Page 37 of Inked Athena

Nova stays quiet, too, which would be troubling if I didn’t have the luxury of crawling into bed next to her each night. That’s the only thing holding us together—the fact that, when we’re skin on skin, everything else seems to fade away.

Now, it’s the middle of the night, and Nova is asleep on my chest. The peaceful in-and-out of her breathing is the only reason I haven’t snuck out of bed and gone back to work. There’s so much to do, but I’ve convinced myself it can wait.

Until I see my phone flashing on the bedside table.

With a sigh, I shift her body off of mine and slide to the edge of the bed to answer.

It’s Myles.

It’s early in Chicago, and I try to think of a single good reason why he’d be awake and calling me before dawn, but I come up empty.

I’m tense before I even accept the call. “Myles?”

“Are you alone?”

I get up, pad into the bathroom, and pull the door closed. “What is it?”

“Have you heard?” he asks.

No, and I don’t want to. I want to go back to bed with Nova. I want to kiss her awake and bury myself in her. I want to forget for five goddamn seconds that hell is constantly raining down on our heads.

“What is it?” I growl.

“It’s— Is Nova nearby? I don’t want her to overhear.” He sighs. “It’s bad, Sam. It’s really bad.”

14

NOVA

Two weeks.

Two weeks of radio silence from Chicago. Two weeks of nothing but cryptic texts from Myles showing Rufus and Ruby playing in Sam’s penthouse garden. Two weeks of Sam’s increasingly creative attempts to “distract” me from asking questions about home.

I trace my fingers over the old stone walls of the castle kitchen, watching Mrs. Morris stir something that smells divine. The kitchen is my favorite room here—all worn flagstones and copper pots hanging from iron hooks, steam rising from bubbling pots into wooden rafters that have absorbed centuries of secrets. It feels real in a way the rest of my gilded cage doesn’t.

“More salt?” Mrs. Morris asks, offering me a spoon.

I shake my head. “I think the boys will love it exactly as it is.”

And they’d better. I’ve spent all afternoon here, mostly staying out of Mrs. Morris’s way while she works her magic. But when Myles arrives from Chicago for dinner, I want him to think Islaved over this meal myself. Want him to feel indebted enough to finally tell me what the hell is happening back home.

The dull roar of an approaching helicopter makes the windows rattle. Right on schedule.

I dry my hands and head for the hallway that leads to Sam’s office. My bare feet are silent on the stone floor—a skill I’ve perfected living in this museum of a house. It’s pathetic that I have to resort to eavesdropping, but Sam’s left me no choice. If he won’t tell me what’s happening with my family, with Hope, with the life I left behind, I’ll find out myself.

The heavy oak door to his office is closed. I can hear the low rumble of male voices inside—Sam and Myles, already deep in conversation. I press closer, holding my breath.

“Have you told her yet?” Myles’s voice is clearer now.

“Not yet.” The resignation in those two little words has me catching my breath. I barely stop myself from knocking in time.

“Jesus, Sam.”

“I’ve been trying to—” Sam sighs. “I’ve been waiting for the right time.”

“I don’t think there is a right time to tell someone their entire family is dead.”

My ears fill with a high-pitched whine that drowns out everything else. The castle stones pulse around me, the portraits on the walls blurring into smears of oil paint and judgment as my world contracts to this single, horrible moment.

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