His parents might’ve understood, but they were less than happy to have their adolescent son recruited to the cause.
“Do you think they’re worried about you?” Ignoring my growing exhaustion, I push myself to an upright sitting position again. “Would they have heard about what happened?”
“They—” His voice cracks as he looks back at me, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, I think they must know by now. Someone would’ve notified Mom about Uncle Vasya.”
“I’m sorry, Michael.” I bite my lip. “I’m really sorry that it happened like that. Believe me, if I could undo it—”
“Don’t.” Misha stands up, his hands clenched. “Don’t pretend.”
“I’m not—”
“That’s enough.” Lucas’s voice is knife sharp as he enters the room, approaching my brother with furious strides. “I told you, you’re not allowed to upset her.” Grabbing Misha by the back of his shirt, he drags him toward the door, growling, “She’s sick. Which part of that don’t you understand?”
“Lucas, stop.” I throw off my blanket, my pulse leaping in sudden fear. “Please, he didn’t do anything.”
Lucas instantly lets go of Misha and crosses the room toward me as I swing my feet to the floor, about to get up despite a wave of dizziness.
“What are you doing?” Glaring at me, he grabs my legs and places them back on the bed, forcing me back into the half-sitting position on the pillows before caging me between his arms. His eyes gleam with fury as he leans in, his face centimeters from mine. “You are to rest, understand?”
“Yes.” I swallow the knot in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
Apparently that satisfies Lucas, because he straightens and turns toward my brother. “Let’s go,” he says, jerking his thumb toward the door, and Misha shoots me an apologetic look before exiting the room ahead of Lucas.
Exhausted, I slide down the pillows and close my eyes.
My brother is all right for now, but this is no place for him. I need to get him back to his parents.
He has to go home.
33
Lucas
After I escort Michael out of the house and hand him over to Diego, I return to the bedroom to find Yulia asleep again. Though the bruises from Kirill’s assault are barely visible now, deep blue shadows lie under her eyes, and her face is pale and thin. She lost weight during the illness, and she once again looks disturbingly fragile, like a glass figurine that could shatter at the slightest touch.
I must be a pervert, because I want her anyway.
Taking a deep breath, I undress and climb into bed beside her. The pillows are all bunched up, so I arrange them more comfortably and lie down, pulling her against me. She’s still wearing the T-shirt, but I don’t mind the barrier between our bodies.
It keeps my lust for Yulia under control, helps me maintain the illusion that I’m a dispassionate caretaker rather than a man who’s had to jerk off twice a day for the past week.
Last night, I didn’t sleep, so I should be out like a light, but I’m wide awake as I feel the heat rising off her skin again. The fucking fever is back. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Yulia, but I couldn’t resist the plea in her big blue eyes. I still don’t know the full story with her brother—the boy refuses to answer any questions—but I know she loves him.
She ran away to save him from me.
Closing my eyes, I berate myself for the hundredth time for not listening to her. Over the past several days, I’ve had a chance to replay our pre-escape conversations in my mind, and I see that I have no one but myself to blame for the misunderstanding. If I’d let Yulia speak, I would’ve known who Misha was, and I would’ve promised not to harm him.
Even I have limits.
Yulia mumbles something in her sleep, burrowing closer to me, and I kiss the delicate shell of her ear, my chest tightening as I feel her burning skin. She’s not nearly as sick as last night, but she’s still far from well.
Carefully disentangling myself from her, I go to the bathroom and return with a cool wet towel. When I remove the T-shirt and run the towel over her body, Yulia wakes up, blinking at me with dazed blue eyes, but before I’m done wiping her down, she falls asleep again.
I turn off the light and get in bed beside her again, pulling her into my arms. My body heat is not optimal right now, but I’ve noticed she sleeps better when I’m holding her. She’s less prone to nightmares that way.
Closing my eyes again, I try not to think about the source of her nightmares, but it’s impossible. Yulia’s illness has derailed my normal work routine, but I’ve made sure that the search for Kirill is proceeding uninterrupted. Unfortunately, other than some vague rumors and a few false leads, there’s been nothing in the past few days. It’s like the bastard just vanished. It’s feasible he didn’t survive his wounds, but in that case, we should’ve found a body or heard something about a funeral.
No, my gut instinct tells me Yulia’s former trainer is alive—likely in horrendous pain, but alive. I’ll have to step up my efforts to find him when Yulia is well.
First, though, I need to get her well.
Kissing her temple, I snuggle her closer, ignoring the lust stiffening my cock. With any luck, Yulia’s improved appetite means she’s on the mend, and I will soon have her strong and healthy again.
If not, Goldberg will wish he’d never been born.
* * *
To my relief, over the next two days, Yulia’s recovery continues with no further relapses. Her appetite returns with a vengeance, and I find myself scouring the Internet for simple but nutritious recipes. I’m still pretty terrible in the kitchen, but I’ve discovered that with enough focus and concentration, I can make basic dishes by following instructions and watching online videos—something I’ve never been motivated to do before. But with Yulia completely dependent on me, it feels wrong to feed her only sandwiches and cereal.
I want her to eat well so she regains her health.
“What are you doing, man?” Diego asks when he enters my kitchen and sees me chopping up vegetables for stew. “I’ve never seen you cook before.”
“Yeah, well, I’m expanding my skill set,” I say, depositing all the vegetables into a large pot before glancing at my open laptop for the next step in the process. “It’s never to late to learn, right?”
“Uh-huh, sure.” Diego gives me a dubious look. “Why didn’t you just ask Esguerra’s housekeeper to make some extra food for you? She usually doesn’t mind.”
“I’m not Ana’s favorite person right now,” I say, carefully measuring out a teaspoon of salt. “You know, with Rosa and all.”
“Oh, right.” Diego sits down at the table and watches me with evident fascination. “She’s pretty upset about the whole thing, huh?”
“You could say that again.”
Though Nora’s intervention saved Rosa from our interrogation and subsequent punishment, the maid has been under house arrest for the past week while Esguerra is deciding what to do with her. If it weren’t for Nora’s friendship with the girl, it would’ve been easy, but Esguerra doesn’t want to upset his wife by executing her close friend.
Besides, neither one of us is completely certain that Nora told the truth, which means there’s still a chance the maid could’ve been working for someone else.
Now that Yulia is feeling better, I’m going to question her about that—and about everything else.
“So that’s it? You’re a master chef now?” Diego says as I pour the suggested amount of water into the pot and cover it before turning on the stove. “Does that mean Eduardo and I can come over for dinner?”
“Fuck, no. Make your own damned stew.”
Diego bursts out laughing, but quickly sobers up when I turn to face him.
“Enough chitchat,” I say, wiping my hands on a paper towel. “Fill me in on the new trainees and where we are with the recruiting efforts.”
The guard launches into his daily report, and I sit down at the table, keeping an eye on the pot to make sure it doesn’t boil over.
* * *
When the stew is done, I check on Yulia and find her napping in the armchair in the library, dressed in another one of my T-shirts. I brought her here after lunch when she insisted on getting up, claiming she was tired of lying in bed all day. Judging by the book on her lap, she fell asleep while reading.
Frowning, I brush my hand over her forehead to check for fever. To my relief, her skin feels normal to the touch. She’s still not fully recovered, but Goldberg was right not to let me panic.
I glance at the clock.
Four p.m. Plenty of time before dinner.
Making a decision, I quietly exit the room and head outside. I need to do my rounds with the guards and catch up with Esguerra. With any luck, Yulia will nap for the next couple of hours while I do some work, and then we’ll have a nice meal together—our first normal meal since her return.
I can’t fucking wait.
34
Yulia
An unnerving sensation wakes me up. It’s almost like someone’s watching me, or—
Gasping, I sit up in the armchair and gape at the petite, golden-skinned girl standing in the middle of Lucas’s library. She’s wearing a light blue sundress, and her shiny dark hair streams over her slim bare shoulders. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen her before, though something about her delicate features is familiar.