Page 57 of Inked Athena

“Aren’t you coming inside?”

“I’m busy.” The lie sits between us like the growing curve of my belly—obvious and impossible to ignore. “I’ll be in when I’m done.”

Myles sighs. In the weeks since Samuil disappeared, he’s watched me cycle through rage and despair with the patience of someone who defuses bombs for a living. Which, come to think of it, he probably does.

I wait until his footsteps fade before slumping into the grass. Meg, one of the border collie pups, nudges my thigh with her wet nose. Unlike most of the castle’s inhabitants, she doesn’t judge me for talking to dogs more than people.

“Your new master’s an asshole,” I inform her, scratching behind her ears. “A gorgeous, terrifying asshole who thinks he can vanish for weeks without a word and then just?—”

“Just what?”

The voice slides down my spine like steel against stone. I don’t need to look up to know he’s there—my body recognizes Samuil Litvinov’s presence like it recognizes its own heartbeat.

Vital. Necessary. Completely beyond my control.

When I finally lift my head, the sight of him steals my breath. His hair is longer than usual, curling at his nape. A fresh scar traces his right cheekbone like a signature. He’s traded his usual designer armor for dark jeans and a black henley that clings to his shoulders, but he still radiates lethal grace. Power wrapped in casual menace.

“Just waltz back in like nothing happened?” I turn back to my plants. “Actually, that’s exactly what I expected.”

He moves closer, and the dogs swarm him like he’s got bacon in his pockets. Traitors, every one of them. “I see you’ve replaced me.”

I follow his gaze to the scarecrow Mr. Morris helped me build last week. “He’s better company. Doesn’t disappear without warning. Doesn’t come back looking like he’s been in a knife fight. Doesn’t lie about where he’s been.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit me,zaychik.” His shadow falls across my hands. “Stand up.”

“That’s not how this works anymore. You don’t get to order me around just because?—”

His fingers curl around my chin, tilting my face up. “Please.”

That single word—soft and rough and nothing like the commands he usually issues—undoes me. I let him pull me to my feet, but I keep my hands fisted at my sides. I won’t touch him. I won’t.

I won’t look at him, either. I keep my eyes on the garden, on the life I’ve managed to create in this gilded cage.

Seeds I’ve planted have sprouted.

Flowers I’ve tended have bloomed.

Proof that some things can grow even in the shadows of monsters.

“Are you ever going to look at me properly?”

I want to stomp my foot and scream no. But again, that rough, tender hand of his cups my face and guides it up toward his.

His eyes crinkle as he smiles. The puppies are a mosh pit of cuteness at his feet, but he steps over them and brushes the back of his hand along my cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“Absence really must make the heart fonder,” I mumble under my breath. “I’m covered in sweat and dirt and dog hair.”

“I’ve always liked you dirty.”

I cringe away from his hand. It’s too tempting to nuzzle into his touch. “You think you can just waltz back here and pick up where we left off?”

He exhales a plume of warm, minty fragrance. “I know you well enough to know you’d never make it that easy on me.”

“Good. Then you must also know you’ll be sleeping in your own bedroom tonight.”

I try to twist around, to let that be the parting kill shot, but I should’ve known it would never be that easy. Before I can get far, he grabs my elbow and spins me back to face him. His grip is vise-like, but his smile is still soft and amused.

“You can be mad at me,krasavitsa. You can hit and scratch and even throw another vase—give me a scar to match the first. But at the end of the day, make no mistake—” He drops his chin and his voice, sending a bolt of awareness lancing directly between my legs. “—you’ll be in bed next to me.”

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