Chapter Twenty
Nikolai pressed the last strip of gauze against her shoulder, his hands steady despite the blood still drying on his own skin.
“You should’ve had this stitched days ago,” he said, voice sharp but not unkind.
Anika hissed as the tape pulled tight. “I would’ve done it myself....”
His brows lifted. “How? It’s your shoulder.”
“I am a vet tech,” she muttered. “I’ve stitched worse wounds on my dogs.”
“Dogs don’t argue,” he countered. “And you’re not reaching that angle unless you dislocate your arm.”
Her mouth tightened, and for once she didn’t fire back. Instead, she grabbed the kit from the counter and shoved it toward him. “Fine. Then sit. You’re next.”
Nikolai gave a low chuckle and lowered himself to the edge of the tub. “You’re bossy when you’re bleeding.”
“You’re still dripping blood on my floor,” she shot back, already scrubbing her hands.
She cleaned the cuts without ceremony—except that her hands shook more than usual. And when she had to dig out a piece of metal, he hissed loud enough for it to echo.
“Don’t be dramatic,” she muttered.
“I’ve been stabbed, shot, and buried alive,” he said through gritted teeth. “But yes, please, let’s call this the worst pain I’ve ever felt.”
She rolled her eyes. “Such a baby.”
But she smiled, and so did he.
For a moment, everything else—the fire, the contact who never showed, the blast—faded.
All that remained was her fingers brushing against his bare skin, and the weight of something neither of them could name.
Yet.
The bathroom was dim, lit only by the soft under-glow of the mirror. Nikolai sat shirtless on the edge of the tub, blood drying across the ridges of his back. Anika stood in front of him, in just a sports bra and tactical pants, her blood-soaked shirt lay on the floor next to his torn and bloody one. Her expression was unreadable as she threads a suture needle with practiced hands.
“Ready?” she asked.
“No numbing,” he said immediately.
“Of course not.” She snorted. “God forbid you let yourself be human for once.”
He didn’t respond, just held her gaze steady until she leaned closer and began stitching. Her hands were precise, almost clinical, but the air between them was anything but. His muscles twitched under her touch, his breath deepened, but he never moved away.
“You should’ve let me handle it,” she said quietly as she tied off the last stitch and covered his wounds with gauze and tape.
Nikolai tilted his head, not in challenge—just to look at her fully. “You’d be dead if I had.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
“I believe you.” His voice was low. “But that doesn’t mean I want to watch it happen.”
Her jaw tightened. She turned and washed her hands in the sink, red swirling down the drain like old paint.
“I don’t need saving,” she said.
“I didn’t save you,” he replied. “I protected you. There’s a difference.”
That made her pause. Her hands gripped the sides of the sink. Not trembling. Just… still.
She stared into the mirror and saw too much—herself, yes. But also him. The weight of his presence behind her. Shirtless. Bandaged. Still watching her like she was something worth studying.
Worth holding onto.
“You’re not making this easy,” she said.
“For who?” he asked. “Me or you?”
She didn’t answer. Not for a long beat. Then she turned to face him again, arms folded tight, like that was the only thing keeping her upright.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted.
“Do what?”
“Let someone… stay.”
Something flickered across Nikolai’s face. Not softness, not quite. But something close to understanding.
“You let your dogs stay,” he said.
“They don’t leave.”
“I won’t either.”
That landed somewhere she didn’t want it to. Somewhere raw.
She leaned against the counter, tension bleeding from her spine, her walls cracking just enough to let the weight show.
“I had nightmares when I was a kid,” she said, voice quiet. “After my mom died. After I found her. When my dad was gone, overseas. I stopped sleeping. Didn’t want to close my eyes. Didn’t want to see her there, hanging like—”
She caught the breath before it broke her.
“I trained because I had to,” she went on. “I built this whole life because I needed control. But sometimes... I still wake up expecting to hear the floorboards creak. Expecting the scream. Like I’m ten years old again.”
Nikolai didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just sat there, watching her bleed without ever losing a drop.
And maybe that’s why she kept going.
“People tell me I’m strong,” she said. “That I don’t break. But they don’t see it—the part of me that’s still terrified....”
“You’re wrong,” he said, voice rough.
She looked at him.
“You’re not strong because you don’t break,” he continued. “You’re strong because you broke and kept going anyway.”
Her throat tightened.
He stood slowly, stepping toward her. Close, but not overwhelming. Just near enough that the air shifted again, charged in a different way now.
“Why me?” she asked, voice small. “You don’t trust anyone. You barely like anyone. So why me?”
Nikolai didn’t speak right away.
Then, “Because you look at me like you see what I am… and it doesn’t scare you.”
“It doesn’t,” she whispered.
“That’s what terrifies me.”
His hand lifted—not fast, not rough—and found her waist again. She didn’t flinch. Just let it happen. Let herself lean into that solid warmth.
“You keep pulling away,” he said.
“So do you.”
He didn’t deny it. Didn’t rush her. Just let her breathe. Let her feel.
And when the silence stretched too long, when her chest ached from holding everything in, she surprised them both.
“Stay,” she said.
He blinked.
“Here?” he asked.
She nodded once. Still not meeting his eyes. “Just… for tonight.”
Nikolai didn’t ask why. Didn’t press.
He simply stepped closer.
“Alright,” he said.
And that was enough.
Later
The guest room remained untouched.
Anika led him down the hallway, barefoot, silent, tension easing from her shoulders one slow breath at a time. Nyx and Ares paced beside them like shadows with muscle. When they reached the bedroom, the two dogs bristled until Anika murmured, “Fissare.” (settle).
She peeled off her pants, folded them over a chair, and slipped beneath the covers in a sports bra and boy shorts. Her skin still carried the faint burn of heat and smoke. Her body hummed with leftover adrenaline.
She wasn’t sure what scared her more—that he’d say something tender…
…or that he wouldn’t.
But he didn’t speak. Didn’t make it complicated.
Just laid his gun beside hers on the nightstand, kicked off his boots and pants and slid in bed beside her.
When his chest met her back and his arm curled around her waist, she didn’t pull away.
She didn’t even pretend to.
She just… exhaled.
And for once, that felt like enough.