Chapter 25—Lukiyan

My dick twitches when I reach home in the early hours of the morning and think of another wild session with Persephone.

As it’s nearly two a.m., I’m sure she’s asleep. As much as I want her, I won’t be a bastard and wake her.

I’ve kept her up enough over the last few days. There’s only so much sex the body can take. So I should probably take a break before my dick falls off.

I hoped to be home before now but it couldn’t be helped.

If the Order members were that easy to find, I would have found them already.

I spent the day doing what I could, but didn’t find anything. I’ll pick up where I left off tomorrow.

The house is quiet with a blanket of silence covering it.

Apart from the guards I have milling around the property and the gentle shook of the waves from the sea, there’s nothingness. Sometimes that’s better. It beats silence.

I’m not tired so I head into my father’s office, take off my jacket, and pour myself a scotch.

Father always kept the good stuff in here.

This is a thirty-year old Scotch whisky from the Kozlov cellar. It has a hint of a fruity taste that hits my tastebuds first, before the burn of the alcohol.

It numbs my mind and gives my demons some reprieve.

I’m at odds with myself, but it’s only because things are still vague. Even though everything seems to be moving, nothing is really happening.

I don’t have a solid plan for Judas, and I don’t know what I’m doing with Persephone, or her father.

When it comes to Persephone, I know what I’m doing is wrong, but selfishness won’t allow me to let her back into the light where she belongs.

If I let her go though, what will happen to her? Only the same things as before.

She’ll have to marry Antonio and live with him in Italy.

She’ll be his.

Not mine. Not my girl.

I pour another glass of scotch to add to the numbness. I don’t want to feel guilt right now and if I’m not with her, then I don’t want to be aroused either.

As I put the glass to my lips and gaze out the window shock slams through me when I see the beautiful maiden walking along the beach.

She’s wearing a little silk white nightdress, which flows behind her making her look like a ghost.

What the hell is she doing out there at this hour?

Setting the glass down, I open the sliding doors and walk out on to the terrace.

The chill of the cold night air ruffles my hair. She must be cold in what she’s wearing, but she’s walking as if she’s not aware of anything.

“Persephone,” I call out to her but she does nothing but keep going.

Thinking she hasn’t heard me, I call her again but she does the same thing.

I know she must have heard me. When I left earlier, she wasn’t in a mood with me, so I don’t understand why she’s ignoring me.

When I get to her and grab her arm I see why—at least I think I do.

Although her eyes are open, she has a vacant stare as if there’s nothing going on in her mind.

She’s sleepwalking.

She barely blinks when I catch her face and appears completely lost in whatever dream state she’s in.

“Persephone wake up, Princess.” I stroke her face but nothing changes. “Persephone.”

“The baby. I have to get the baby,” she mumbles.

“There’s no baby. Let’s go inside.”

“The baby needs to be fed. Lilah is hungry. She’s crying.”

She said that as if she really believes it and I wonder if it’s true.

Who had a baby though?

I tap her cheek, lightly and she seems to come to, but she looks like she’s still not quite with it.

“Who’s Lilah, Persephone?”

“The baby, Athena’s baby. My niece. I have to find them.” She looks more like herself but clearly confusion is setting in.

I feel sorry for her when she looks around frantically, trying to make sense of where she is and fright consumes her pretty face in the moonlight.

“Where am I?” She pants. “They were just here. I saw them. Didn’t you see them?”

“No, Persephone you were dreaming. It was just a dream.”

“It can’t be. I saw them. They were in the meadow there over…” Her voice trails off as she looks ahead at the rolling waves of the sea.

She shakes her head and looks down at her chest. Then she moves away the fabric of her nightdress so she can see her tattoo.

“It’s true. She’s dead and she gave me her heart,” she mumbles and more shock takes me when understanding forms in my mind.

The heart problems her father spoke of, the surgery she told me about, the scar.

Her father said he nearly lost her a few times. Someone with a heart defect from birth would have needed something drastic to change if they’re okay now.

Something like a heart transplant.

She gave me her heart…

She’s talking about Athena. So, the heart beating in her chest is her sister’s.

I want to ask her more to clarify my reasoning, but stop myself when tears spring from her eyes.

“My sister’s dead,” she mutters, crying harder, and all I can do is hold her.

When she grips on to my shirt like she needs me, she breaks down and her shoulders wrack as she sobs.

I was right when I suspected there were family secrets, and I feel like there’s more to know about the girl I shouldn’t know.