Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
VIKTOR
The first thing I feel is pain. So fucking much of it.
There’s a sharp strain under my ribs and a pressure in my chest that shouldn’t be there.
My mouth parches. The ceiling swims for a moment before it locks into place.
I try for a deeper breath and regret it.
Something locks under the bandage, sharp enough to keep me still.
Turning my head, I see him by the wall.
He’s half out of the chair, caught mid-motion like a deer in the high beams. I recognize him from the shadows of my fever, the one who’s been hovering over me while the world was black.
He’s younger than I expected. Blond. His hair is longer than it should be for a nurse, messy strands that look soft even from across the room.
He looks out of place beside my bed, a bird trapped in a room with a bolted window. My gaze settles on the pulse jumping in his neck. It beats fast. He’s terrified, and the sound of his fear is the only thing grounding me to the room.
He locks up when he realizes I’m awake, crossing the room in two quick steps. “G—good morning, Viktor.” He swallows. “I’m Jonah. I’m your nurse. May I check on you?”
I take him in. His fingers fidget. His body leans back even as his feet stay planted, like he’s expecting impact.
I don't have the strength to reach for him. Instead, I pin him with a look that says I don't need my hands to break him. I should be focused on the threat outside the door, but instead, I choose to watch the way his pulse jumps, deciding exactly how I’ll ruin him. “Carefully, Jonah. That’s not a request. If you hurt me, I’ll make sure you feel it twice as hard. ”
“I’m going to touch you now—”
I let my mouth curve. “Are you now?”
“Just to…” He clears his throat. “I need to check the dressing. Make sure it hasn’t bled through.” His hand hovers over my chest.
“Ne boy’ya,” I murmur. “I don’t bite. Not yet.”
Jonah blushes. “I’m not sure what that means, but… yeah, I’ll be done before you know.”
His touch is soft. My mind is still a fucking fog.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” Jonah breathes as he continues his work. The bandage is removed, then something wet slides over my flesh. I hiss at the sting, my stomach muscles jumping in an involuntary knot beneath his fingertips. “I’m sorry. Nearly done. The wound is healing slowly.”
Wound. I close my eyes and try to remember. Vesper’s. My birthday. Lev—
“Lev.” My voice is a ghost of what it should be, but it stops him.
His eyes widen. “W—what?”
“Where the fuck is he?”
“I…don’t know. Your grandmother sent me. I wasn’t meant to be here. I mean, I—” He falters.
“Hm.” I turn that over as I push myself up, the world tilting.
I recognize the molding on the ceiling. My breath hitches.
I haven't set foot in this room since Lev and I fled eight years ago, the night the air in this estate turned to poison. Now, Sergei has dragged me back to my childhood bed like a disobedient toy. I could break the IV and use the pole to find a way out, but I’m too weak to make it past the door.
For now, the nurse is the only leverage I have.
“Hang on… wait.” Jonah’s already moving. “You shouldn’t walk alone. You need the bathroom? Let me help you.” He slips my arm over his shoulder and pulls me upright. “Here, lean on me.”
Every muscle in my back screams as he pulls me upright.
My knees are a joke, but I force my weight onto them, refusing to let my body betray the name I carry.
I lock my jaw, refusing to collapse against him, but the heat of his body is an intrusion I can't ignore. He’s too close.
I can smell the antiseptic on his skin and the faint, sharp scent of his sweat.
It makes my stomach knot with a hunger that isn't about food.
The IV pole stands beside the bed, the line taped to my hand. I curl my fingers around the tubing and start to pull, growling, “I can go by my fucking self.”
“Stop.” His hand closes around my wrist. “Please. You’ll tear it out and I’ll have to redo it. It might hurt.” I look at his hand. Then at him. “If you pull it loose, you’ll bleed all over your sheets. And then I’ll have to explain it to your grandmother. I’d rather not.”
He offers his arm again. I grind my jaw and let him take more of my weight than I want to give. Pain flares under my ribs as we move toward the bathroom. Whatever the fuck happened to me, it hurts. I won’t fucking fall in front of him.
“If you need anything, just tell me.” Jonah adjusts his grip, then steps back fast. “I’ll be right outside.” He swallows, his cheeks flushed.
“Get the fuck out of the bathroom.”
“Sure. Yes. Sorry.” He backs toward the door.
I brace a hand on the cold tile and piss.
Every muscle in my back aches. I wash my hands and splash cold water on my face until my vision steadies.
Someone tried to kill me. The gown clings to my chest, damp with cold sweat.
A reminder of how close the bullet came to my heart.
I don’t know who pulled the trigger yet, but the list is long.
Whoever it was made a mistake. They left me breathing.
By the time I’ve dried my hands, my knees are wobbling. I leave the bathroom slowly, jaw locked, determined to make it back on my own. Then the room sways.
“Don’t,” I bark as Jonah grabs my arm. “I’ve got it.”
“You don’t. And that’s okay.” He works fast, sliding my arm over his shoulder.
I want to tell him to shut the fuck up, but my throat is too dry and the pain too sharp. Instead, I let him help me back to the bed and against the pillows, breathing through the agony and hating how much I need the support.
“Okay,” Jonah says softly. “One final check before I let you rest.” His hand settles at my waist, careful around the bandage.
He’s close enough now that I get a proper look at him.
He’s too clean for this place. Blond hair, blue eyes, and skin that looks like it’s never seen a day of real violence.
Faint freckles dust the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, looking like a map I want to crush under my thumb.
He keeps his focus on the bandage, but I can feel his hands shaking.
He’s a lamb standing in a slaughterhouse, and he doesn’t even know the blade is already at his throat.
“Do you need something?” When Jonah finally looks up, he pinches his eyebrows when he catches me already staring. “Water, medicine, anything. I can get it… well, that’s what I’m here for. To help you survive.”
He looks innocent, but I’m still deciding what he is.
If Babushka put him here, he isn't safe. I don’t trust anyone in this house, especially not a stranger with access to my IV line while I sleep.
I watch his lips as he speaks, and the heat in my groin is an arrogant throb.
He’s mine to break. I want to see how long he can look me in the eye before he realizes he’s already been claimed.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I feel is pressure at my wrist. My eyes snap open, hand searching for my dagger under the pillow. Nothing. Of fucking course.
“What the hell’s going on?” I grunt. My voice sounds wrecked.
“Nothing,” Jonah says quickly. His fingers are already on my pulse. Then his hand moves to my forehead. “You’re burning up again. I’m going to push something through your line. It’ll help bring the fever down.”
“Mmh,” I mutter. My eyes slide shut again. Cool spreads through my arm, dragging my body down with it. I’m aware of Jonah staying close. Too close. His hand rests at my upper arm. Then higher. Fingers at my throat. Down toward my chest.
“Don’t fall asleep, Viktor. Your body needs to strengthen up. Let’s get you something to eat, then you can sleep again. Here.”
The rim of a cup presses to my lips. I swallow. The water burns going down. Jonah pulls it back, his eyes flicking to the door before settling on me.
“Why are we locked in?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.
My jaw tightens. “Because I should have been dead.” The lock keeps the world out as much as it keeps us in. It buys me the time I need to stop being a target and start being a hunter again.
He lets out a dry, nervous chuckle. “Ah, so they wanted you dead—”
“But I didn’t,” I grate out. “Apparently.”
“No—that’s… that’s good. Please don’t die.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You sound awfully hopeful.”
“Yes, well, I have my own reasons. Anyway, they brought food, so let’s dig in.”
“Who did?”
He shrugs. “The blond guard. She’s the only one who actually looks at me.”
“Hm.” I don’t recall Sergei having any female guards. “She’s probably new. Another piece my uncle has moved onto the board while he thinks I’m too weak to notice.”
Jonah looks toward the door. “Is that bad?”
“Not necessarily. New just means the game has changed. Bring the food.”
He does what I say, placing the tray on the bed before shifting me up. His stomach growls. My gaze drops to the name on his scrubs. Jonah Rader.
“You work in the ER?”
He nods.
“Let me guess. Shifts without breaks. They keep you running.”
Jonah stares at me. He doesn't answer. He shifts his weight, his eyes darting to the tray and then back to my face. He waits for a reaction I haven't given him yet. His silence is a wall, one he uses to hide the hunger I saw in his eyes earlier.
“Taste the food, Jonah." It isn't a request. I want to see the slide of his throat when he swallows. I want to know if he’s been fed by the same hand that tried to kill me.
His gaze clouds with confusion. He obeys regardless. “Oh, okay.”
His stomach growls again. His face thins like he wants to apologize, but instead he lifts the lid.
Steam rises. I watch his lips close around the fork.
His throat works as he swallows, and the sight triggers a throb in my groin that the morphine can't touch. It’s dysfunctional.
I’m riddled with bullet holes and barely conscious, but the proximity of this stranger is making me hard.
“And?”
“Good?”
“Hm… yes.” A soft sound slips out before he can stop it. He sits at the edge of my bed with the plate balanced on his lap. For a moment, he looks like he belongs there. The thought unsettles me more than the bullet hole in my ribs.
“When did you eat last?”
He blinks at me, confused. “What?”
“Food. When did you eat?”
He tenses. “Um, yesterday morning, before heading to the hospital.”
I hum. “And what did you eat?”
Color creeps into his cheeks. “Just… toast. Nothing special.” He looks away and doesn't finish. He doesn't need to. He was waiting for a paycheck that never came.
I shift against the pillows and tap the edge of the tray. “We’ll eat together. Help me. You already started.”
“I, okay. Just… hold still.” He brings the fork toward my mouth. I open slowly, letting my tongue curl around the metal. His breath hitches. Watching him hesitate, eyes fixed on my mouth, is better than the food. A pulse thrashes in my groin.
By the time he sets the fork down, the plate is nearly empty.
“Well, that was fast.” He clears his throat. “It seems you were hungry too.”
“Very much so.” I watch him, my gaze heavy. I don’t give him a choice. “Look at me, Jonah.”
He does, but his fingers curl tight in the sheets beside my hip. “Why do your hands do that when I look at you?”
“They don’t.”
“They do.”
His throat works. He shrugs one shoulder. “I’m not used to people staring like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re… measuring me.”
“Perhaps because I am.” My voice is a low rasp. I don't move my hand, but my intent is a weight in the air. “You react like no one’s ever looked at you this close.”
“Not like this,” he whispers.
I let him be for a moment. There are many things I want to say to that, but the world tilts as the sedation pulls at the edges of my focus. Jonah notices, stepping back half a pace, unsure whether I want his hands or his distance.
“You’re afraid. Why?”
He doesn’t answer. His fingers curl at his sides, then still. I file that away.
“You’re a clever nurse, Jonah Rader.” Fatigue creeps higher. I sink back into the bed.
Jonah moves without thinking, balancing me without touching more than he has to. His breath warms my shoulder. I let him pull the blanket over my legs. His fingers brush my skin and he jerks back like it burned him.
“You should sleep,” he whispers.
“Hm. I should.” My eyes slide shut. “And you should stay where I can see you.”
“I will,” he says quickly. “I mean… I’ve got nowhere else to go anyway.”
Jonah is the last thing I see. He’s retreated to the wall, knees drawn up like he’s trying to disappear. He thinks he’s safe over there. He doesn’t realize that in this room, he’s not the nurse. He’s the prize.