Page 129 of Nikolay

His thumbs pressed gently into the knots at the tops of my shoulders before I could swat him away, and to my intense irritation, relief flashed through me so fast it felt almost humiliating.

I had not realized how much the ride, the run, the bad sleep, and my own frayed nerves had settled there until somebody with capable hands found the exact map of all of it.

I hated competence in a beautiful man. It was against my religion.

He worked slowly, measured and patient, palms warm through the knit of my sweater. The pressure moved from my shoulders to the tight bands along my neck, then back outward again in deliberate circles. My wolf, who had opinions about nearly everything, went suspiciously quiet beneath it. Not soothed exactly. More... watchful and less inclined to bite.

That alone made me uneasy.

I drank again to give myself something to do with my mouth besides make noises I would later deny under oath.

His hands found another knot just under my left shoulder blade and pressed.

I inhaled sharply.

“There,” he said quietly.

“You sound entirely too pleased with yourself.”

“I’m pleased with anatomy. It’s not the same thing.”

“That was such a polished answer I almost respect it.”

“Almost?”

I took another drink and let the cocoa sit in my mouth a moment before swallowing. Warmth spread out through me again, broader now, less local than a hot drink ought to have managed. It settled into my chest first, then my limbs.

That should have been pleasant.

It was pleasant.

It also made a quiet warning bell begin to ring somewhere in the back of my head.

Maybe it was only food, heat, exhaustion, and a massage from a man absurdly good at them. Maybe that was all. Lord knew the simplest explanation was usually the right one.

And maybe I had spent enough time around supernaturals in my life to know that “usually” was a comfort word, not a promise.

I lowered the mug and stared into it, watching a marshmallow slowly collapse into the dark surface.

“You always keep a cabin stocked like this?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“For random women who pass out on you?”

“For guests.” His thumbs slid once more along the base of my neck. “Though you’re the first to make this exact use of the arrangement.”

“Lucky me.”

“I was going to say lucky me,” he said.

I looked back at him over my shoulder.

His expression had gone soft in a way that made me wary. Not hungry. Not mocking. Simply attentive. A man might look that way at a skittish horse he had no wish to startle. That should not have annoyed me as much as it did, but there was something maddening about being handled gently when you could not decide whether gentleness itself was a strategy.

I turned forward again before I could think too hard about that.

My phone.