Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
AVELINA
A soft yawn leaves me as I stretch out on the giant bed with its smooth sheets. Since Viktor brought me back to the compound earlier today, all I’ve done is sleep and drink water from the large glass that magically appeared on the nightstand a few hours ago.
A part of me is worried about the kids. But the part that knows the doctor is right helps with my mom guilt. This is the best thing I can do, and I made Viktor promise he’ll come and get me if the children need me.
A while later, he brings in a fresh glass of water and tells me that everything is going fine with the kids, and then he leaves again.
The door to my bedroom is cracked open just enough for me to hear Viktor’s deep voice rumbling in the hall a few moments later. At first, I think he’s on his phone. Then the words actually register.
“Who,” he drawls, all dramatic and serious, “has the most adorable fluffy paws ever? Hmm? Who does?”
There’s a tiny, chirpy meow, followed by Viktor making a noise that sounds suspiciously like…kissy sounds.
I slap a hand over my mouth. Oh. My. God.
“You do,” he coos, his voice dropping into a ridiculous baby-talk tone I didn’t think a man like him would be capable of. “Yes, Queenie. Don’t try to deny it. You’re my puuurrfect girl.”
My chest shakes so hard as I try not to laugh. This is Viktor, a fierce, terrifying man, and he’s baby-talking and making kissy sounds…to his cat.
I yank the comforter over my face and bury myself under the covers before the giggle bubbling up in my throat can escape.
“And you have the cutest little furry face. And the fluffiest tail. And the prettiest little pink nose. And the floofiest-woofiest fur...” Is floofiest-woofiest even a word?
“Don’t tell anyone,” he whispers conspiratorially, “but you’re my favorite person in the whole wide world.
I like you even more than that grumpy bastard, Grigory. ”
Another pleased meow.
“Yes, yes, more than that madman, Nikolai, too,” he adds.
And there’s yet another approving sound from the cat.
“And way, way more than that smartass Matvey.” His voice drops lower, solemn and reverent. “I would never say this to their faces, but if I had to pick between you and them, it’s you every time. Hands down. No contest. You never nag me about my shoes left by the door.”
I clamp both hands over my mouth now, my entire body shaking as silent laughter threatens to burst free.
There’s another kissy sound, followed by a soft thump of paws as Queenie, presumably, leaps down from wherever she’s perched so that she can go to Viktor.
“That’s right, my little floof queen. It’s you and me against the world.” His tone is so tender that it makes my heart squeeze.
He might look like he wrestles bears for fun, but right now, he’s just a giant marshmallow who’s worshipping a six-pound ball of fur. And somehow, that seems to make him even more dangerous to my heart.
The second I hear Viktor’s boots, I stuff the edge of the comforter into my mouth to smother my giggles and bury myself deeper under the covers like some kind of spy hiding behind enemy lines.
My shoulders are shaking. He just told the cat that she was his favorite person.
How am I supposed to act normal after that?
The footsteps stop outside my door. Uh oh…
The door creaks open. “Avelina?” His voice is low, suspicious. “Why does it sound like you’re choking in here?”
I peek out from under the blanket and frantically school my expression. “Just…allergies,” I croak.
He narrows his eyes. “Allergies.” His tone suggests he’s not buying it for a second.
“Yep,” I say brightly, praying my face doesn’t betray me. “Very dusty in here. Achoo.”
There’s a long pause. Viktor crosses his arms, his black shirt stretching over muscles that have no business looking that intimidating. “You’re lying.”
My lips twitch. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh, Avelina!
“Why,” he says slowly, like a man on the verge of an interrogation, “are you smiling like a kid who’s found an unlimited supply of sugar?”
That does it. A giggle explodes out of me, then another, until I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt.
Viktor’s brows slam together. “What’s so funny?”
Through my wheezing, I manage to speak in gasps. “You…you and Queenie. Who has the most adorable fluffy paws ever?” I mimic his baby-talk voice badly, which only makes me laugh harder.
His face goes crimson. “You were spying on me?”
“The door was open!” I exclaim, clutching my stomach. “And then you said she was your favorite person! Over actual humans!”
“She is,” he snaps defensively, then immediately regrets it because now I’m howling so hard tears are leaking out of my eyes.
He drags a hand down his face, muttering something in Russian that sounds very much like a threat of murder.
Finally, he glares at me and looks like he’s trying to summon a terrifying expression. “If you tell anyone about this,” he growls, “I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I hiccup. “Meow at me menacingly?” And a fresh fit of giggles overtakes me at my ridiculous pun.
His jaw works, muscles ticking. Then he points at me with all the ferocity of a man backed into a corner. “You’re lucky you’re a girl.”
I grin as I raise an eyebrow at him. “Not as cute as Queenie, though—right?”
And all he can manage is a final huff before he leaves, making sure to completely close the door this time.
I’m napping, and I’m not sure exactly how much time has passed, but I find myself waking up to…
Yelling.
Not the distant, muffled kind you hear through walls. But a screeching kind—a ‘this is how horror movies start’ kind of yelling.
My eyes fly open.
The room tilts as I jerk up too fast.
The events of today come rushing back. Me collapsing at the market earlier today, Viktor coming to the hospital and insisting I stay here.
An old woman has flung open the door and burst into the room. She’s wearing an apron and slippers and is yelling at me in rapid Russian, brandishing the fury of a thousand fire-breathing dragons. And even if I didn’t already understand Russian, I wouldn’t need subtitles to get the gist.
Her finger jabs toward the bed. And her eyes are popping out of their sockets like she’s just caught me stealing the family jewels.
“Uh…nice to meet you?” I croak, the statement sounding more like a question as I clutch the blanket to my chest like it’s going to shield me from whatever wrath she’s about to unleash.
The woman flares her nostrils. And with a voice like an enraged opera singer, she lets out a screech of Russian that I’m pretty sure translates to: “You shameless floozy, get out of his bed before I roast you like Sunday chicken and then throw you out faster than last week’s garbage!”
I squeak. “Wait—no! I’m not…there’s been a misunderstanding!” I snatch my glasses off the nightstand and put them on as if they can protect me against her wrath.
Her gaze drops to my tangled hair and Viktor’s oversized t-shirt hanging off one shoulder. And yeah, okay…it looks bad.
“Misunderstanding?” she scoffs in Russian as she shakes her fist and continues shrieking at me.
“Viktor!” I yell like a damsel in distress.
Thirty seconds later, Viktor barrels through the door, dressed only in boxer shorts and with droplets of water clinging to him. “What’s wrong? I was just showering in the bathroom down the hall—”
Then he sees the elderly woman.
His face falls faster than a toddler dropping their ice cream cone.
And he suddenly looks like a man deeply regretting every single life choice that led to this moment.
But before he can say anything else, the old woman whips a wooden spoon out from somewhere like some kind of magic trick and strikes him with it.
“Babulya, no hitting!” he cries in Russian, hands flying up like he’s facing a wild bear.
Oh my God, she’s his grandma…?
“No hitting?” she repeats, affronted as she repeatedly swats him.
Viktor grunts. “Ow! Baba! I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow…”
I gape. “Where did she even get that spoon? She didn’t have it a second ago!”
“She always has it,” Viktor mutters, rubbing his arm. “Even though we have a room fully stocked with guns, the wooden spoon is her weapon of choice.”
Babulya starts screaming again, smacking Viktor repeatedly while gesturing manically at me like she’s trying to exorcise me from the room.
Viktor blocks a hit to the head and shoots me a desperate look. “She was staying with a friend when you arrived. And I was going to text to let her know about you before she got back. Because now she thinks you’re…er, uh…a lady of the night.”
My jaw drops. “What?!”
“I’ll explain to her that you’re definitely not a hooker!” Viktor promises, ducking another swing. “But maybe I better get dressed first...”
I yank the blanket tighter around me as Babulya shrieks like a banshee. “This is worse than a telenovela,” I whimper as Viktor shoots me a look of apology.
Viktor winces as the spoon smacks him again. “Trust me,” he growls, “you have no idea.”
And then he manages to drag his grandmother out of the room as he protests his innocence and tries to explain who I am.
I’m left in a stunned state. Because of Babulya. Because of everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. And because of the way Viktor looks at me.
I shake my head. I’m reading too much into it. He’s just being kind.