chapter five

Nikolas's pov

The next day, I buried myself in work, hoping to distract myself from the uneasy feeling curling in my stomach. I moved from patient to patient, checking wounds, changing bandages, administering medication routine things that should have grounded me.

But they didn't.

I felt restless. Like something was pulling at the edges of my senses, calling me.

More than once, I caught myself glancing around the clinic, expecting to see something or someone. My pulse spiked every time I passed by the restricted section, where they kept the more serious cases.

By midday, I was exhausted, but the feeling wouldn't go away.

Then I heard them.

A group of doctors and supervisors stood near the far end of the hallway, speaking in hushed voices. I wasn't the only one who paused to listen. The tension in their voices made even the other staff glance over curiously.

"…unbelievable regenerative abilities."

"Bloodwork is still processing, but the results so far—"

"Completely off the charts."

"Not fully human."

That last part made my stomach drop.

I knew who they were talking about.

I stepped closer, pretending to check the clipboard in my hand, but before I could catch more of the conversation, one of the senior doctors spotted me.

"Nikolas," he called. "A word."

My throat tightened, but I forced myself to nod, walking over.

"Yes, sir?"

His eyes flicked over me, assessing. Then he gestured down the hall.

"Come with me. There's something I need your help with."

I didn't have to ask where we were going.

I already knew.

I followed the doctor down the long, sterile hallway, my heart pounding with every step. I knew where we were headed the restricted section. The place where they kept him.

The huge man from yesterday.

I swallowed, gripping my clipboard tightly as we stopped in front of a heavy metal door. The doctor swiped his keycard, and the lock beeped before the door clicked open.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the air thick with something I couldn't quite place.

And there he was.

He sat on the metal bed, his wrists and ankles shackled in thick, reinforced chains. His shirt was gone, exposing layers of muscle and wounds that had been bandaged wounds that should have been deep but looked like they were already healing.

But none of that was what made my breath hitch.

It was the way he looked at me.

The moment I stepped inside, his eyes snapped to mine.

A slow, knowing smirk curled on his lips.

The same way he had looked at me yesterday. Like I was something precious.

"Nikolas," the doctor's voice pulled me back. "Take his vitals. We need to monitor his recovery rate."

I hesitated.

Something about this felt off.

Still, I forced myself to move, stepping closer to the restrained man. I reached for his wrist, feeling for his pulse. His skin was warm too warm. His pulse was strong, steady, powerful.

"Your hands are shaking," a deep voice rumbled.

I stiffened.

It was him.

His voice was rich, low, curling around me like heat.

I didn't look at him. I kept my focus on the task, checking his vitals as quickly as I could.

But I could feel his eyes on me.

Watching.

Studying.

Claiming.

Something in my chest tightened.

I quickly stepped back, finishing up as fast as I could. My hands were steady now, but my heart was still racing.

I turned to the doctor. "His vitals are stable," I reported, my voice more clipped than I intended.

The doctor nodded, making a note on his clipboard. "Good. Keep monitoring him throughout the day. His healing rate is... unusual. We need to document everything."

I swallowed and gave a brief nod. Without another glance at the man, I turned and left the room, forcing myself to walk calmly down the hallway.

But even as I stepped out, I could still feel it.

That strange, lingering pull.

Like something invisible was tying me to him.

I clenched my fists. I was being ridiculous.

Maybe I was just tired. Maybe I was just overwhelmed.

But deep down, something told me...

This was only the beginning.

The rest of the day dragged on, but I couldn't shake the feeling. No matter how hard I tried to focus on my work checking vitals, reviewing patient charts, assisting with treatments I kept feeling that strange pull, like an invisible thread tugging at my senses.

I told myself it was nothing. Just exhaustion, stress. Maybe even some kind of psychological response to everything happening so fast.

But every time I walked past that corridor his corridor I felt it stronger.

By evening, I was restless, pacing my small room after a quick shower. The air felt thick, heavy, like something was pressing against my chest.

I needed sleep.

I forced myself onto the bed, shutting my eyes, willing my mind to go blank.

Minutes passed.

Then an hour.

Sleep refused to come.

And that pull... it was getting worse.

I sat up abruptly, breathing hard. My skin was warm, my pulse unsteady.

It felt like something was calling me.

I clenched my jaw. This was absurd. I wasn't some superstitious idiot.

I was a nurse. A rational thinker.

But before I even realized what I was doing, my legs were moving.

Quietly, carefully, I left my room, walking down the dimly lit hallway. The night shift was light, only a few staff members moving about. No one paid me any attention.

I didn't stop. I didn't hesitate.

My feet carried me straight to that corridor.

Straight to him.

I reached the door of his holding room, staring at it like it had all the answers.

My hand hovered over the handle.

Why was I here?

What was I expecting to find?

I took a shaky breath.

And then, slowly, I opened the door.

The room was dim, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic, blood, and something raw something that didn't belong in a place like this.

I hesitated at the door, my fingers tightening on the tray of medical supplies I had brought. I wasn't even sure why I had come. Maybe because I had seen the test results earlier, or maybe because something inside me felt off ever since yesterday. Like I was being pulled here.

Taking a slow breath, I stepped in.

And froze.

He was still restrained, but this time, he looked worse.

Deep gashes marred his skin, fresh wounds layered over old bruises. Blood had dried in places, but some injuries still oozed, evidence of how recent they were. His wrists were raw from the chains, his body stiff with exhaustion.

They had tortured him.

A sharp stab of anger shot through me.

I set the tray down and moved closer. He didn't react not at first. His breathing was slow, measured, but too controlled. Like he was waiting for something.

I hesitated before reaching out.

"This is inhuman," I muttered, my voice tight. "What did they do to you?"

Still, no response.

I wet a cloth with antiseptic and gently pressed it to one of the deeper wounds on his shoulder. His body tensed, muscles twitching under my touch, but he made no sound. No flinch.

I worked carefully, methodically. Cleaning the wounds. Stopping the bleeding. My hands were steady, but inside, I was raging.

Why?

Why treat someone like this? Even if he was dangerous was this necessary?

"You shouldn't be in this condition," I said, my voice quieter now.

Still, silence.

I exhaled slowly, focusing on my work. He was large, powerful even now, injured and bound, he radiated something dangerous. But in this moment, all I could see was someone in pain.

And I couldn't ignore it.

I reached for another bandage, pressing it to a particularly deep gash on his side.

That was when I felt it.

A shift.

Not physical he hadn't moved. But something in the air changed.

Like he was watching me differently now.

I swallowed but didn't stop working

For a long moment, there was only silence. My hands, the sound of my own breathing, and him still, restrained, and unreadable.

But when I glanced up, I found those golden eyes on me again.

And this time, they weren't just watching.

They were waiting.