Page 73 of Inked Athena

I really must love that stupid brute. Nothing short of love would induce me to brave this kind of weather in my condition.

The wind tries to knock me off-course, hurtling this way and that over the mossy hills. I stumble through the thick grass and brambles. Thunder booms, shaking the ground beneath my feet, and I drop to my knees.

“This is insane,” I mutter furiously as I push myself up and keep moving towards the lake. “The moment we’re both dry, I’m going to kill him. With my bare hands.”

If this storm doesn’t kill us both first, that is.

I cling to my anger and frustration. I cling to the hope that we are both going to get out of this and that there is a future where I can rail against Samuil for scaring me this much, for putting me through this.

Because the alternative is unthinkable.

I finally make it to the loch’s edge. My boots squelch in the boggy grass, heather whipping against my bare knees. The familiar scent of peat and pine mingles with the metallic tang of lightning in the air. Through it all, I’m close enough now to confirm what I already know: Samuil is sitting in my boat.

“SAMUIL!” I scream.

He twists around, scanning back and forth until his gaze falls on me. It’s dark and he’s far and the rain is heavier than ever, but I still see the panic that crosses his face.

He roars something I can’t decipher and waves back toward the castle. It doesn’t take a genius to interpret, though.

This idiot is in the middle of a lake in a freaking lightning storm, and he wantsmeto go inside?

“I’ll go inside when you do!” I scream back. But my voice is lost to another crack of thunder.

Samuil stands up, waving his arms at me until the boat starts to wobble. “Samuil! Stop it! You’re gonna make the stupid boat top?—”

Before I can finish my warning, the boat spills over.

And Samuil disappears into the water.

I run forward far enough for my feet to dunk into the frigid water. Even if I wanted to go after him, I can’t. Not with our baby. God only knows what the loch would do to life that fragile.

It doesn’t care about who lives or dies. It just churns and waits for people stupid enough to wander into its maw.

People like me.

People like Sam.

I cry his name again and again. “Samuil! Samuil!”

He’ll come back up. He’ll be fine. He’ll swim to the shore.He can swim, can’t he? I saw him swim laps around our yacht when we were out to sea. He’s strong. He’s capable.

So why the hell hasn’t he come up for air yet?

I squint through the choppy waves as panic threatens to pull me down.

What if the boat struck Samuil in the head when he fell? What if he’s unconscious, sinking to the bottom of the lake right this second?

What if I don’t do something and I lose him forever?

I shuck my coat off, ready to risk absolutely everything to get him back—what is all of it without him, anyway?—when a hand grips my arm. One hand on each arm, actually.

Myles pulls me back out of the way as Mr. Morris appears over the other shoulder, a spool of rope looped on his forearm.

I don’t even know what Myles is still doing here. He should’ve left hours ago. But I’m too terrified to question it.

“Myles, it’s Samuil,” I gasp. “He fell out of the boat and he hasn’t come up for?—”

“I know. I saw it happen.” Myles takes the rope from Mr. Morris and ties it around his waist. “Don’t worry—I’ll get him.”

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