The gesture is automatic, though I don’t remember ever learning it. Dimitri never tucked me in.
Maybe…my mother did.
Before Roman killed her. Before everything narrowed down to my singular focus on revenge.
Relief fills me as I touch the necklace. After so long, I finally have what I’ve wanted for fifteen years.
So I sit in my armchair and wait, keeping vigil to ensure the gentle rise and fall of Max’s chest never stops. The storm finally dies to nothing more than wind, and I watch this unconscious man who should be my enemy but…isn’t.
Not in the simple way he was before.
Chapter 27
Max
A medicinal scent tickles my nose. Mint? Menthol? Witch hazel? A soft, gentle warmth envelops my chest. I crack open an eye, checking my surroundings before I allow my breathing to change.
I’m on the couch in the front room, my feet propped up on the arm. My mom would’ve beat me half to death for that. Feet belong on the floor.
When I sit up, the warmth spikes into lines of heat and cold. The unmistakable sensation of half-dried muscle gel itches and stretches my skin. My body protests, every muscle stiff despite the topical medication. White-hot agony radiates from my ankle and up my calf. My forehead pulls tight with the familiar tug of stitches.
Nika.
Does that also explain the blanket smothering my arms? And my half-naked state?
Thatsounds like her.
My thoughts move like they’re slogging through syrup.
The windows are dark, but considering the recent weather, it could be any time of day or night. Pushing the blanket away,I glance down. I’m covered in weird, jelly-like dots and stripes. I’ve no idea what they are or why, but my skin feels…good.
She took care of me?
The realization weighs heavy in my chest, and I’m not quite sure what to do or how to feel.
The kitchen echoes with the clatter of cabinets opening and closing and dishes clinking. I start to rise, then my pants slide down my hips at the same time I realize I’m barefoot.
Definitely Nika.
What the fuck did she do while I was sleeping? And why is my skin so soft and slippery?
A smile keeps tugging at my lips, though I can’t figure out why. I’m not sure I care, and I don’t bother trying to suppress it. I must have caught something up on the roof.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Nika appears in the kitchen archway.
White hair swings like a tail behind her back. She’s dressed in one of her sweaters and a pair of leggings. Thick, fluffy socks cocoon her feet, and a tray of food rattles in her hands.
The scent hits me before I can process what I’m seeing. Savory beef stew steams in a wide bowl with thick slices of bread smattered in melting butter.
She made me dinner.
The woman I came here to kill cooked for me and tended to my wounds.
More than that, she didn’t leave.
Is this a dream? Some weird nightmare? Did I die on the roof? Succumb to hyperthermia or slip on my fucked ankle and break my skull open? I feel way too cozy to be dead and way too cozy for this to be real.
So what the hell is happening?
