Page 37 of Fergus

Thea’s gaze moved to the man standing beside him.

A man she knew, in view of the brief telephone conversation he’d had with Fergus just now, had to be Nikolai Volkov.

Whatever Thea had expected the sovietnik of the Russian bratva to look like, it wasn’t this tall, muscular, blond-haired, and urbanely confident man, probably aged in his mid to late forties.

His handsome face was all angles, with cheekbones so sharp, they looked as if they could cut glass.

His short hair, no doubt expensively cut and styled, was such a pale blond that the strands of gray were almost invisible.

A couple of inches over six feet tall, Nikolai somehow managed to appear taller and more intimidating than that in the perfectly tailored dark gray suit, white shirt, and silver tie.

All colors, Thea realized when her gaze returned to his angular and handsome face, that complemented his pale and coldly piercing gray eyes.

His narrowed eyes swept briefly around the kitchen, taking in his surroundings, before that wolfish gaze finally settled on Thea. “Miss Morgan, I presume.” It was a statement rather than a question. “The stepdaughter of Andrei Yegorov and the stepsister of Lev Yegorov.” Again, it was a statement, not a question, with no inflection in his voice to say whether or not he liked or knew either of the other Russian men.

“Nikolai—”

“It’s okay, Fergus,” Thea assured him warmly when he would have interceded, the coolness of her gaze continuing to meet the Russian’s challenging one as she stood up. “Yes, I have the misfortune to be both those things, Mr. Volkov. But I have always refused to let my relatives, especially the ones I’m not related to by choice, define who and what I am.”

“And who and what are you?” Volkov challenged.

Thea had a feeling this man already knew exactly who and what she was. That he always knew everything about anyone he intended interacting with.

Her chin rose. “I’m a hardworking teacher who’s just trying to get by in life. Something that’s proving a little difficult right now because of outside influences beyond my control. One thing I’m decidedlynotis a member of the Russian mafia.”

“Thea—”

“I much prefer a woman with spirit, Fergus,” Volkov drawled with obvious amusement before turning back to Thea. “We prefer the word bratva rather than mafia,” he corrected her gently. “And I already knew of your dislike for your deceased mother’s husband and stepson.”

“Then why?—”

“I wanted to gauge what manner of young woman you are for myself,” the Russian said without apology. “I am very protective when it comes to the people I consider my friends.”

She nodded. “And Fergus is your friend.”

Volkov’s lips curved into a smile. “Much to his annoyance, yes.”

Linus, the youngest man in the room, was openly grinning as he listened to their exchange.

“Except, of course, when he needs my help to protect his woman,” the Russian continued, his voice hardening. “Then, it seems, I have my uses.”

Color blazed in Thea’s cheeks, and she couldn’t even look at Fergus. “I’m not Fergus’s woman!”

“Oh, but you are, Miss Morgan, and now that I have met you, I understand why.” Volkov unfastened his suit jacket before making himself comfortable on one of the stools on the other side of the breakfast bar. “Do you mind if I help myself to the salad?” He used one of the serving forks to pierce a tomato. “My own dinner has been delayed because someone asked me to seek out information I was told was needed urgently.” He gave Fergus a pointed glance as he chewed.

“I thought you would call me with the information, not make a personal visit,” Fergus defended.

“You ignored my messages and calls,” Nikolai Volkov reminded coolly.

Thea didn’t know whether to be amused by this Russian’s calm arrogance or terrified of him.

Either way, she had known from that very first glance that the watchful Nikolai Volkov was a very dangerous man.

A predator.

Awolf.

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