Another wave of nausea hit me, this one milder but stillunpleasant. I breathed through it, grateful when Ivan handed me the glass of water again.
“Small sips,” he instructed.
I obeyed, then continued, “It’s all blurry after that. He injected me with something else when I wouldn’t cooperate. Said it would make my brain work better.” I laughed bitterly. “Clearly it didn’t.”
“It could have killed you,” Ivan said, his voice tight with controlled anger. “That enhancer is still in trials. It’s not meant to be mixed with other compounds, and you were tranqued just a couple of days ago.”
Tranqued… An involuntary shiver ran through me, my body suddenly ice cold despite the bathroom’s warmth and Ivan’s body heat around me. I wrapped my arms around myself, teeth chattering. “Why am I so c-cold?”
“Side effect of the drugs, probably,” Ivan said. He reached out and pressed his palm against my forehead. “You’re not running a fever anymore, but your body’s still fighting the chemicals.” He studied me for a moment. “A hot shower might help. Think you can stand?”
I wanted to say yes, to prove I wasn’t as weak as I felt, but another violent shiver wracked my body, making the decision for me. I shook my head, hating my own helplessness.
“I’ve got you,” Ivan said simply.
Before I could protest, he got up, took the glass from my hand, and placed it next to the sink, closed the toilet lid, lifted me, and sat me on the closed lid. “If you’re getting dizzy, tell me.” He turned to the shower, waited, then adjusted the temperature with practiced efficiency. Steam began to fill the room, but I couldn’t stop shaking.
“I can do it myself,” I insisted though we both knew it was a lie. My limbs felt like they were filled with lead, and the room wouldn’t stop tilting at odd angles whenever I moved my head.
Ivan turned back to me, his expression unreadable. “You can barely sit upright, Shorty.”
The familiar nickname, delivered without its usual edge of mockery, somehow made my eyes sting with tears. I blinked them back furiously. I would not cry in front of him. I would not.
“Can you lift your arms?” he asked.
I tried, managing to raise them a few inches before they fell back to my sides. Betrayed by my own body. I couldn’t even undress myself. The humiliation burned worse than the fever.
Ivan crouched in front of me, his eyes meeting mine directly. “I need to get you clean and warm. The drugs are still in your system, and your body temperature is dropping. This isn’t about anything else. Understand?”
I searched his face for any sign of the predatory interest I’d seen before—in the pool, on the plane, in countless small moments where tension had crackled between us. There was nothing but concern in his gaze now.
I looked at the shower. I could either accept his help and surrender the last shreds of my dignity or refuse and be miserable. Pride versus practicality. Independence versus necessity.
I hesitated, then whispered, “If you approach, remember that a lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, and from matrimony to murder in a moment.”
The quote was mangled, delivered through chattering teeth, but a smile tugged at the corner of Ivan’s mouth. “You must feel a lot better than you look. But your brain might’ve taken some damage since you’re now butchering Jane Austen quotes.”
A fluttery feeling settled in my belly, and I tipped my head and stared at him as surprise momentarily cut through my misery. “You are a proper Jane Austen aficionado, aren’t you?”
He grinned, a dangerous half grin that made him look deceptively harmless. “It was either Jane Austen or Mary Shelley,” he replied with unexpected humor. “And I’m deathly afraid of monsters.”
A weak laugh escaped me, then turned into a groan as my stomach protested the movement. But something warm, which had nothing to do with the side effects of the drugs, spread through my chest. This glimpse of mutual understanding, this shared interest, felt strangely comforting. More and more like an inside joke between friends, not enemies.
Enemies? Who was I kidding? I hadn’t seen Ivan Zotov as my enemy for a while now.
“Arms up,” he instructed, his tone gentle but firm.
I tried again, and he helped me pull the T-shirt over my head. Cool air hit my bare skin, and I shivered violently. I was naked except for my underwear, but his gaze remained fixed on my face, his expression professionally detached. Though, for all I knew, he might’ve looked his fill when I was unconscious. “Can you stand?” he asked.
I nodded though I wasn’t entirely sure. He helped me to my feet, steadying me when I swayed dangerously. My legs felt like they might give out at any moment.
“Lean on me,” he said, guiding one of my arms around his shoulders while his arm circled my waist.
Together, we shuffled the few steps to the shower. The warm spray hit my skin, and I gasped at the sensation—half pain, half relief.
He kept his arm around me, supporting most of my weight as the water cascaded over us both. He was still fully dressed, his shirt and pants soaked through instantly.
“You’re getting your clothes wet,” I mumbled, stating the obvious.
