Inked Athena (Litvinov Bratva Book 2)

The turret room feels smaller every day Samuil’s gone. I’ve taken to pacing its circular confines like some tragic heroine in a gothic novel, scanning the winding road below for any sign of his return.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks of “just a few more days, zaychik.”

Today, I’m changing venues. I’ll pace in the library instead of the turret. But I’m barely halfway around the room before I lose all desire to keep moving and collapse into a self-loathing heap on the window seat.

I press my forehead against the cold stone, letting out a breath that fogs the glass pane. The castle that felt like a fairytale now feels like a prison, no matter how lovely the grounds or how kind the staff. Even the Scottish rain seems to mock me, drumming an endless rhythm that sounds suspiciously like “alone, alone, alone.”

Not fully alone, though. My hand drifts to my growing belly. At least someone’s keeping me company.

“Miss Nova?” Mrs. Morris’s voice echoes from the entrance. “There’s something in the barn you might want to see.”

I consider ignoring her. The library’s perfectly good for moping, and I’ve gotten rather skilled at it lately. But Mrs. Morris has become more than just the housekeeper—she’s the closest thing to a mother figure I’ve ever had. If she thinks something’s worth dragging my pregnant ass out into the rain for, it probably is.

“Coming,” I call back, wrapping my sweater tighter around my growing belly.

The walk to the barn takes longer these days. Not just because I’m getting bigger, but because every path holds memories.

The garden where Samuil first kissed me in the rain. The loch where we went midnight swimming. The meadow where he promised me forever, right before rushing off to London and leaving me here alone.

I’m so lost in memories that I almost miss the sounds coming from the barn—high-pitched yips and excited barks that definitely aren’t the usual farm noises. My steps quicken despite myself.

I push open the heavy wooden door—and freeze.

Four black and white puppies tumble over each other in a makeshift pen, their stubby tails wagging furiously as they spot me. A weathered farmer I recognize as Duncan from the neighboring property stands nearby with an adult border collie at his heel.

“Thought ye might want to meet the new additions,” Duncan says with a knowing smile. “Their mam passed last week, poor things. They’ll need someone with a gentle touch to help raise them up proper.”

The smallest pup breaks away from the pack and waddles toward me, front paw slightly turned in, making him trip over his own feet. My heart melts instantly.

“Hello there, little one,” I whisper, kneeling carefully to let him sniff my hand. His wet nose tickles my palm before he gives it a tentative lick.

His siblings, noticing his bravery, scramble over to join in the investigation. Soon, I’m surrounded by wiggling bodies and puppy breath.

Duncan chuckles. “They seem to know a good soul when they meet one.”

The adult collie—sleek and gorgeous with intelligent eyes—sits primly beside him, watching the proceedings with what looks like maternal concern.

“And who’s this beauty?” I ask.

“This here’s my Fiona. Best herding dog in the county.” He pats her head proudly. “Was thinking, if you’re interested, there’s a herding clinic next week in the village. Could teach you proper handling techniques. These wee ones’ll need structure once they’re bigger.”

My heart leaps at the thought of having a project, something beyond waiting for Samuil’s return and watching my belly grow.

But then reality crashes back. “I should check with⁠—”

“Already cleared it with the boss,” Duncan interrupts with a wink. “Mr. Litvinov arranged everything before he left.”

Of course he did. Part of me wants to be irritated at his high-handedness, at how he’s trying to manage me even from hundreds of miles away.

But as the runt of the litter crawls into my lap and promptly falls asleep, I can’t summon the anger.

Damn him for knowing exactly what I need.

“When do we start?” I ask, already mentally planning how to puppy-proof our bedroom. The turret might make an excellent training space…

“Tomorrow morning, if you’re up for it.” Duncan whistles and Fiona immediately comes to attention. “We’ll start with the basics: voice commands, positioning, that sort of thing. These little ones are too young yet, but they’ll be watching and learning.”

The puppy in my lap lets out a tiny snore. His siblings have collapsed in a heap nearby, worn out from their excitement. I stroke his soft fur, feeling more at peace than I have in weeks.

“Thank you,” I tell Duncan. “Both for this and for…” I gesture vaguely, encompassing the whole setup that has Samuil’s fingerprints all over it.

He tips his cap. “Pleasure’s mine, lass. Though I should warn you: handling border collies isn’t for the faint of heart. They’re clever as the devil and twice as stubborn.”

My mind goes immediately to Samuil, and I snort. “I have some experience with that type.”

The puppies are great. I mean, what’s not to love about puppies? But entering into week four with still no sign of Samuil is… less great.

It’s maddening, actually.

If the puppies were Samuil’s attempt to come home to a forgiving Nova Pierce, he’s going to need an ark full of them. Puppies of Biblical proportion are the only way I would ever be able to not be livid at him for leaving me for three, going on four, entire weeks.

I’m sitting in the soft grass next to the loch—far enough away that the puppies can’t beeline into the water—when I hear footsteps crunching on the dirt behind me.

I turn, and my traitorous heart gallops at the sight of…

Myles, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You’re not the asshole I was expecting.”

Where is Samuil? I want to add. Is he inside? Can I see him? Does he want to see me?

Before all my pathetic questions can pour out, Myles drops down on the blanket next to me. “That particular asshole got held up in London. I’m afraid he’ll be another week or two.”

The puppies charge at the newcomer. Myles can’t help but smile as they clamber over him.

Meanwhile, disappointment is turning my stomach over. I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. “He might as well stay in London. I’ve gotten used to the quiet around here,” I lie.

“He wants to be here, Nova, but things are complicated.”

I roll my eyes. “Aren’t they always?”

“Cut him some slack. It hasn’t been easy for him.”

“He could’ve told me all about it when he called me every night—except, oh, wait, he didn’t call me every night. We haven’t even spoken.” My throat tightens with tears I refuse to shed. Because once I start, we might all need that ark full of puppies to escape the flood. “He doesn’t tell me anything, Myles. Do you think being kept in the dark is easy for me?”

“He doesn’t want to worry you.” Myles looks genuinely sorry, but it’s hard to see him as anything but Samuil’s accomplice right now. Everything going on is partially his fault, too.

“Too late.”

I’m worried about Samuil and what he’s up to in London.

I’m worried about what will happen with us when he comes back.

Most of all, I’m terrified he won’t come back at all. Maybe this whole setup was just a convenient way to stash his pregnant mistake somewhere remote while he handles his real priorities.

Myles watches the puppies wrestle in silence. One tugs at his pant leg until he shoos it away. “They get annoying fast, don’t they?”

“Hey, at least they’re here.”

There’s a beat before he can’t help himself. Defending Samuil is in the job description. “They’re only here because Samuil didn’t want you feeling so alone.”

I huff out a bitter laugh. “Is that why you’re here? He sent you to plead his case for him?”

“No, I’m here because I wanted to come.”

“That makes you the only one.”

Again, he ignores me. And I’m glad.

Because if he pushed, I’d have to admit that the truth is much more complicated.

I love it here. I’d stay at Castle Moorbeath forever.

But only if Samuil was with me.

The four puppies are romping in four different directions until Myles scoops them all up and deposits them in a squirming pile in the middle of the blanket. “Wanna tell me their names?”

Not really. I want to pin Myles to the grass by his annoyingly thick skull and force him to tell me what Samuil has been doing every single day for the last three weeks.

But seeing as how that’s not physically possible, and he wouldn’t give me any information even under threat of torture anyway, I allow the subject change.

“Meg is the one biting your toenail. The other three are boys—Finbarr has the brown tail and Rory and Kill are rolling around on the grass.”

“Kill? Pretty brutal name for such a fuzzy little thing.”

“It’s short for Killian,” I explain. “Mr. Morris picked it. He had a dog that looked just like that chubby little monster when he was a kid.”

Myles chuckles as Kill rolls over Rory and lands on his back, all four little paws pedaling up in the air.

“I heard you and Mr. Morris went fishing yesterday.”

I’m not surprised he heard about that. I’m sure he and Sam know exactly what I’ve been up to the last three weeks.

Even with that bitter thought, though, I can’t help but smile. “I’ve never been fishing before, but it was actually pretty fun. I’m looking forward to taking my boat out on the lake one of these days.”

I nod towards the boat floating along the edge of the loch, and Myles’s jaw drops. “That thing can’t possibly be water-worthy.”

“It will be when I’m through with it.” I lift my chin proudly. “I’m working on fixing it up. As soon as I learn which end of the hammer to hold, it’s gonna be game over. Both for that boat and for Samuil.”

Myles laughs, but when I don’t join, his chuckle quickly fades away. He clears his throat. “Listen, Nova, I know you feel isolated up here⁠—”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” I snap before he can even get started. “I lost my father and my brothers in a single day. I’ve barely begun to process that. Mostly because the only people I might be able to process it with are the people I’m not allowed to talk to.”

He runs a hand through his hair and curses under his breath again. But he doesn’t interrupt me. Which is good, because I have a lot more to say.

“Grams, Hope… they’re the only ones who understood my relationship with my family. I don’t even know how my grandmother is doing since she found out she lost her son and grandsons. Do you know how horrible I feel that I can’t even check on her?”

“I know it’s not easy⁠—”

“Don’t tell me you understand, because you don’t. Grams is the only family I have left and Hope is my best friend. Unless you’re going to tell me that you’ll find a way for me to talk to them, I don’t want to hear it,” I snarl fiercely. “You and Samuil get to do what you want, and I’m the one left to deal with all of the rules.”

“Have mercy!” Myles throws up his hands. “Stop beating me over the head with reason and logic. I get it.”

“Do you?” I ask, sensing weakness for the first time.

He stares at the puppies, who have gone back to romping in the grass. “Samuil would never approve of this…”

I inch a little closer, determined not to look too eager. “What Samuil doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And I’ll never tell.”

Myles gives me a nervous scowl. “Is one phone call to Chicago worth it for you? You’re asking me to go behind my friend’s back and keep a secret from him.”

“As secrets go, it’s a small one. And he’s keeping plenty of secrets from me.”

“That’s different.”

I shouldn’t push my luck—not when Myles is my only shot at contact with the outside world. But still, I roll my eyes. “Because he’s the big, bad pahkan? Give me a break.”

Myles chuckles. “You really are something, Nova Pierce. Samuil met his match the day he met you.”

I nudge him in the arm. “Is that a yes? Will you let me talk to them?”

“Fuck me,” Myles mutters.

That’s a yes.