Page 5 of Inked Athena

The trek back is slow and careful. I pick my path methodically, protecting her from every jolt and bounce. Her skin is cold against mine, clothes filthy from the forest floor.

I need to get her warm, check her injuries, find out what happened.

But first, I need to make sure she doesn’t try to run again when she wakes. Because shewillwake up. She has to.

I’ve only just found her.

I refuse to lose her again.

3

NOVA

This must be it. The ground. Death. Whatever lies on the other side of the pain and fear.

Except I’m not moving.

And when I reach out my fingers, I find that the afterlife is soft and plush against my fingertips.

That doesn’t make sense. None of this does. I can still hear the bone-crunching thud of impact, the way the air rushed out of my lungs. And beneath it all, a deep voice saying my name again and again…

I blink my eyes open slowly, my vision watery until I can make out the inky-black sky overhead. And the skylight framing it.

I fist my hands in blankets on either side of me as I take in the wooden beams above me, the rough timber ceiling.

“You’re awake.”

His voice is baritone and familiar, but nothing is safe anymore. I can’t trust anything or anyone.

My body tenses before my brain can stop it. Pain immediately sears through my arm. My leg. My head. I cry out, stars swimming in my eyes, still trying to twist away from the weight I feel on the edge of my bed.

“Nova, stop.” His voice is firm, but the hand he curls around mine is gentle. He gives my fingers a tender squeeze.

I don’t see any restraints, but my body is heavy like there are invisible weights pressing me into the mattress. I try to pull my hand away, but I wince as a band of pain locks around my bicep.

“The more you struggle, the more you’ll hurt.”

I finally turn to look at him. His beard is longer than I’ve ever seen it, like he hasn’t slept in days. His silver eyes are fire-bright, burning as he studies me. There’s an intensity there that can only be hate.

But when I move my lips around his name to explain myself, to beg him for my life, my mouth is too dry. Nothing comes out.

“You’re thirsty.” He grabs a glass from the nightstand and then cups a large hand behind my head. Slowly, like he thinks I’ll snap in half, he lifts me towards the glass that he presses against my lips. “Small sips.”

It’s ice-cold water. I drink until there’s nothing left.

With the same care, Samuil lowers me back to the bed. “I had to call a doctor. You were—” He clears his throat, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he does. “He treated your ankle and reset your arm. He also cleaned your cuts and put you on an IV with painkillers and antibiotics. You’ll be okay.”

For now.

I wait for him to finish that sentence. To explain that he’s only healing me so I can be properly interrogated and then disposed of.

Instead, Sam pulls the blanket higher on my chest, cocooning me in warmth that makes me feel drugged.

Maybe I am. Maybe the IV is full of some poison that’ll knock me out.

Ilya didn’t find poison enjoyable, but maybe Sam doesn’t care about the thrill of the execution. Maybe he just wants me gone.

Maybe I’ll go to sleep and never wake up.

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