LENA
Iwake to the smell of coffee and something frying, which is wrong on so many levels, my brain can't process it fast enough. Sasha doesn't cook breakfast. I cook breakfast. And the sounds coming from my kitchen are too confident, too familiar, like someone who knows exactly where everything is kept.
I throw on clothes and pad out to find Danil moving through my kitchen like he owns it, cracking eggs into a pan with one hand while flipping what looks like blini with the other.
"Good morning," he says without turning around, like he has some sixth sense that tells him I'm standing here. "I hope you don't mind. I'm an early riser, and I figured I'd make myself useful."
Mind? I mind that he's in my space, touching my things, breathing my air. But I can't say that without sounding insane.
"Coffee's fresh," he adds, nodding toward the pot.
I pour myself a mug and lean against the counter, watching him work. There's something unsettling about how comfortable he is here, how he found the spatula in the second drawer and the plates in the cabinet above the sink without asking. Like he's done this before. Like he belongs.
"So, Maya." He plates the eggs and blini with surprising delicacy for a man his size. "How long have you been in Montana?"
The question sounds casual, but I hear the weight underneath. "Three years."
"Long time to be alone in the mountains." He sets a plate in front of me, then starts on another. "What brought you out here?"
"Needed a change." I take a bite of blini, and damn it, it's perfect. Light and slightly sweet, just the way I like them. "City life wasn't for me."
"Which city?"
My fingers tighten on my fork. "Does it matter?"
"Just making conversation." But his dark eyes are sharp, assessing. "You seem like an East Coast girl to me. New York, maybe? Boston?"
Before I can answer, Sasha emerges from the bedroom, his hair still damp from the shower. He's wearing jeans that hang low on his hips and a thermal shirt that clings to every ridge of muscle across his chest and abs. Even stressed and suspicious, my body responds to the sight of him. Heat pools low in my belly, and I have to force myself to look away before I do something stupid like stare.
His gold eyes move between Danil and me, reading the tension in the air like it's written in neon. "Breakfast smells good," hesays, but his voice has that edge I've learned to recognize. The one that means he's paying very close attention.
"Sit." Danil gestures to the table with the spatula. "There's plenty."
Sasha doesn't sit. Instead, he moves to stand beside me, his hand finding the small of my back. The touch is possessive and protective, and I see Danil notice it, see the way his eyebrows rise slightly before he schools his expression back to neutral.
"Maya was just telling me about how she ended up in Montana," Danil says, plating more eggs. "Though she's being a bit mysterious about the details."
"Maybe she likes her privacy." Sasha's voice is flat, dangerous. "Maybe that's why she lives in the middle of nowhere."
"Fair enough." Danil sets the pan aside and finally sits, his large frame making my kitchen chair look like doll furniture. "I'm just curious. It's not every day you find someone living this far off the grid."
The storm outside howls, rattling the windows. Snow falls so thick, I can barely see the tree line, and the world beyond my cabin has disappeared into white. We're trapped here together, the three of us, and the walls feel like they're closing in with every passing second.
"Where are you from originally?" Danil asks me, taking a bite of his eggs. "Your accent is interesting. Not quite East Coast, not quite Midwest."
"I don't have an accent," I say, but my voice comes out too defensive.
"Everyone has an accent." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm good with voices. Comes from years of listening to people lie to me."
Sasha's hand tightens on my back. "That's enough."
"I'm just making conversation," Danil says mildly, but there's steel underneath the casual tone. "Getting to know the woman who saved my best friend's life."
"Then ask about something else." Sasha pulls out the chair beside me and sits, his thigh pressing against mine under the table. Even through our jeans, the contact sends electricity up my spine. "Her past is her business."
Danil studies us both for a long moment, then shrugs. "All right. Fair enough." He takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "These mountains must get lonely. Do you get many visitors?"
"Just Pavel," I say before I can stop myself.