Page 106 of Mountain Daddy

I nod. Gather Chleo in my arms. He doesn't stir. Exhausted. Overwhelmed. My poor baby.

Inside, the cabin is surprisingly warm. Cozy, even. Leather furniture. Woven rugs. A stone fireplace dominating one wall. I hadn’t noticed when I was here last. I was too busy tasting Nikolai.

I carry Chleo to the spare room. Tuck him into the double bed that swallows his small frame. Kiss his forehead. Whisper that I love him.

He murmurs something in his sleep. Turns over. Drifts deeper.

When I come back, Nikolai is standing by the fireplace. He's built a small fire, flames licking at the wood, casting shadows across his face.

There's a glass in his hand. Whiskey, probably. Another sits on the mantle.

“Drink,” he says, nodding to it. “It'll help.”

I take the glass. Sip. The liquor burns down my throat, ignites in my chest. Warmth spreads outward, chasing away some of the lingering chill.

“Chleo asleep?” he asks.

I nod. “Out cold. He's had... a day.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. The understatement of the year.

Nikolai watches me over the rim of his glass. Those intense eyes missing nothing. Seeing everything.

Including the truth I've been hiding for five years.

“We need to talk,” I say finally. The words taste like ash in my mouth.

“Yes.” His voice is quiet. Controlled. “We do.”

I take another swallow of whiskey. Bigger this time.

Liquid courage.

“Chleo is yours.”

The words hang in the air between us. My words? They change everything.

Nikolai doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Just watches me with those predator eyes.

“I know,” he says finally.

Of course he does. He's known since he saw Chleo that first day in the bakery. Known in a way that goes beyond DNA tests or birth certificates.

Cellular recognition. Bone-deep knowledge.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper. “For lying. For running. For keeping him from you.”

He sets his glass down. Steps closer. “Why?”

It's not an accusation.

Just a question.

Simple. Direct.

Impossible to answer.

But I try.

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