Ivan. His broad back and shoulders were tense as he studied whatever was in front of him, occasionally making notes. The light caught in his dark hair, highlighting strands of chestnut I hadn’t noticed before.
I tried to speak, but my throat felt like I’d swallowed broken glass. All that I got out was a pathetic croak. Still, it was enough to make him snap up and turn around.
His eyes met mine across the room, and something flickered in their depths—relief, perhaps? He rose immediately, moved across the room with that predatory grace that seemed so natural to him.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “How do you feel?”
I sat up, but before I could answer, a wave of nausea crashed over me so violently, I couldn’t even warn him. Mybody convulsed, and I barely managed to turn my head before retching over the side of the bed.
Nothing came up—my stomach was empty—but the spasms continued, painful and humiliating. I closed my eyes, mortified that he was seeing me like this, so pathetically vulnerable.
“Bathroom,” I gasped between heaves. “Please.”
“No,” Ivan said firmly. “You’re too weak.”
Another spasm wracked my body, and I felt tears of frustration burning behind my eyelids. “Per favore,” I begged, not caring anymore about pride. “I can’t—not here?—”
Without another word, Ivan’s arms slid beneath me. He lifted me from the bed with effortless strength. I was vaguely aware that I was wearing one of his T-shirts—it hung past my thighs, swallowing my frame. Had he changed my clothes? The thought should have alarmed me, but I was too miserable to even care.
He carried me to the bathroom, let me down to the floor gently in front of the toilet just as another wave of nausea hit.
I clutched the porcelain, my body convulsing as I dry-heaved. Ivan knelt behind me, one hand gathering my hair back from my face, the other steadying me with a firm arm around my waist.
“It’s the drugs leaving your system,” he explained, his voice clinical but not unkind. “Grey gave you quite the combination. Your body’s trying to get rid of it.”
I nodded weakly, unable to respond as another spasm gripped me. His hand on my hair moved in slow, soothingcircles, the gesture so unexpectedly gentle, it nearly broke me. A flash of memory—Ivan cleaning my head wound at the cabin, his fingers careful despite his harsh words; him pulling me against him in the cold night, sharing his warmth without complaint; him stepping between Grey and me to protect me.
When the spasms finally subsided, I slumped down and basically sat on his lap. He guided me sideways until I leaned against the cool tiles, utterly drained. Ivan didn’t speak—just rose and moved to the sink. I heard water running, then he was back, a damp washcloth in his hand. He crouched before me, hesitating slightly before bringing the cloth to my face.
“May I?” he asked, surprising me with the request for permission.
I nodded, too exhausted to speak. His touch was careful as he wiped my forehead where cold sweat had gathered, then my mouth. The cool cloth felt heavenly against my feverish skin.
“Take a sip,” he instructed. He helped me back up, then held a glass of water against my lips.
I took it with trembling hands, then took a sip. The need to puke lessened though it didn’t disappear entirely.
“What happened?” I managed to ask, my voice hoarse. “How did I get here?”
Ivan sat back on his heels, studying me with those intense eyes. “Grey’s men were returning you to your room. We intercepted them outside.” His jaw tightened. “You were barely conscious. When I saw the injection marks on your neck…”
He trailed off, and something dangerous flashed across his face before he controlled it.
“Vince wanted to take you away immediately, but I brought you here instead.” He paused. “That was yesterday afternoon.”
“Yesterday?” I echoed, shocked. “I’ve been unconscious for?—”
“Eighteen hours,” he confirmed. “You’ve been in and out. Mostly out. Mila helped administer an antidote for the truth serum, but the other drugs… We just had to wait for them to metabolize.”
I tried to process this information, but my brain felt sluggish, unwilling to cooperate. “Grey,” I whispered, a shudder running through me at the memory of his cold eyes and possessive touch. “He wanted me to hack into something—Paraskia’s database.”
Ivan’s expression hardened. “Did you?”
I closed my eyes, tried to piece together the fragments floating through my mind. “I don’t know.”
He sat down next to me on the floor. “What do you remember?”
I sighed when he pulled me between his legs. “He talked about my mother. Said he loved her before my father. That she was supposed to be his.” My voice cracked. “He’s been watching me since I was a child. Manipulating things. And he was running some kind of trafficking operation that I interfered with as Iset last year.”
