Rurik survived the attack but had needed to go through extensive surgeries and rehabilitation. When Pavel learned Rurik was being eyed for light duty, he’d created the perfect situation for him to be sent to.
Rurik wasn’t at full strength.
He was beatable.
And here he was—in Durham, face-to-face with his mate.
If Pavel got his way, Rurik would be dead before nightfall.
Fuck The Corporation.
They’d forgive him. They’d see him as a valued member once more even if they did lose their precious Rurik in the process. They’d understand how little they really needed Rurik. Then Pavel would be returned to what he did best—heading experiments and labs.
There were countless testing facilities operating around the world. If Pavel played his cards right, he could end up at another that tested on children. They were the best subjects.
He just needed Rurik out of the way—for good.
They were on opposite sides of a war that had been going on forever and a day. It wasn’t a war between Russia and America as most would assume.
No.
It was one between The Corporation and mankind.
Rurik was backing the wrong horse; he just didn’t know it yet.
He was about to learn. When the lesson was handed to him, Pavel would be there to see it happen. And he’d sure as hell add his thoughts on all the ways Rurik had fucked things up—all the ways Rurik could have prevented it. Just like Rurik had done to him thirty-five years ago. Then Rurik could see what it was like to wish resetting time was a thing. Not that it would work.
No.
Rurik would be forced to live with regret.
Just like Pavel had to do.
A mix of anger and adrenaline shot through Pavel and his eyes began to burn.
“Baby, you’re doing it again,” said Olga, the hot blonde. “Your eyes are glowing orange.”
Pavel set the phone on the top of his desk and raked his gaze over the woman. She’d thankfully changed out of the clothes she’d first arrived in and was currently wearing a short skirt and a low-cut, button-up pink silk blouse.
He loved it when she wore pink and when she went without a bra or panties. He knew the absence of the articles of intimate wear was for his benefit, and that turned him on more.
From the outline of her nipples, she was giving him what he wanted—no bra.
She ran her hand over his shoulder and up his neck to his jawline. “We have time to sneak in a quickie, right?”
He wanted sex, but he wanted details on Rurik first.
“How long did it take Romanov to react to his mate? Does he know who she is to him yet?” he asked, already knowing but wanting confirmation. Hell, Pavel was the reason the women were even in Durham and that Rurik had been called in. Everything was going according to plan.
Olga pouted. “I want some attention.”
He pushed her onto the desk and then shoved apart her legs.
She squealed in delight.
He took a deep breath and his cock jerked to life with the scent of her sex. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She sighed. “It didn’t take Romanov long to have his mouth on hers. It’s unclear if he’s figured out who she is to him yet or not.”
As a reward for answering the question, he slid a hand up her inner thigh and then between her legs. Like a good girl, she wasn’t wearing panties. He spread the lips of her pussy and thrust a finger into her, causing her to squirm on his desktop.
He grinned more. “And you’re sure no one followed you on your way back to town?”
She whimpered and then bit on her lower lip, trying to ride his hand more.
He stopped and gave her a cross look. “Answer me. Were you followed?”
“No one suspected a thing,” she said, writhing on his hand. “Fuck me.”
“In a minute,” he returned, noticing his accent working its way back into his speech. He’d worked hard to minimize it over the last two decades. Doing so helped him blend more and made it easy enough for him to lie about his origin. Most Americans believed what they were told, never noticing the slight variations in accents from certain regions. Their ignorance worked in his favor.
He’d found himself on PSI’s most wanted list for twenty years now. In the beginning, it had been difficult to stay ahead of them even with the assistance of his backers. But as time went on it got easier.
It helped that while under his new alias, he’d switched up professions. Literature held little interest to him. It just so happened he’d lived through most of the times the Russian greats wrote about and had been familiar with their work all his life. Coming up with a rock-solid paper trail that proved his credentials had been the easiest part of it all. Of course, he’d never given up his passion—science and the advancement of supernaturals.
When he’d learned that several of his university colleagues had gotten too close to projects Pavel had ties to, he’d acted, removing them from the equation. They weren’t dead—though that had been his preference—but they were tucked away in a spot no one would ever find them. While there, they could serve the greater good and help to usher in a new era of supernaturals. Their skill sets were the only reason they were still alive, especially with how much they’d already learned.
“Pavel,” whispered Olga. “More.”
His gaze narrowed and he withdrew his finger from her. “I told you not to call me that here.”
She glanced around. “It’s just us right now. No one can hear.”
His jaw set. “You don’t know that. What if PSI or the Para-Regs dispatched someone to have a closer look at the university?”
She rolled her eyes. “They only sent Romanov. He can’t be in two places at once. He’s at the house that
