Chapter Two #2
"Let me clarify something for you," I said, squaring my shoulders slightly. I didn't need to try to look intimidating—six-foot-five and built like a brick wall tends to do that naturally. "This is my territory. Everything within these walls falls under my protection."
Territorial violation has never looked so... appealing.
The thought slipped through my mind as I thought of the young man behind me. My bear rumbled in agreement, the possessive heat growing stronger. This was new territory for me—feeling protective over someone I'd just met, someone who had broken into my private space.
Sorry boys, finders keepers.
"Mr. O'Rourke won't be happy about this," Weasel-face warned, though his voice lacked conviction.
"Mr. O'Rourke's happiness has never been a concern of mine," I replied, my accent growing thicker with my rising irritation. "What does concern me is uninvited guests barging into my private office, interrupting my evening, and making demands as if they had any authority here."
I took another deliberate step forward, forcing them back toward the doorway. My security team had materialized behind them, Ivan and Sergei's imposing frames filling the hallway. I hadn't called them—they simply knew to appear when unwelcome visitors overstayed their welcome.
Efficient.
That's why I paid them so well.
"I suggest you convey a message to your employer," I continued, my voice dropping to a register that humans typically found unsettling.
A century of practice had perfected it. "Any business he wishes to conduct in my territory will be done through proper channels.
Any items or persons he believes he has claim to within these walls are now under my protection. "
My bear practically purred at that declaration. Protection. Yes. The young man behind me was under my protection now, though I had yet to fully understand why my instincts were so insistent about it.
"You're making a mistake," Neck-optional tried one last time, though he was already backing into the hallway. "That kid is nothing but trouble."
"Trouble," I said with a slight curl of my lip, "is what happens when people forget whose territory they're standing in."
I stepped fully into the doorway now, my frame filling it completely. I didn't raise my voice—I never needed to. Volume was a crutch for those who lacked actual power.
"I won't ask you again to leave," I said, every word precisely formed and heavy with unspoken threat. "The next request will come from Ivan and Sergei, and they're not known for their diplomatic approach."
My security team shifted behind the intruders, their hands moving casually toward the weapons I knew were concealed beneath their jackets.
For a moment, I thought Neck-optional might be stupid enough to protest further. His face flushed red, and his fists clenched at his sides. But Weasel-face grabbed his partner's arm, tugging him back.
"We'll tell Mr. O'Rourke you were... uncooperative," Weasel-face said, trying to salvage some dignity from their retreat.
"Tell him whatever you like," I replied dismissively. "It won't change the outcome."
I waited until they had backed fully into the hallway before addressing my security team. "See them out, all the way to the street, then ensure they understand that returning would be unwise."
Ivan nodded once, his expression never changing. He and Sergei flanked the unwelcome visitors, herding them toward the stairs like shepherds guiding particularly dim-witted sheep.
I closed the door firmly, turning the lock with a satisfying click. Only then did I allow myself to exhale slowly, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly.
That had been... interesting.
In a century of protecting my territory, I'd never felt such a visceral response to a threat against someone else. Usually, my concern was for my business, my reputation, or my possessions. Clinical, calculated protection of investments.
This was different. This was hot, primal, and utterly confusing.
I turned slowly to face the young man who had somehow triggered this unprecedented reaction. He was still behind my desk, though he'd emerged from underneath it. He stood with his back to the wall, watching me with those striking green eyes—wary, yes, but also with a hint of something else.
Relief? Gratitude? Curiosity?
Whatever it was, it made my bear stir again with that same possessive hunger. "They'll be back," I said, breaking the silence between us. "With reinforcements, most likely."
He swallowed, his throat working visibly. "Yeah, that's kind of O'Rourke's thing. He doesn't give up easily."
"Neither do I, Mishka," I replied simply.
And that was perhaps the most honest thing I'd said all evening.
Once I claimed something as mine—once I decided to protect it—I never surrendered it willingly.
Not in a century of existence had I backed down from what I considered mine.
And for reasons I couldn't yet articulate, this young man had just been added to that very short list.
I studied the young man before me with newfound interest. His blond hair was slightly disheveled, adding to the appearance of vulnerability, but there was nothing vulnerable about the sharp intelligence in those green eyes.
Now that the immediate threat had retreated, I could appreciate the puzzle he presented. O'Rourke didn't send goons after random trespassers. This one had value—specific value that made him worth the risk of encroaching on my territory.
The question was, what made him so special?
My bear already knew the answer, though it had nothing to do with whatever skills had caught O'Rourke's attention. The animal inside me had decided this young man was valuable for entirely different reasons—reasons that made my skin feel too tight and my pulse quicken in a way it hadn't in decades.
I extended my hand toward him, palm up, an invitation, not a command. "They're gone," I said, keeping my voice low. "For now."
He eyed my hand like it might transform into a bear's paw at any moment. Smart kid. It could, though I hadn't lost control of my shift in over seventy years.
"Why did you do that?" he asked, still not taking my offered hand. "You don't know me. For all you know, I could be exactly what they said—a thief."
"Are you?"
"No." The answer came quickly, firmly. "But that doesn't answer my question."
I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "You're in no position to demand answers, yet here you are, doing exactly that. Interesting."
After another moment of hesitation, he reached out and placed his hand in mine.
The contact sent a jolt through my system that I hadn't experienced in longer than I cared to remember.
His hand was half the size of mine, the fingers long and slender, almost delicate compared to my thick, calloused ones.
I pulled him effortlessly to his feet, noting how light he felt, how easily I could lift him if necessary.
He came up to just below my shoulder, forcing him to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact.
The height difference should have made him appear weaker, but instead, there was a defiance in his posture that my bear found utterly captivating.
"I'm Nicolai Aleksandrovich," I said, releasing his hand after perhaps a moment too long. "And you are?"
A mischievous grin crossed the man's lips. "You may call me Mishka."
"Mishka." Just the single name, offered hesitantly, and stealing the word I had given him. Whether it was his real name or not didn't matter for the moment.
I chuckled, liking that answer.
"Well, Mishka," I said, testing the name on my tongue. It fit him—a diminutive that suggested softness while hiding potential strength. "Perhaps you can explain how you made my phone move across my desk without touching it."
His eyes widened slightly. Ah, so he hadn't expected me to make that connection. I almost laughed. I'd been alive for over a century—very little escaped my notice.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he tried, though his heart rate spiked, giving away the lie.
"Let's not insult each other's intelligence," I replied, gesturing to one of the leather chairs positioned before my desk. "Please, sit."
He hesitated but eventually complied, perching on the edge of the chair as if ready to bolt at any moment. I moved around to my side of the desk, not sitting immediately but instead pouring two glasses of vodka from the crystal decanter on my credenza.
"Drink," I offered, placing one before him.
"I don't accept drinks from strangers," he said automatically.
Smart again. Cautious. I respected that.
"A reasonable policy," I acknowledged, returning to my chair without pushing the issue. "Though at this point, I'd say we're more... unorthodox acquaintances than strangers."
His gaze traveled around my office, taking in the details.
I watched him catalog the expensive art pieces, the rare first-edition books meticulously arranged by author and publication date, the subtle security cameras disguised as decorative elements.
Everything in perfect order, precisely placed. Nothing left to chance.
A reflection of its owner.
"This is quite the place," he commented, his finger tracing the edge of the untouched vodka glass. "Very... organized."
"I find disorder inefficient," I replied. "A century teaches you the value of precision."
He looked up sharply at that. "A century? What are you, a vampire?"
Now I did laugh, a short, rusty sound that seemed to surprise him as much as it did me. "No. Not a vampire."
"Then what—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind. I probably don't want to know."
"Probably not," I agreed, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the desk.
The movement brought our faces closer, and I caught his scent again—that intoxicating blend that made my bear stir restlessly.
"What I want to know is why Patty O'Rourke is so interested in a young man who can manipulate electronics without touching them. "