Chapter Seventeen
~ Mishka ~
I woke to the feeling of being watched. Again.
After a week of consciousness following my month-long coma, you'd think Nicolai would have gotten over the novelty of me opening my eyes.
But no, there he was, a massive shadow in the corner armchair, his gaze so intense I could practically feel it burning into my skin.
I sighed and shifted against the silk sheets that cost more than most people's monthly rent. This overprotective bear shifter routine was getting old fast.
"I can hear you breathing, you know," I muttered, not bothering to open my eyes yet. "It's creepy to watch people sleep."
"It's not creepy when they've spent a month teetering between life and death," came his rumbled response.
I cracked one eye open to find Nicolai exactly where I expected—sprawled in that poor leather armchair that had become his second home.
His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his usually immaculate appearance showing small signs of disorder that, on anyone else, would be unremarkable. On the always impeccable crime boss, they were practically a declaration of emotional crisis.
My heart did a stupid little flip that I immediately squashed.
His penthouse bedroom was all dark woods, leather, and masculine elegance—like the man himself. The morning sun filtered through partially drawn curtains, casting strips of light across the Persian rug and illuminating the edges of the fortress of medical equipment that still surrounded the bed.
Less equipment than yesterday, at least.
Progress.
"I'm not dying now, so you can stop the vampire impression," I said, pushing myself up against the pillows. My arms trembled with the effort, but I'd be damned if I'd let him see how weak I still was.
Too late. Nothing escaped those predatory eyes.
"You've improved," he acknowledged, rising from the chair with fluid grace that belied his massive size. "But you're still pushing too hard."
"Says the man who took three bullets and still closed a business deal before seeking medical attention."
"That was different."
"Right. Because you're an immortal bear god and I'm just a fragile human."
My fingers twitched with frustration, a spark of green energy dancing between them. The bedside lamp flickered in response and Nicolai's eyes narrowed.
"Control, malysh," he said softly.
I hated that the endearment sent warmth spreading through my chest. I hated even more that he was right—my abilities were still unpredictable after overextending them so dramatically.
"I'm fine," I insisted, throwing back the covers. "And I need to use the bathroom. Like a big boy. Without an audience."
My legs felt like they were made of overcooked pasta as I swung them over the edge of the bed. The cold marble floor sent a shock up my bare feet, but I welcomed the sensation. Anything was better than the numbness of the coma.
Nicolai moved closer, hovering just within arm's reach. His presence filled the room, making the massive bedroom feel suddenly small. I could smell his cologne—something expensive and subtle that probably cost more than my first car.
Not that I'd ever owned a car. Hard to maintain vehicle registration when you're constantly running from people who want to exploit your abilities.
"You barely made it to the door yesterday," he reminded me, his voice deceptively casual.
"Yesterday I was weaker," I shot back, bracing my hands against the mattress. "Today I'm stronger."
"You've been awake for less than ten minutes. You haven't even eaten."
As if on cue, my stomach growled, betraying me completely.
"Traitor," I muttered at my midsection.
The corner of Nicolai's mouth twitched upward—that almost-smile that did unreasonable things to my insides.
"Yuri is bringing breakfast," he said, moving to adjust my pillows as though I were about to lie back down.
Fat chance.
"Great. I'll eat after I pee like a normal human being."
I pushed off from the bed, legs shaking but holding. Victory surged through me for the three glorious seconds before my knees started to buckle.
Nicolai's hand shot out, steadying me without completely taking over. Progress, I supposed. Last week he would have simply scooped me up without asking.
"You're still recovering from massive neural strain," he reminded me, his grip on my elbow firm but gentle. "Dr. Petrov said—"
"Dr. Petrov can kiss my electronically gifted ass," I interrupted. "I've been in that bed for over a month. I'm using the bathroom on my own even if it kills me."
"That's precisely what I'm worried about."
I took a step forward, then another. My legs trembled, but they held. The bathroom door seemed miles away, but I was determined to reach it without Nicolai carrying me like a damsel in distress.
I made it exactly four steps before my left leg decided it had fulfilled its contractual obligations for the day and promptly went on strike.
Nicolai's arms were around me before I could fall, one large hand splayed across my stomach, the other gripping my arm. His chest pressed against my back, solid and warm and infuriatingly necessary.
"Don't," I warned, sensing he was about to lift me. "I can do this."
"You're the most stubborn human I've ever encountered," he growled near my ear, the vibration of his chest against my back sending an entirely inappropriate shiver down my spine.
"That's why you love me," I replied without thinking, then froze as I realized what I'd said.
He'd whispered those words to me during my coma, not knowing I could hear him. We hadn't discussed it since I'd awakened. The elephant in the room had just trumpeted loudly.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then his arms tightened fractionally. "Yes," he said simply. "It is."
My heart did another one of those inconvenient flips.
I cleared my throat. "Bathroom, before I embarrass myself in an entirely different way."
I felt more than heard his sigh as his massive arms shifted, preparing to lift me.
"For the last time, I don't need to be carried to the bathroom," I snapped, frustration making the lights flicker again.
"Humor me," he growled, the words rumbling through his chest and into mine.
That voice. That damn voice. It sent heat pooling low in my belly despite my irritation, my body responding to him even as my pride bristled.
My fingers twitched with frustration, green energy crackling between them. The television across the room suddenly turned on, blaring a home shopping channel at full volume. The ceiling fan began spinning at top speed, and every digital clock in the bedroom reset to 12:00, flashing in unison.
Nicolai raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the electronic chaos I'd created. "And you wonder why I'm concerned."
I exhaled slowly, reining in the energy that leaked from me when my emotions ran high. The television fell silent. The fan slowed. The clocks stopped their synchronized flashing.
"Fine," I conceded, deflating slightly. "Carry me, but this is the last time."
I refused to acknowledge how safe I felt as he lifted me effortlessly, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. Or how my body fit perfectly against his chest. Or how my head automatically found that spot between his neck and shoulder that seemed made for me.
"This doesn't mean you're right," I muttered against his collar.
"Of course not," he replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice without seeing it.
Bastard.
But as he carried me to the bathroom with the careful precision of someone transporting priceless art, I couldn't completely suppress the warmth that spread through me.
For someone who'd spent his life alone, Nicolai Aleksandrovich was disturbingly good at making me feel treasured.
Not that I'd ever admit it out loud.
* * * *
I flexed my fingers above the keyboard, the green electronic energy dancing between them like miniature lightning. Three weeks of recovery had restored most of my strength and all of my abilities—maybe even enhanced them.
The command center beneath The Golden Bear hummed with technology that responded to my presence like eager pets sensing their owner. Screens flickered to life as I approached, hard drives whirred, and data flowed through systems at my mental command.
This was my domain now, as surely as the restaurant upstairs and the criminal empire beyond belonged to Nicolai.
I still couldn't believe he'd given me this—an entire room filled with cutting-edge technology that probably cost more than most small countries' defense budgets.
Multiple screens lined the walls, surveillance feeds from across the city mingling with financial data streams and facial recognition programs.
A massive digital map dominated the center of the room, glowing red pins marking the locations of O'Rourke's former facilities, blue ones indicating his associates we'd already dealt with, and yellow for those still at large.
There were a lot more blue pins than when I'd started three weeks ago.
I smiled grimly at the thought, directing my attention to a cluster of screens showing bank transfers between shell companies. O'Rourke was good at hiding his money, but I was better at finding it.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, though I barely needed the physical interface anymore.
Since pushing my abilities to their breaking point at O'Rourke's facility, my connection to electronic systems had deepened.
I could feel the data flowing like currents of electricity, could reach into the streams and redirect them with a thought.
The price had been steep—a month in a coma and weeks of recovery—but I couldn't deny the results were impressive.
"Found you," I murmured as a transaction caught my attention—a transfer of funds to an account in the Cayman Islands that matched a pattern I'd been tracking.