Page 31 of Vexatious Queen

Were the words in the letter true? Did he really want to reconnect? Or was this a ploy to draw me out so he could kill me? Why send this now when so much had happened with Lawrence and Christov? Was that how he knew I was alive? Did Christov call him and tell him, and now they were working together?

My head was full of questions, and my heart hurt to think such horrible things about a man who was supposed to love me. He was part of me, even if only biologically.

“Did you know he was going to reach out,” Nash asked, handing the letter to the dean.

“No,” Dean Henry said, simply.

Dean Henry finished reading the letter and set it aside. I stared into his calm eyes and asked the only question that came to mind.

“What do I do?”

He sighed and leaned back in his leather chair.

“That is up to you. This is not a decision anyone can make for you, but…I will say this—your mother wasn’t a stupid woman, whatever you decide…do it with caution.”

Well, if that wasn’t ominous as hell.

The phoenix drew my gaze back as my hand instinctively went to the snowflake tattoos on my neck. What was coming for us now? I had no idea, but I knew that no matter what, I would rise from the ashes. I looked up at Nash when he placed his hand on my lower back. No, we would all rise from the ashes.

My hand curled into a fist.

If Vadin and Christov were coming for me…let them come.

JANUARY 16 – FRIDAY 4:15 PM

Myles

The shrill scream of the whistle split the air, and I launched forward, my body reacting on instinct and training. The gym blurred under my sneakers, and the world narrowed to noise and motion. Sticks clashed, shouts echoed, and the cheering crowd fed the raw pulse of competition that lived somewhere deep inside of me.

The ball came loose off the draw. I saw it before anyone else—a small white flash against polished wood, and I lunged. Stick down. Scoop. Up again before anyone else moved to oppose me. One of the guys on the opposite team got a little too enthusiastic and slammed into me from the side, forcing me to sidestep. The impact rattled through my arm, but I kept my grip and rhythm.

Cradle. Step. Move.

Somewhere on the sidelines, Ren was watching. I always knew, and felt her eyes on me, even if I couldn’t spot her in the crowd. She never missed a game, and I fucking loved her for it. Every move I made had been cleaner since we got together. I didn’t play for glory. I played for the calm that came when my chaos had a proper outlet. And…I played for her.

“Left, Myles!” Rory’s voice cut through the buzz of adrenaline.

The guy had lungs, I would give him that. He was sprinting up the floor, weaving through defenders like they were standing still. Rory was new to the team this year, but it didn’t show. He moved with instinct, a rare ability that couldn’t be taught—the kind that came from somewhere deeper than training. He was a soccer brat, and it showed with this quick footwork. He outmaneuvered with the best of them.

I shifted my weight and wound back. The pass flew clean and true, a silver arc across the floor. Rory caught it with ease in one fluid motion that drew a cheer from the crowd. He faked high, pivoted low, and let the shot fly.

It whizzed right past the goalie so fast that it took him a second to realize he was far too late.

“Fuck,” the Hawking Shore’s player beside me swore as we took the lead.

The bench erupted, and I couldn’t stop grinning as I jogged toward Rory.

“Hell of a shot,” I called out.

He turned, laughing, cheeks flushed under the cage of his helmet.

“You made it easy. I barely had to move to make the catch.”

I shook my head, clapped him on the shoulder.

“Just take the compliment, it’s deserved.”

We reset at mid-floor. Across the way, their captain glared, jaw tight, the kind of silent stare that said round two would be uglier. Fine. I’d been through worse than bruises. In fact, I welcomed him to try and rattle me. The whistle blew again, and I dug in, the world narrowing once more.