Chapter 11
Ivy
Ispent a great deal of my life in positions that others would call terrifying more than they would weak. Most people are scared of having demons. Me? I’ve carried mine through my life every step of the way, used them as weights to build strength.
What I’ve done.
What I’m yet to do.
It’s a big fuck you to those who put them there in the first place.
Only all demons answer to a Devil, and people do not mention how most of the time, that asshole comes as everything you never knew you wanted.
So here I am. On Asher's Instagram just to see what people really have been saying, and, a bit to see if he has ever put her on his feed.
He hasn't. Not a single speck.
But as I fly through the photo grid, swipe after swipe, I pause at the last photo he shared of us.
I mean, not many people would know it was me, but judging by the comments, everyone knew anyway.
With his tatted arm hooked around my throat, and with nothing but my smile shown in the photo, it's obvious. That night was something else…
Actually, if I'm being honest, it could very well be one of the final times I ever saw him for who he was…
“Come on, Venom, stop being a buzzkill!” Asher's fingers lace through mine, rough and insistent as he drags me toward the arena entrance.
The concrete vibrates beneath our feet from thousands of fans streaming through the gates.
Rubber soles squeak on hardwood. “I got these tickets, hey!” His grip tightens and suddenly I'm yanked forward, colliding with the solid wall of his chest. His arm locks around my waist, holding me prisoner against him.
“I got these tickets for us. Because it's my birthday.”
I tilt my head back toward him, his intensity burning through me with that familiar, unsettling precision.
“Fine.” The word tastes like surrender. “But only because as much as I'm a Bulls fan, I'm also a Kobe fan, and so, well…” My voice catches, betraying something I don't want to name. “I never got to see one of his games.”
We move with the current of bodies flooding through the turnstiles. Security guards bark orders. Kids in oversized jerseys bounce on their toes.
“Mmmhmm…” His knuckles graze my cheekbone, calluses catching on skin. The touch is feather light but it burns. Then his lips press against my forehead, warm and lingering, and I hate how my body responds, how it always responds to him. “It has nothing to do with me…”
His smirk radiates through his words, tempting me to slam my elbow into his ribs.
Instead, I let him guide me through the metal detectors, past vendors hawking foam fingers and twenty-dollar beers, into the belly of the beast where twenty thousand people wait to worship at the altar of professional basketball.
After all that time together, why had I never asked about his family?
I swipe out of the app and shove my phone back into my pocket. The weather is ruthless tonight, but I like it. I want that. The recklessness of Mother Nature's temperament reminds us who is boss.
Snow catches moonlight across Mount Crow's peak. The descent stretches below us, steep, unforgiving, beautiful in its cruelty. We rode up from the mid-point like tourists, but the real mountain starts here. The Peak. She may just have a higher body count than me.
Winter games start tomorrow and I still haven't decided if I'm going, but right now, it’s the twilight shred. Hopefully this mountain does what it’s meant to do.
Protect.
Clipping up my boots, I yank the zipper on my jacket and shove my goggles onto my head. I strap in and weave through the clusters of bodies until I reach Parker's side, his ski poles jabbed into the snow beside him. I’m just in time to catch Punk bitching about the crowd.
“Who's actually coming down?” My gaze sweeps over them. The way they're all planted here, gear off, tells me everything. “I get it, Glasshouse has decent steak and Merlot, but bailing on a run from up here?” I click my tongue. “Fucking waste.”
Parker's already removing his gloves, shoving them into his pocket. “I'd rather the steak. Have fun.”
Asher chuckles. “You're taking the steak too, Venom. People don't jump at the possibility of wanting to ride down Mount Crow from here, let alone people who don't ride often.”
I bat my lashes up at him. “I don't ride often.”
He stares at me blandly. “Exactly. Enjoy the steak.”
I shrug. “Not as often as most, anyway.” How'd he know I've been riding more over the past year? Could I not be the only one stalking an Instagram account?
“Steak.” He repeats. It's an order.
Angling my head up to the stars, I trace every one, imagining an invisible line between them like I did when I was a child.
Someone clears their throat. “Aren't you a little old to be, like, snowboarding?”
I don't flinch at Camille's weak attempt of a stab from her blunt blade.
“Shut the fuck up, Camille,” Asher snaps, forcing my eyes back to him. Jesus.
“Probably.” I laugh her insult off because I don't care about her enough to take it as such, and if I don't simmer it down, Asher will, and despite Veilarath having privacy laws, I'm going to say not a single one of his fans gives a flying fuck about those if he's spotted flying off the handle.
Luce cuts in before I can finish. “First of all,” My eyes fly to my best friend, where hers are pointed right at Camille.
I shake my head at her gently.
Camille's smug smirk widens on Luce, willing her to take the bait.
“You know what?” Luce flashes a too-wide smile. “You're absolutely right. I'll go grab her walking stick.”
I roll my eyes. Unnecessary.
“I'm sitting out.” Punk jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “I'm with Parker on this one. I'd rather the steak than become another statistic.”
She hooks her arm in Luce's, directing her the same way Parker went, and then it's just Camille, Asher and Atlas. I'm surprised Camille didn't join them, considering she's not geared up. Something tells me she caught the warning of Luce.
Atlas turns his body into Asher. “Don't get injured before the first game. The wind is picking up around, well…” He looks down at his watch. “Now. No one is going down from up here.”
“Hear that?” Asher's question is for me. “You should head back in with everyone else.”
I don't know whether I should be annoyed or insulted. I settle for sarcasm. “Age aside, I happen to know a thing or two about a thing or two.”
His brow curves up. “Judging by your Instagram, I have a feeling you and this mountain are on first name basis,” his lip twitches, the small joke passing between us about the folklore. “But this weather is dangerous. No one going down tonight is anything less than a professional.”
“Huh.” I blink off into the distance.
He relaxes, assuming his warning worked, but I shove the goggles down over my eyes and shrug. “Guess it's a good thing I was trained by one.”
I slide forward, right into the first pipe.
My board glides smoothly over the ice as I take the first dip, airborne for a few seconds before landing perfectly with a thud.
He isn't exaggerating; the mountain is a killer, but I've been riding these slopes almost every weekend for the past six months.
Why I found solace in this place as one of my closest friends ghosted me, I don't know.
Maybe it's because we shared such good memories here when I first took over ownership of the manor.
Or it’s because I really do love the snow.
The first corner hits, my edges biting deep. With every weight shift, it all comes flooding back.
My knees fold into the next carve, swallowing the mountain's fury. Ice patches that'd drop rookies on their asses? Nothing to me.
Trees whip past in dark streaks, counting off my descent. Any one of them is a headstone if I mess up, but this is all muscle memory now.
Distance, speed, angle. The same math that puts a bullet through a heart at three hundred meters.
Wind tears at my exposed skin, savage and honest. This is what I love. Just physics and flesh, testing each other's limits.
I whip into a heel-side stop, snow erupting around me.
Seconds pass where it’s just the silence of nature.
My breath clouds the air as my pulse hammers a familiar rhythm. Combat high, adrenaline dump, same chemicals, cleaner conscience.
Above, the aurora unfolds across the black canvas of sky. Pink bleeding into blue, nature's own neon nightclub.
I drop to the snow with a thud.
Snow kicks up over my board as Asher skids in beside me, whipping off his goggles. “Still fucking stubborn, I see.”
My back hits the snow in a flurry of laughter as I point up to the sky. “There's not a single thing in this world more beautiful than that.”
When he doesn't answer, I turn my head and find him staring down at me. I hate this. I hate wanting someone so much that it physically pains me.
Weak, weak, weak.
“Yeah. Maybe you're right.” He lowers beside me, kicking up his board. In a flurry of gray graffiti and patterns, I trace the lines with my eyes before going back to the sky above.
“Why didn't you tell me about Camille?”
Silence.
He breathes out a sigh. “Because I couldn't. She's--”
“I should warn you.” I turn my head. I didn't realize how close he was. “I'm not very good at relationship advice, despite my obvious age.”
His chuckle is met with a brief moment of confusion when his brows dip.
He dusts his hands on his pants, shaking his head. “Relationship isn't what I'd call her.”
I hesitate for a moment before staring out in front of me.
“Can I ask you something personal?” He looks down at me from behind his arm.