Inked Athena (Litvinov Bratva Book 2)

The rain falls like God decided Scotland needed a new loch.

For days, I’ve watched it through the window. Droplets captured against the glass scurry down like prisoners trying to break free. Can’t get in, can’t get away, can’t go anywhere but down.

Very fucking relatable.

My thoughts are doing the same. It’s not grief I’m feeling, not truly. Or at least, not solely. Maybe there’s something called grief tangled up in the knot of emotions taking up residence inside my chest. I lost my family, after all. The man who birthed me. The brothers who were supposed to love me.

But there’s more than that, too. There’s anger, and confusion, and despair, and fuck knows what else. I’d need more dictionaries than this castle’s library can handle to puzzle it all out.

I press my head to the windowpane. Outside, another day bleeds into the constant gray. Endless sheets of water steal away the last of the evening’s light. The world goes from watercolor green, to slate, to darkness.

It’s been seven days of this. Seven days of meandering down endless halls, of pretending I don’t hear the hushed Russian phone calls behind closed doors, of ignoring the armed men who patrol our grounds with dead eyes and deadly purpose. Seven days of touching my growing belly and wondering if our child will inherit their father’s talent for keeping secrets. Seven days of hoping our baby never learns how family can wound you deepest, the way my father taught me. Sometimes, I catch myself rubbing the scar on my hand and wonder if my father ever loved me at all, or if I was just another thing to control.

During daylight hours, Samuil might as well be a ghost. The only proof he still exists comes from the occasional glimpse of his broad shoulders disappearing around corners, the lingering scent of his cologne in empty rooms, the way his security detail subtly shifts formation when he moves through the castle.

At night, he finds me.

That’s when he materializes like smoke, his heat wrapping around me, his breath carrying promises in Russian against my skin. Every evening, I swear I’ll resist, demand answers, force him to see me as more than a delicate thing to be protected.

And every evening, I fail.

Sex is our only common language now, the sole bridge between his world of violence and my world of waiting. I’m terrified that if we lose this connection, this raw physical need that draws him to my bed no matter how many bodies he had to step over that day, we’ll drift so far apart we’ll never find our way back to each other.

“Don’t fret, m’dear,” Mrs. Morris says, her Scottish lilt cutting through my brooding. “The rain will clear eventually. It always does.”

I turn from the window, forcing a smile. “You said that seven days ago. I stopped believing you five days ago.”

She sets an armful of fresh linens on the bed—crisp, white sheets that probably hide bloodstains better than darker colors. Everything in this castle serves dual purposes. Everyone except me.

“These are the Highlands, lass. The weather can be as wild as the lochs themselves.”

I trace a raindrop’s path down the glass with my fingertip. Wild would be better than this suffocating sameness. At least wild would mean feeling something real.

“Mrs. Morris,” I say, sitting up straighter as an idea claws its way through my melancholy. “The rest of the castle, the unopened wings. Are they condemned?”

She wrinkles her nose, weathered hands smoothing already-perfect linens. “Nothing’s condemned exactly, but—” She hesitates. “Those sections haven’t been touched in centuries. The fireplaces are dead, the rooms are full of God knows what.”

Her warning ignites something in me that’s been dormant since Samuil dragged me to this fortress. A spark of defiance, of purpose. Of power.

“Nothing a little cleaning couldn’t fix,” I say, already mapping out possibilities in my mind. If Samuil wants to keep me locked away in his castle, I might as well claim some territory of my own. “I could help. I want to help.”

She studies me with a frown. “Are you not pleased with the estate as it is now?”

“No! No,” I hurry to tell her with a smile. “Everything has been lovely. You and Mr. Morris have made everything so perfect. I just… want to feel useful. I’d like a project. And I think this could be fun. What do you say?”

I make one more wish—one teeny, tiny wish in hopes that the universe will give me this one thing.

Please let her say yes.

Because if she doesn’t, there isn’t anyone else on the entire grounds who will help.

Her eyes soften. After what feels like years of scrutiny, she says, “You’re the lady of the house, Ms. Nova. Whatever you have in mind, I can’t stop you.”

It’s been way too long since I’ve heard anything like that.

It’s music to my ears.

“Nova!”

Samuil’s voice echoes up the stone staircase and bounces around the high ceilings of the abandoned turret. Or, to be more precise, the previously abandoned turret.

As of late this afternoon, it’s mine and Samuil’s new bedroom.

“Nova!” he barks again, sending me tunneling deeper beneath the two heavy quilts on the bed.

It’s cold up here, but only because the man Mrs. Morris hired to clean out the fireplace can’t get here until the morning. Knowing that, I probably should’ve opted to wear something other than a silk nightie to bed, but I wanted to mark the occasion. It’s not every day you move your bedroom into the highest point of a Scottish castle.

Samuil illustrates exactly how high it is when he bursts through the door, panting like an enraged bull. His broad chest expands with every breath, but he stills when his eyes land on me beneath the blankets of our four-poster bed.

The bed that, again, only a few hours ago, was tucked away in our ground-level bedroom on the opposite side of the house.

“What is this?”

I hold up the book I’m hiding behind. “Native Birds of Scotland. It’s very informative.”

“Nova.” The way he growls my name sends electricity dancing across my skin.

“I moved our bedroom,” I explain as cheerfully as I can with him scowling at me. “What do you think?”

I know what he thinks. Part of the reason I moved the bedroom up here is because I knew exactly what he’d think.

But this is what he gets for giving me so much time to myself.

His jaw tightens as he takes in my handiwork. The candles cast shadows that dance across his sharp features, turning him from man to demon and back again.

“We agreed I should find a project,” I remind him.

“I was talking about that damn rowboat. Something small. Something that I’d probably never let you—” He stops himself with another growl, but I know what he was going to say.

“Something that you could watch me fix up to kill some time and then never let me actually use?” I swallow down the new wave of anger that brings up in me and slap on a smile instead. “You like it when I stay close to the house, so, for the last few days, that’s what I did.”

He’s tense and fuming, and he’s still the most handsome thing I’ve ever seen. Despite it all, I just wish I saw more of him.

I throw back the quilts, revealing the pale pink silk that clings to my curves. His anger fractures, desire bleeding through the cracks.

I pat the mattress. “Come to bed.”

His jaw works back and forth as his eyes do the same, raking over me again and again. “It took me fucking forever to hike up here,” he grumbles, striding across the room towards me.

But as he does, he catches his foot on the gargantuan wooden trunk at the end of the bed. A string of Russian words I’m familiar with only because he often uses them to describe his brother flies out of his mouth.

“Sorry,” I wince. “Our clothes are in there since this room doesn’t have a closet.”

“This room doesn’t have fucking anything.” His gaze catches on the flickering candles. Understanding dawns. “Is there even electricity?”

I wince again, which must be answer enough because he curses.

No electricity was actually a selling point for me. No Wi-Fi, no devices—when we’re in our room, we’ll be completely cut off from the rest of the world.

“Is this payback?” he demands. “Are you doing this to prove something to me? Because I’d rather just have it out with you than climb a mountain to get to bed every night.”

I roll my eyes and slide out of bed, not missing the way Samuil tracks my every movement. Part of me would rather just “have it out” with him, too.

But he needs to hear this.

“It might’ve started that way,” I concede. “I was bored and lonely and it just kept raining and raining⁠—”

“I think it’s still raining.” His hand darts out, pinching the soft silk between his fingers like he can’t help himself.

“I just wanted to feel useful. But now that I’m up here—now that I see how it could be…” I turn to admire the thick, velvet curtains, the layered rugs over the stone floor, the candles dripping wax on each nightstand. “I like it up here, Sam.”

He steps behind me, his warm body molding to my back. I arch against him and drop my head to his shoulder. “There’s not even a bathroom up here, Nova,” he murmurs in my ear.

The trek down to the bathroom is grim, I’ll give him that. As this baby gets bigger, I’m going to have to get used to pitch black, late night walks to the bathroom or go full medieval and get myself a chamber pot.

But I’ll deal with that later. Right now⁠—

“Come with me.” I take his hand and pull him towards the secret door in the corner.

“Where the hell are you taking me?”

I don’t answer. It’s nice to lead Samuil around blindly for a change. God knows he’s done it to me enough over the last few months.

We take another set of stairs out of the room, which Samuil mounts with more grumbled complaints. But then we step through another door and out onto the top of the turret.

For the first time in days, the rain has stopped. Like it knew we were coming. Like it knew how bad I needed this.

Instead of a hazy mist, the skies are clear. The loch is bright, mirroring the dense smattering of stars in the sky.

I take a deep breath of the damp air and sigh. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

His mouth is warm on my cheek. “It’s a long way down. I don’t want you out here by yourself.”

“Sam—” I turn to him, pressing my hands to his chest. “I’m not afraid to be up here. Actually, this castle is one of the few places I’ve ever felt completely safe.”

“For a woman who claims she’s never left Chicago, you sure have a penchant for feeling at home in exotic places.”

I can’t help but grin. “Maybe I’m more adventurous than I gave myself credit for. You taught me that. And, I suppose… knowing my brothers and father are gone now makes it easier to embrace the parts of myself I was afraid of.”

He moves closer, his hand finding my waist. “You don’t have to be afraid at all, krasavitsa. I’m right here. I’ll take care of you.”

“I know that, Sam. I do. But—” I blow out a breath, trying to decide how to say this. “I don’t just want you to take care of me. I don’t want to be another responsibility on your long to-do list. I want to feel like I’m included in your life. I want to make decisions.”

He looks around, something between a grimace and a smile dancing on his lips. “And your first decision is to make me hike up ten flights of stairs every time I want to take you to bed?”

“It’ll be good for your heart.”

“You’re good for my heart,” he fires back. He grips my chin and brings my mouth to his in a kiss hot enough I can almost forget I’m wearing lingerie on a windy castle top. He pulls back. “You’re sure about this? You want to sleep up here?”

I step closer, bending my body into the hard lines of his. “Right now, I don’t want to sleep. Not even a little bit.”

His hand fists in my nightie. “Then what do you want?”

I stretch onto my toes, my lips brushing against his in a whisper. “I want to fix up that boat.”

“What else?” He holds me closer, almost crushing me against him. What I really want is narrowing down to where he’s hard and hot against my stomach.

“I want you to go on a walk with me,” I add, pressing my luck. “Every day.”

“Nova…” Warning and want tangle in my name.

“And you,” I pant. “I want you.”

“That’s better.” All at once, he scoops me into his arms and carries me down the stairs. He tosses me onto our bed, crawling over me with heat in his eyes.

It really does feel like another world up here in this turret. I almost can’t believe it’s real.

“Are you mine?” I whisper, more to myself than Sam.

He kisses his way up my body. “I’m yours, Nova Pierce. It’s all yours. Anything you want.”