Page 104 of Inked Athena

“Come on, sweet one.” She cradles the newborn close to her chest, uncaring that its wet fur is ruining her designer gown. “Fight for it. That’s right.”

The pup lets out a weak cry. Then a stronger one. Nova’s shoulders sag with relief as she places it near its mother’s belly with its littermates. It starts to suckle and only then do I realize that I’ve been holding my breath, too.

Something fierce and tender unfurls in my chest watching her. The way she gives herself over completely to caring for these creatures. The absolute focus. The boundless compassion.

My father would call it weakness. Would sneer at the very idea of the future Mrs. Litvinov playing midwife to farm dogs, kneeling in shit and hay, dripping jewels.

But I see the steel in her spine. The quiet strength it takes to remain soft in a hard world. To choose kindness over cruelty, time and time again.

She wipes her brow with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of something I don’t want to think about on her forehead. Her smile could light up the whole damn countryside as she counts the puppies one final time.

“Seven healthy babies.” She beams at the Morrises. “Mama did beautifully.”

I step fully into the barn then, unable to stay hidden any longer. Nova’s eyes find mine, and despite everything—my father’s poison, the weight of the Bratva, the constant danger—I know with bone-deep certainty that I will spend the rest of my life making sure that smile never dims.

I clear my throat softly. “Mr. and Mrs. Morris. Thank you for helping Nova. I’ll take it from here.”

They gather their things with knowing smiles, leaving us alone in the lantern-lit sanctuary. The mother collie whines softly in her nest of blankets, her newborns mewling as they find their way to milk.

Nova looks up at me, those gold-flecked eyes wide and questioning. Her cheeks are flushed, wisps of dark hair escapingher elegant updo. There’s straw caught in the hem of her dress, and a smear of something on her shoulder that will probably ruin the fabric forever.

She’s never been more beautiful.

When I pull her to her feet, she comes willingly. Her body trembles against mine—from the chill or from emotion, I’m not sure. Don’t care. I just need to feel her, taste her, remind myself that this is real.

I cup her face in my hands. “My father sees weakness where I see strength. He thinks love makes you vulnerable. Makes you breakable.” I press my forehead to hers. “But watching you tonight,krasavitsa… I finally understand what true power looks like.”

Nova’s fingers curl into my shirt. “Sam? Did something happen with your father?”

“That doesn’t matter right now.” I brush my lips across her temple, breathing in the scent of her skin beneath the barn’s earthy musk. “The only thing that matters is you.”

She makes a soft sound of protest, but I silence it with a kiss. Gentle at first, then deeper as she melts against me. Her mouth opens under mine, tasting of champagne and promises I’m finally ready to keep.

When we break apart, she studies my face in the lantern light. Those gold-flecked eyes see too much—always have. But for the first time, I don’t feel the need to hide from her scrutiny.

“You’re freezing,” I murmur, shrugging out of my jacket to wrap it around her shoulders. The fabric swallows her small frame,and something primitive stirs in my chest at the sight of her wearing my clothes.

“The puppies—” she starts.

“Will be fine for a few minutes. Right now, I need you more than they do.”

She looks at me. Squints. Wonders. But then she nods, and when my mouth finds hers, I wonder if it’s possible to live in this moment forever.

Our second kiss starts soft but quickly blazes into something deeper, hungrier. More desperate. Nova’s fingers dig into my shoulders as I lift her, pressing her back against a wooden beam. The silk of her dress whispers as it slides up her thighs.

“Sam,” she breathes against my mouth. “Please.”

That one word shatters my control. I take her there in the barn, surrounded by new life and old stone, my father’s poison burning away into the ether with each gasp and moan she makes. When she cries out my name, her voice echoing in the rafters, it feels like forgiveness. Like grace.

It feels like coming home.

36

NOVA

The sheep look like cotton balls scattered across the misty fields below. I turn from the window and look again at the chaos engulfing the castle feast room. Just as she’s been doing since the first hint of dawn this morning, Mrs. Morris barks orders at the staff like a four-foot-eleven general commanding troops into battle.

“The linens must be pressed twice, Callum! And for heaven’s sake, Malcolm, polish those doorknobs until I see my reflection. If I spy so much as a hint of a fingerprint, so help me God…”

---