Maxim's Mate

by Selena Scott

  Ivy bit back her smug smile; she'd beat her way around the bush, alright. She was gonna get to dodge the bullet, leave some kind of thank you basket and a nice note, do her due diligence, and not have to see this guy. And she could blame it all on her son wanting to see a firehouse. Perfecto.

  "Him," Linc said without a second's hesitation. "I wanna go see him instead."

  "What?" Ivy gaped at him. "You don't wanna see the firehouse?"

  Linc pursed his face, considering for a second. "Nah. I've seen them on TV before." He galloped out of the bathroom, bare feet on the floor. "I'll change, Mama!"

  Ivy stared at her own shell-shocked expression in the mirror. Her world had gone upside down in that car crash. And she wasn't convinced it had gone right side up again.

  ***

  The woman slipped out of bed and immediately tugged a brush through her short blonde hair.

  "He'll have us killed, you know," she said to her lover in their native tongue. "I expect it any day."

  "If he kills us then he won't ever get what he wants," the man replied lazily, smoking a cigarette and staring out at the gray sky beyond the window. “He’s too selfish for that.”

  The woman, sick of the same argument, sick of her lover’s unruffled feathers, flung the hairbrush across the room, splintering a mirror into a spiderweb of cracks. "And what exactly is that?" she shrieked. "What is it that he wants?"

  The man raised an eyebrow at her, unimpressed with her tantrum. "Overall? He wants the same thing he wanted when he started Navuka. He wants an army of shifters at his disposal. He wants ultimate protection from Russia. But more importantly, from his own people."

  She stalked over to the desk in the small, dingy room they'd been reduced to. She remembered back home, when they'd been in the life president's good graces, the silks, the plush carpets, the china glasses. And now she was drinking out of plastic cups and smoking pasteurized cigarettes. It was all so disgustingly American.

  "We've given him that, Sergei. You know this. We've created an army for him. What more could he want from us? Why won't he let us come home?"

  The man ashed his cigarette and turned the full force of his gaze on the woman. She was asking questions she already knew the answer to and it annoyed him deeply. She insisted on ramming her head against the same wall over and over again.

  "He wants to destroy the idiot reporter who tried to destroy Navuka," he spoke to the woman as if she were a child. "He wants the tigers back. They were rare jewels and good fighters, if not a little too strong-willed to be completely trained." Now he rose from the bed, aroused, despite the dull ache of disgust he felt for the woman, or perhaps because of it. He trailed a hand along her shoulder. Dropped his face to her neck. "And most of all, he wants what we want. He wants our pet back, our ultimate creation, our weapon. He wants Anton Malashovik."

  She stepped away from him, pleased that the tables of power had turned again. Now that her lazy lover was aroused again, she held the upper hand. "We've tried, Sergei. He's too guarded with his brothers. And we can't risk extraction using other shifters because if we hurt him, then the president will absolutely kill us." She, too, spoke as if to a child.

  Sergei shrugged and snatched her around the waist, tossed her toward the bed. "Then we do what we've been doing, Lana. We stay close, we watch, we wait. The Malashoviks will present us with an opportunity if we wait. They will mess up. And then we will take Anton. Back to Belarus. Back to being the good little soldier we made him into."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Maxim scraped the water off his hair and arms before stepping out of the shower and grabbing the towel off the hook.

  His emotions were Jell-O. He’d responded to a hundred car accident scenes before and had never had as visceral a response as he’d had to that one. His adrenaline had been going hard enough that he hadn’t even noticed the 8-inch gash across his shoulder. It had needed over fifty stitches and was stinging like a motherfucker. But he didn’t care. All he cared was that Linc and Ivy were safe.

  Ivy Greene.

  It was a good name. A really good name. One he’d said to himself a hundred times over the past day or so. But it left a harsh taste behind. She hadn’t told it to him of her own accord. He’d had to read it on the clipboard hanging off the bed where she and her son slept.

  Her son.

  Another thing to digest. The woman who’d haunted his dreams for the last six months was a package deal.

  Maxim leaned forward and wiped the fog off the bathroom mirror. He grimaced at his reflection. Purple under his eyes. A day past a shave. And he looked sad.

  He never looked sad.

  But he wasn’t sure how the hell else he was supposed to feel. She’d dumped him cold for a second time. He’d shown up at their hospital room at noon yesterday, flowers and some Playmobil toys in hand. Of course they’d already made tracks. No sign of where.

  He wasn’t even sure if they lived in Spokane. The plates to her car had been from Florida.

  He was sure he could ask his investigative reporter sister-in-law, Dora, to do some investigating. But really, how many signs could this woman give him that she wanted to be left the hell alone?

  His doorbell rang and Maxim hitched the towel over his hips. One of his brothers had probably forgotten their keys. Emin was always coming over to beg a meal off of him. Or Anton needing a place to crash for a few hours. Or Danil just wanting to talk.

  He furrowed his brow at the cab he saw idling in his driveway. Who the hell did he know that would take a cab to his house?

  He swung open the door and even though his mouth wanted to drop open, it spread into a wide, unplanned grin.

  There they were. Ivy and Linc. Standing on his front porch. It felt good to smile. He hadn’t done enough of it in the last six months.

  Ivy stood with her hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans. Jeans that fit her like a damn glove. Little, artful rips at the knees that made him want to nibble at the skin exposed there. How had he not paid any attention to her knees when he’d had her in his bed? Foolish. She had cute knees.

  Linc, meanwhile, squinched his face up and hopped from one foot to the other, a little package clenched tight in his hands.

  Ivy rested a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Hi, there, um, sorry to drop in like this. But we figured you wouldn’t be at the firehouse.”

  “I’ve got ten days leave,” Maxim nodded, gesturing at the bandage on his arm. The sight of his naked shoulder gave him a start. Jeez. He didn’t realize he was standing here in just a towel.

  He glanced back up at Ivy and was immensely pleased to realize that he wasn’t the only one looking at his naked chest. She cleared her throat and forced her eyes up to his face.

  “We just wanted to stop by and-”

  “Come in,” he said quickly, not wanting her to make a quick getaway. “You like fish, Linc?”

  Linc made a face even more squinty than before. “Blech. No. But sometimes we eat tuna sandwiches and I’m not allowed to make faces.”

  Maxim laughed. “Not to eat. To watch. I have aquarium.”

  “What’s that?”

  Maxim looked up at Ivy. “It’s in the living room. I’ll just go change.”

  Neither of them acknowledged that she would know exactly where the living room was because she’d been here before. When they’d fucked each other into another dimension and back. Woof. Deep breath.

  Maxim changed at light speed and came back into his living room barefoot, in worn jeans and a white t-shirt. He realized, as he came into the room, that it was pretty much the same thing she was wearing, except for the oversized blue cardigan she wore. He rubbed his towel over his hair a few quick times and tossed it over the back of a chair as they turned and watched him come in.

  Well, Ivy turned to him, a thin gold chain glinting at her neck. Maxim had a flash of memory of taking that chain in his teeth, licking the skin that was beneath it. Not now.

  Linc was too busy to look up, hands pressed to the
glass of Maxim’s aquarium, his eyes as big as ping pong balls.

  “Look, Mama! Look at that one! And that one! He’s glow-in-the-dark.”

  Maxim put his hands on his knees and bent next to Linc. “That one’s name is Chicken.”

  Linc giggled in delight. “Why?”

  Maxim shrugged. “Why not?”

  “What’s that one named?” He pointed with a chubby little finger.

  “The purple one? That’s Little Chicken.”

  Linc belly-laughed at that one.

  “Anyone want some orange juice?” Maxim asked. “Or pretzels? I was just going to have some.”

  Ivy opened her mouth to refuse, but Linc was already padding after Maxim toward the kitchen. “How come you got fish in the house?”

  Maxim got down three mismatched glasses and filled them with orange juice before pulling down a bag of pretzels and setting them on his kitchen table. He hefted Linc into one of the chairs and sat down next to him.

  “I just like them, I guess,” Maxim answered his question, taking a handful of pretzels and nudging the bag toward Linc. “They’re halfway between flowers and pets.”

  Linc nodded like he understood perfectly. “They’re prettier than flowers. Plus they move. Mama likes flowers, though. Live ones.” He shoved too many pretzels in his mouth and half of them came back out when he chewed.

  “I think you could get more pretzels in your mouth if you talked less, Linc,” Ivy said dryly. Linc, recognizing the tone, grinned sheepishly up at his mother, causing more pretzel pieces to come tumbling out.

  Because she hovered at the edge of the table, her hands jammed back in her pockets, Maxim reached under the table with his foot and nudged one of the chairs out for her. She sucked her front teeth for a second, then slid into the chair.

  “Try the juice, Mama,” Linc said, sliding her cup across the table to her with a sticky, crumby hand.

  Ivy expertly intercepted the juice before it smashed over the edge. She took an obliging sip, smacking her lips at her son. “Delish.”

  Maxim tore his eyes from her lips and leaned casually back in his chair. “How are you?”

  He regretted his question the second it came out of his mouth. The lightness from a moment ago swirled away into the air. A tense cloud seemed to settle over Ivy.

  “We’re good. He has a little bit of a headache still.” She traced a hand over her son’s dark hair. “But we’re fine. I think we have you to thank for that.”

  Maxim held her eyes. “It’s my job.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes fell and she nudged her son. “Go get the package from the living room.”

  Linc jumped up immediately, sliding down from the chair with both feet and scampering through the kitchen. He was back in seconds.

  “Even though it’s your job, it was still our lives. And my son’s life. And. I just - thank you, Maxim.”

  It was his name on her lips that had him nodding more than anything. She needed him to take her gratitude. It was important to her. That much was clear.

  “You’re welcome, Ivy.”

  She, surprisingly, went a little pink in the cheeks at his use of her name. Maxim was charmed by it. He remembered that flush well. It also spread over her entire body when she was aroused, tightening, and half a second from coming.

  They both cleared their throats at the same time.

  “Here you go, Max,” Linc said, shoving the package into Maxim’s hands.

  Maxim pleased all of them when he ferociously ripped the paper off the squishy package and tossed it on the floor. Nobody likes careful present-openers.

  He turned over the three folded t-shirts in his hands. A blue one, a green one, and a purple one, all soft and thin. He looked up at Ivy, a little bit of confusion on his face.

  “We thought they wouldn’t bother your shoulder much, while it was healing,” she explained. “These are pretty much as close to pajamas as you can legally get during the work day.”

  She grinned at him, and so did Linc, and something tightened a little in Maxim’s chest. It was sweet. Really sweet.

  Without a second thought, he carefully ripped his white t-shirt off over his head and tossed it back into the hall toward his laundry room. His shoulder ached a little at the movement but he didn’t care. It was worth it for the giggle of delight Linc gave, and the deepening blush in Ivy’s cheeks.

  “Which color should I wear?” he asked Linc and held up each shirt in turn. “Sini, zialiony, abo fijalietavy.”

  “Huh?” Linc asked, squinting hard.

  “I asked blue, green, or purple in my language.”

  “Oh, say it again,” Linc demanded and Maxim obliged. “Okay,” the little boy thought. “Then you should wear the fijalitooovy one.”

  “Purple,” Maxim nodded, not correcting the pronunciation and pulling the shirt over his head.

  “I know it’s not Russian,” Ivy said, watching him.

  He nodded again, trying to hide his slight wince as he slipped his arm through the sleeve. He straightened the shirt, held his arms out like ‘tada’ for Linc, then dragged his flattened palm over his short hair. “Belarusian.”

  “You’re from Belarus?” she asked and then clapped her mouth closed like she wished she’d just shut up already. She bit her bottom lip in half with her teeth and it was still the juiciest lip he’d ever seen.

  He allowed himself the small pleasure of letting his eyes skate over her. Just for a moment. She wore no makeup and delicate gold jewelry at her ears and throat, a few scattered, sparkly rings on her fingers. None, he was relieved to see, on her ring finger. She’d dressed plainly, he supposed, to try and turn him off. She hadn’t known that she could wear a dress made of knives and he’d still want to cuddle up to her.

  “Okay, Mr. President,” she said to her son. “It’s time we got out of Maxim’s hair.”

  “You don’t have to go,” he insisted.

  “We don’t have to go,” Linc repeated.

  Ivy raised the mom eyebrow and both the men in the room instantly got the message. Linc’s face went flat and sad and Ivy brutally ignored it. It was best for everyone involved if they cut this off now. “We do, actually, have to go now.”

  Maxim rose when she did. “Maybe you go now, and you come back for dinner.”

  Linc looked up at her with huge, hopeful eyes. She was sure Maxim had asked in front of the kid intentionally. Sneaky bastard. “We have dinner plans already.”

  Great. Now she was gonna have to come up with some dinner plans to appease Linc.

  She looked purposefully away from Maxim. He looked too good in that shirt. It was a little tight around his pecs. And the purple accented the tiredness under his eyes in a weirdly hot way. She had to get out of here.

  “Okay, well,” Maxim played a card that he didn’t consider fair, but she was really leaving him no other choice. “I’m suddenly free as a bird for the next ten days, so maybe another night.”

  Guilt flashed across Ivy’s face as she ducked her head, her eyes lingering on his shoulder. Crap. He hadn’t wanted to make her feel guilty. Well, he had a little. As long as it had gotten her to not dance out of the house and never come back.

  “We’ve got a pretty busy few weeks. Getting this guy ready for kindergarten in the fall,” she added when her refusal sounded too harsh to her own ears.

  “You could come see us, though!” Linc said. “We live at 492 Chalkford Road. Right, Mama?”

  “Right,” she said faintly. It was her fault for drilling their new address into his head. God, they had to go. “What do you say, ace?”

  “Oh. Thankyouforhavingusyouhavealovelyhome,” Linc breathed all at once, making Maxim smile.

  “And…” Ivy prompted him, nudging his sneaker with hers.

  “Oh! And thank you for saving my life and Mama’s life.”

  “I would do it a million more times,” Maxim said sincerely.

  Okay, Ivy.

  R.E.D.A.L.E.R.T.

  She put one hand firmly on Linc’s
shoulder and started to steer him out of the house.

  “Mama, can I say goodbye to Chicken and Little Chicken?”

  She gave him a quick nod, knowing that the ensuing argument wasn’t worth it. He bolted into the other room, leaving her standing within arm’s length of Maxim.

  “You’re sure you’re good?” he asked again, this time without the little ears present. His honey eyes drew hers and he was just so big. So there. Smelling all kinds of good.

  His big, sure steps up the grassy ravine. His head bent low over her son’s little body. Sure, confident instructions to the EMT.

  Ivy shook her head against the memory.

  Finally, finally, she really gave him her eyes. Not just cursory eye contact. She really treated him to the deep, dark depths of them. He felt the same gravity that he had the night they’d slept together. Like there was a supernova inside her, just calling him home.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice low and husky. “I can never thank you enough for what you did.”

  At some point, Maxim was going to have to explain that it had been routine. That if he hadn’t done it, another firefighter would have in a matter of minutes. But not now, because she was suddenly closing the distance between them.

  Score. Yes. A hundred million points. She went up on her tiptoes, pressed herself thigh to shoulder right to him, her arms looping around his neck.

  She really was so small. Even on her tiptoes, her forehead barely cleared his collar bone. But she was reaching her head up, pulling him down toward her.

  She brushed those juicy lips over his once. And it was a thank you kiss. He could feel it in his bones. But the second pass. That was a… something else kiss. And he felt that one in a very specific bone.

  “Ready, Mama!” Linc called from the other room and Ivy sprang away from him, stumbling back a little.