Page 7 of Wild Heart
My forehead wrinkled.
Was that… Russian?
My muscles ached as I sat up, neck popping and shoulders stiff. Across my chest, I felt the flutter of fleece as it fell into a heap in my lap. Eyes narrow, I stared at the blanket, a low growl forming in my throat.
I fumbled when I leapt from my chair. Feet tangled in the ends of the blanket, my knees cracked against the ground. From the corner of my eye, I spotted two hands reaching for me, but I shoved them away and climbed to my feet. The blanket made awhooshingsound when I shook it out and placed it over Ivan. Fingers curling, I tucked it under his calves and then ran my palm along the surface until it was smooth.
A throat cleared, and my eyes pinged to the man that stood beside Ivan. He must not have liked what he saw in them because he took a step backward and lifted both palms in a show of peace.
I made a noise and stabbed a finger at the blankets. My throat felt raw, and it took me several tries to speak. “Dont. Touch.”
“Marcos.” Ivan’s voice was steady as he beckoned me.
“He messed it up.” I explained. “It was perfect, and he messed it up.”
“You were cold, Solnyshko. I asked him to.”
I shook my head. “Comfy patients are happy patients, and happy patients don’t die.”
His face fell, but his features were so rigid I couldn’t quite place his expression. A breath left him, and he ran a hand through his dark beard before offering it to me.
“Come here.”
I sort of liked how small my hand looked in his and the way his tattooed fingers brushed over my skin. His calluses tickled my palm, and I felt his tug as he invited me closer.
The angles of my hips bit into the sharp edge of his bed. He didn’t bother to let go of my hand even when I leaned over him. The oxygen tube across his cheeks made my stomach hurt, but I did my best to pretend it wasn’t there.
“My eyes,” he said, and I obeyed without thought. His free hand was warm when he laid it against my skin, directly over his handprint.
“You didn’t die,” I whispered.
“Told you I wouldn’t.”
“Well, excuse me for being a little apprehensive while holding your blood in your body.”
He swept his thumb across my jaw. “I hear Elijah explained some things to you.”
“Do you mean that my best friend is living with the mob, or that he was kidnapped by a deranged ex-lover?” My brow kicked up. “Or maybe it’s that the man I thought was his bodyguard is something called an underboss and can snap a man’s neck with one hand.”
Ivan lurched and pinned Elijah with a dark look. “What the fuck?”
Elijah’s shoulders lifted. “He asked.”
“Heaskedif I could snap a man’s neck?”
“Not in so many words.”
“Christ, Kingston!” The palm on my neck got warmer as Ivan’s teeth ground together. “Ben gave you permission to tell him the truth, not give him every fucking detail.”
“He was scared you were going to die,” Elijah said, and he wasn’t wrong. “I was trying to explain that you were as tough as they come.”
“I’m not afraid.” I laid my hand over his. “Not of you.”
Ivan gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me, and I supposed that was fair.
I couldn’t quite explain why I didn’t fear Ivan—why Ineverfeared him. I just… knew. In my gut. In the small sliver of space where your spine meets your scalp. My body was so attuned to danger by now I could practically smell it. Fear and I were good friends, and it often visited me late at night when the hairs across my body rose and my heart was trapped in my throat.
Ivan didn’t feel like fear.
