.
“You’re angry,” he brilliantly surmised.
“Observant.”
“You don’t like partners.”
“No.”
“You especially don’t like partners you didn’t personally vet.”
I paused. Then sighed. “No.”
He grinned like he’d already won some argument I hadn’t even started. “Don’t worry,kotenok. I don’t take it personally. Women get flustered around me all the time.”
I knew enough Russian to know what he’d called me, and I raised my chin, unimpressed.
Kitten.
I was no one’s kitten, least of all his.
I stared at him, unmoved. “It’s remarkable how quickly you can reduce your own credibility.”
He laughed, low and warm. “See? I knew there was fire under all that ice.”
“Ice preserves.”
“Fire makes them do interesting things,” he countered.
Annoyingly, he had a point.
He stepped closer, not nearly enough to crowd me but enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. The lantern light caught in his blue eyes, turning them a shade deeper. His voice softened, dropping into a tone too smooth for my comfort.
“You’re stiff,” he spoke quietly, almost crooning. “Too serious. Like you’ve forgotten what it’s like to breathe.”
“I breathe just fine.”
“Sure,” he said. “But when’s the last time you did it for yourself? Not for a mission. Not for a cause. Just because you wanted to?”
I hated him for asking that. I hated the way the question tugged at a part of me buried under duty and grief. I hated the warmth that spread through my stomach at the sound of his voice.
“I know your type,” he added.
“Of course you do.” I lifted my chin again. “Do enlighten me.”
