Page 119 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

Nikolai coaxes me onto the couch. “You need to warm up. You’re still shivering.”

I look down at my hands. He’s right—my fingers are trembling. I barely noticed, but I’m not surprised he did.

“It’s just adrenaline,” I mumble. “Near-death experiences do that to a girl.”

Another shiver moves through me as the reality of what could have happened plays out. I was half-dangling over the edge of a fall that I absolutely would not have come back from. At least it would’ve been a pretty place to die, right?

Then I think of Elise left all alone in the world and I shiver again.

“You need a drink,” he says definitively. He grabs a bottle of scotch and a glass from the nearby liquor cabinet.

“Do you know how to make hot chocolate?” I ask.

Nikolai looks back over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Huh?”

“Please tell me you know what hot chocolate is." Given how different our lives are, I can't assume anything. I wonder idly if Nikolai knows how to operate a toaster oven or a washing machine.

“Of course I do. I just haven't had it since the age of six."

"Then you're missing out."

Nikolai chuckles and pours me an alarmingly large glass of scotch before he moves back to the pantry. “All that’s here is the powdered shit. If you want proper hot chocolate, I can order room service.”

“Powdered is fine,” I tell him. “It’s all I’ve ever had, actually.”

More like it’s all I’ve ever known. We never had anything extra in the house. No soda, no candy, no nothing other than chips and Top Ramen. Whatever leftover money we had went to Mom’s drugs.

Pilfering money out of her purse was the only reason Elise and I had money for groceries some weeks. But once, I went to a slumber party when I was eleven and had a hot chocolate with an actual cinnamon stick to swirl in. It tasted like magic to me. I drank four mugs and felt sick all night.

Worth it, both at the time and in retrospect.

Nikolai shuts the cabinet and picks up his phone. “Then that settles it. I’m calling room service.”

He’s being so sweet to me that I hate to ask for anything more, but I clear my throat. “Maybe some sandwiches, too? Elise hasn’t eaten, and—”

“She ordered room service right after we left,” he says, holding the phone to his ear.

“How do you know that?”

He taps his phone, and I’m not sure what he means until he starts talking. “Send up a couple sandwiches—chef’s choice—and a hot chocolate.” He hangs up and drops his phone on the counter. “I got a text from the front desk letting me know someone made a charge to my account. She ordered a ribeye and mac and cheese."

“She sure isn’t shy about taking charity, is she?” I shake my head. “Sorry about that. I’ll talk to her.”

“She shouldn’t be shy. This isn’t charity,” Nikolai snaps.

I shrug. “You don’t have to lie to me. You feel bad about all the crap that’s been going on, so you brought me here and—”

Nikolai stalks across the room and stops behind the couch where I’m sitting. His fingers dig into the plush white cushion until the knuckles go white. “I don’t act out of guilt. You aren’t here because I feel I owe you something.”

He seems genuine enough, but I can’t quite buy it. “I just…”

“Do I look like a fucking saint?”

I press my lips together. I know a trap when I see one. I’m not answering that.

There’s also the inconvenient fact that, standing over me, the light from the kitchen silhouetting him, Nikolai could pass for any saint, god, or angel I’ve ever seen. He’s tall and broad with perfect golden skin and a jawline that makes marble look a little JellO-y.

I've seen enough of his dark side to know he isn’t heavenly, not by a long shot. But he’s something not of this world nonetheless.

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