Page 3 of Nikolay

My brother knew what Obsidian was beyond the obvious. He knew the dangers better than anyone. A misplaced word here could cost blood, power, debt, allegiance. Nothing in this building was simple service, not truly. Every glass set down at the right elbow, every delay, every look noticed and remembered, entered some ledger, whether written or not. He knew that. Which meant if he had hired Maddie, he had not done it carelessly.

That should have reassured me.

Instead, it fed something more dangerous, because competence made her harder to dismiss. If she had been clumsy, foolish, or in over her head, I could have clothed my objection in concern. If she had flirted with disaster simply because the city glittered and she had been too young to know better, I might have worn the role of protector without lying too much to myself.

But she had chosen. She had asked. She had been assessed and found capable.

My objection remained, stripped now of respectable garments, standing there in the room with its throat bare.

“Send her back,” I said.

Bohdan’s expression did not change at once. That was almost worse than laughter. He merely watched me, perhaps to see whether I would soften the order into a request or a recommendation. I did not.

“I don’t care what her qualifications are,” I said. “Send her back.”

He pushed up from his desk in one smooth motion and came fully upright. We were not as alike in build as some strangers assumed. I carried more size, more visible strength. Bohdan carried tension differently, banked and honed rather than broad. But he had presence enough to fill the room when he chose, and now he chose.

He adjusted one antique cufflink with two fingers, glanced down at the intricate design as though making certain it sat straight, and said, “No.”

Nothing more. Just that.

The syllable struck the room like a bolt thrown across iron.

For a brief and ugly instant, I understood why lesser men overturned furniture. Why some used violence because language could no longer contain what they felt. I did not move, but all my muscles drew taut under my skin. My fists locked. The air in the office seemed too thin.

“No,” he repeated, almost conversationally, “is the answer.”

“You mistake me,” I said. My voice had gone lower, colder. “I was not soliciting your opinion.”

“And yet you received it.”

“This is not a game.”

“I know.” His amber eyes sharpened. “That is precisely why I am not indulging you.”

I took another step. The space between us dwindled to something dangerous and familial at once, the kind of distance in which brothers had settled disputes with blood long before they acquired sophistication enough to hide it. “You presume much.”

“I presume what is obvious.”

“It is obvious to you that placing an unmated wolf shifter with no ties to this city on the floor of Obsidian is unwise.”

“No.” He folded his arms over his chest. “It is obvious to me that you are the one behaving unwisely.”

I laughed once, without humor. “Do enlighten me.”

His head tipped slightly. His voice changed then, just enough. Softer. That particular softness he used when he wanted the blade to slide in before one felt the wound.

“You’re attracted to her, Nikki. That’s what this is.”

I did not confirm it.

I did not deny it.

I did not move at all for three full seconds.

Those seconds stretched with monstrous clarity. I heard the low hum of ventilation in the walls. The muffled bass from the floor below. The faint tick of an old clock hidden among the shelves. I watched the lamplight catch along the edge of a ledger and burn dull gold there. My own body betrayed me in cruel increments: the slam of my pulse, the dryness in my mouth, the involuntary sharpening of my senses as if her name alone had altered the chemistry of the air.

Attracted.