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I startle at the welcoming female sound and lift the blanket to cover myself. An old woman with a kind face and white hair gathered in a bun approaches me.
She’s holding a tray with thin, wrinkly hands on which some blue veins peek through.
My eyes track her every movement while simultaneously searching my surroundings for a weapon I can use to escape.
She seems oblivious to my hyperaware mode as she continues her serene approach. “My name is Nadia, and I’m the nurse who’s been taking care of you.”
A thick accent coats her words—something more rural and different from the city’s accents. She sounds like the villagers Papa and my uncles used to take us to visit during the summer.
Nadia stops by my bed, places her tray on the nightstand, and gives zero shits about my attempts to resist. Easily, she flings my good arm from beneath the sheet and hooks the blood pressure cuff to it. Then she shoves a thermometer under my armpit.
Her expression remains kind through the whole ordeal, like a patient mother who’s dealing with a petulant child. “You’re lucky the villagers led you to our house in time. My husband and I are a retired doctor and nurse, but that didn’t last too long once you showed up at our doorstep.”
“Sorry,” I whisper, feeling a sense of guilt at disturbing their peace.
Nadia merely ignores my lame attempt at an apology and removes the cuff. “Normal blood pressure, good. And instead of being sorry, focus on getting better. Scars don’t look so good on young ladies.” She fetches the thermometer from my armpit and stares at it with efficient calm. “You’re still a tad hotter than normal. I’ll inject you with another dose of antibiotics.”
“Uh, can we not do that? I’m sure it’ll be fine in a bit.”
She narrows her eyes. “When you reached our doorstep, you were dying. My husband and I didn’t go through all the trouble to save you so you’d have complications now. Besides, are you seriously afraid of a needle when you were shot by a gun?”
My shoulders hunch. It’s an irrational fear that I’ve been trying to overcome, but it’s simply not going away. And yes, I do prefer a gunshot wound over a needle.
While I’m thinking of what to tell her, Nadia has already prepared the injection.
“Wait, wait!” I slide back in the bed and wince when pain explodes in my upper shoulder. “Aren’t there any pills?”
“Injections are faster and more efficient.” She holds the needle that glistens with a transparent liquid high. “I’ll give you a painkiller after this.”
“I’m really fine. I don’t need both.” She touches my forearm and pulls. The motion isn’t even harsh, but I scream with pain.
“You were saying?” Her tone and face remain the same except for the raising of her brows.
The door bangs open, and the pain dulls to the background when I’m met with familiar icy blue eyes.
Captain Kirill.
He’s dressed in casual pants, his black army boots, and a heavy coat that’s covered with snow. He removes the hat, revealing the entirety of his face, and he’s wearing…glasses.
My heart thuds behind my rib cage as this unusual image of him sinks in.
He looks regal, all muscle and destructive energy tucked neatly behind the casualwear. The glasses give him the appearance of an intelligent accountant who might or might not be hiding some dangerous tendencies.
“Oh, you came back,” Nadia says after inspecting the newcomer. “Your wife is apparently scared of needles, so how about you help me keep her in place before she opens her stitches?”
He starts to walk inside, and I’m too stunned to talk or think, so I keep staring, dumbfounded.
“Did you buy what I asked for?” Nadia asks him.
Captain Kirill opens his coat and gives her a bag of medicine, then removes the piece of clothing and throws it on a chair opposite the fire.
He’s dressed in a black button-down and a sweater that fails to leash the intensity dripping off him.
“Good, good. I thought you were going to be killed by the storm.” Nadia nods. “Now, get over here.”
I can’t believe my ears or my eyes, because the captain actually follows her instructions and allows himself to be ordered around.
Something niggles at the back of my head, and I can’t figure out what, no matter how much I think about it.
