Page 37 of Emerald Malice

“Mm. Are you following your own advice?”

I narrow my eyes, but Yelena doesn’t so much as blink as she stares back at me. Of everyone in my employ, she might be the least fazed by my temper.

“She’s very pretty,” she adds.

I put my glass of water aside as Yelena dunks a clean rag into the basin she brought with her and starts to dab at the bandages swathed around my shoulder.

I grit my teeth as pain crackles at Yelena’s touch. “More so when she keeps that pretty little mouth of hers shut.”

The smile on my housekeeper’s face is secretive and knowing. “I’m willing to bet that mouth of hers is exactly what landed her in this house in the first place. You always did have a thing for the feisty ones.”

I decide to ignore that as she places another rag against my forehead. It’s ice-cold and does wonders for my throbbing temples. “Did you speak to her?”

“She wasn’t in a very chatty mood.”

I bite my tongue to keep from asking more follow-up questions. I don’t want Yelena getting any ideas. Well, any more ideas.

As she moves to sponge my arms, I duck away. “I can do it myself.”

“You had a hard fall. No one would blame you for taking it easy for a few days.”

“I have neither the time nor the luxury of taking it easy.”

“Because of Nikolai?” Yelena’s gaze is piercing. “Or because of the pregnant little bird you brought home with you?”

I swing my legs off the bed and get to my feet. A little too fast. My head spins and I grunt in surprised pain.

“I told you,” she sighs. “You need to take it easy.”

I shake off her advice and stumble around the bed to where my clothes are lying on the divan. Christ, everything hurts. “She told you she was pregnant?”

“I’m sixty-two years old, malysh.” She only ever uses that nickname when we’re alone. “I recognize a pregnant woman when I see one.”

I pull on a fresh pair of sweats and a t-shirt. “It’s mine.”

Yelena smiles as if she already knew that. “Well, I’ll be damned. A little prince in the house—and a queen to go with him. What a nice change.”

I skewer her with a glare. “Not a damn thing will be changing.”

She laughs, heaving her old bones upright and toddling toward the exit. “How wrong you are, malysh. How very wrong you are.”

The laughter follows her all the way out the door.

Ignoring the ache in my limbs, I thump downstairs—making liberal use of the banister to keep from falling on my face. Shura and Efrem are both waiting, lingering outside the room where Misha is being kept.

“’Drey,” Shura greets with obvious relief. “Doing okay?”

I wave dismissively, even as my arm burns with pain. “Fine. What happened?”

“Reinforcements showed up just in time,” Efrem explains. “Nikolai, miserable bastard that he is, got distracted and that gave you the chance to get away.”

Shura scoffs. “You forget the part where he knocked you out and made a run for it.”

A gleaming scab just above Efrem’s right brow confirms as much. “He was running from me.”

“Yeah, I bet you looked real scary with your ass on the floor.”

Efrem scowls, poised to keep defending himself, until I hold my hand up and both men fall silent. “So he got away?”

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