Chapter Two #3
His jaw tightened, and for a moment I thought he might deny it again. Instead, he surprised me. "Because he collects people like me," he said quietly. "People with... abilities. Uses them. Controls them."
"And what exactly can you do?" I pressed, genuinely curious now.
He hesitated, then reached out toward my desk phone. His fingers hovered over it, not quite touching, and the device suddenly lifted an inch off the surface, floating as if suspended in invisible water. After a moment, he let it drop back down with a soft thud.
Impressive. And valuable, certainly, in our increasingly electronic world. No wonder O'Rourke wanted him.
But that wasn't the only reason I found myself unwilling to let him leave. My bear was practically clawing at me from the inside, demanding that I keep this young man close, protected.
Safe.
Mine.
"You're safe here," I said, the words coming out before I could analyze them. "O'Rourke won't touch you in my territory."
He looked up at me skeptically. "Why would you protect me? What do you get out of it?"
A fair question. One I didn't have a completely rational answer for.
"Let's just say I find the idea of O'Rourke acquiring unique talents... distasteful." It wasn't a lie, just not the complete truth. "And I've never been one to pass up an opportunity to deny him something he wants."
"So I'm just a pawn in some turf war between criminal bosses?" His voice held a bitter edge.
"No." The word came out more forcefully than I intended. "You're under my protection now. That's different."
"I don't need protection," he insisted, though the slight tremor in his voice suggested otherwise. "I can take care of myself."
"Clearly," I said dryly, gesturing to the office around us. "Your self-preservation skills are remarkable."
That earned me a glare, but I could see the corner of his mouth twitch upward slightly.
"Look," I continued, "O'Rourke doesn't give up easily. Those men will be back, with reinforcements. You can try to run, and maybe you'll succeed for a while. Or you can accept my offer of sanctuary."
"And what does that cost me?" he asked warily. "Everything has a price."
In my century of existence, I'd never offered protection without clear terms and benefits. Business was business, after all. But as I looked at him—really looked at him—I found myself unwilling to treat this as a mere transaction.
"For now," I said carefully, "consider it a professional curiosity. You intrigue me, Mishka. That doesn't happen often."
It was an understatement. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time anyone had sparked such immediate interest—both intellectual and, if I was being honest with myself, something far more primal.
He studied me for a long moment, those green eyes seeming to see more than I intended to reveal. "You're not human, are you?"
The question was direct, unexpected. I considered deflecting but decided against it. This young man had already seen too much to be fobbed off with lies.
"Not entirely, no," I admitted. "Does that bother you?"
"Depends on what the other part is," he replied, his voice steadier now. "If you're part axe murderer, then yeah, it bothers me a bit."
Another rusty laugh escaped me. "Not an axe murderer."
"That's... specific and not at all reassuring."
I leaned back in my chair, enjoying the verbal sparring more than I should. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to me with such unguarded honesty. Most were too afraid, too calculating.
"I'm a bear shifter," I said finally. "Have been for over a century."
His eyes widened slightly, but to his credit, he didn't immediately bolt for the door. "Like... a were-bear?"
"Similar concept, different mythology," I replied. "And before you ask, no, the full moon has nothing to do with it."
"Okay." He nodded slowly, processing. "A bear shifter crime boss is protecting me from a human crime boss who wants to use my electronic abilities. Sure. Why not? This week couldn't get any weirder."
I felt my lips curve into another smile. "I wouldn't tempt fate with statements like that."
For the first time, he reached for the vodka glass, taking a small sip. Progress. Trust, in its simplest form.
"So what now?" he asked, setting the glass down.
"Now," I said, rising from my chair, "I suggest we move this conversation to more secure quarters. My apartment is on the top floor. No one enters without my explicit permission."
I watched carefully for his reaction, ready to clarify that I wasn't propositioning him. But something in his expression—a flicker of interest quickly masked—made me hold my tongue.
"Alright," he agreed finally. "But just so we're clear, I'm still not convinced you're not planning to eat me or something."
"I assure you," I said, moving around the desk to stand before him, "if I wanted to eat you, I would have done so already."
The double entendre hung in the air between us, neither acknowledged nor denied. The slight flush that crept up his neck suggested he caught it.
My bear rumbled with satisfaction. This unexpected intruder with his electronic abilities and quick wit had somehow managed to awaken parts of me I'd thought long dormant. Protective instincts, yes, but also desires I hadn't felt in decades.
How very inconvenient.
And how very, very intriguing.