34. Viper
Viper
T he phone connects on the second ring. “Boss?” Landon’s voice is strained, the background filled with shouting and distant sirens.
“Status,” I bark, pacing the corridor like a caged animal.
“We pushed ‘em back from the main warehouse. Lost the club on the north side, and they torched the old depot. We’re holding.”
Every word is a fucking knife twisting in my gut. My city. My men. Burning while I’m playing bodyguard in a gothic castle. Anton’s voice echoes in my head. Choose, Viper.
Venetia, Blake, and Rafferty stride across the quad. Venetia’s in the lead, a fucking queen leading her generals to war. She glances back, her eyes finding mine across the quad, and in that moment, the choice isn’t a choice at all. It’s a fucking command etched into my soul.
“Hold the line, Landon,” I say, my voice a low growl. “You are it.”
“Understood,” he says.
I hang up. He doesn’t understand the half of it. My war is here. My queen is here, and I’ll burn this whole fucking world down to keep her safe. I break into a run, catching up to them as they reach the security lodge door.
“You in?” Rafferty asks, challenging me with his stare alone.
“I’m in,” I say. No other explanation is needed. “What’s the situation?”
“Cravenmoor’s been watching us through the CCTV,” Blake says without turning, his focus already on the bank of monitors displaying feeds from every corner of the academy. “He’s seen everything. The bodies, the negotiations, the shootout in the hall. We’re cutting him off.”
My knuckles crack as I clench my fists. The fucking nerve of that bastard, watching us like we’re some kind of sick reality show.
I don’t wait for a fucking invitation. My boot connects with the central monitor, shattering the screen into a spiderweb of black glass and dead pixels.
The others flinch at the sound, but I’m not done.
I rip the server rack from the wall, wires sparking and snapping as the entire system dies.
“That’s one way to do it,” Blake mutters, a rare hint of amusement in his voice.
“It’s the only way,” I snarl, kicking at the tangled mess of hardware on the floor. “Let him be fucking blind. Let him wonder what we’re doing in here. Let him fucking panic.”
My gaze finds Venetia. Her approval is clear from the slight pant of her breath. That’s all I need, to know I’ve made the right choice. This is my war now. The game has changed. We’re not his fucking pawns anymore. We’re the predators, and he’s just another piece of meat.
The silence in the room is thick, broken only by the fizzle of dying electronics.
Dust motes dance in the slivers of moonlight cutting through the grimy window.
I don’t take my eyes off Venetia. She steps over the wreckage, her boots crunching on shattered plastic, and places a hand on my chest, right over my heart. The touch is a brand.
“Vicious,” she breathes, her green eyes blazing with a feral light that reflects the beast in my soul. “Now he’s fighting blind.”
Blake picks up a stray piece of circuit board, examining it with a detached curiosity. “He’ll retaliate. Cutting off his intelligence will force him to act more directly. He’ll send a force to retake the academy.”
“And that’s the fucking plan,” Rafferty says. “We’ll give them a welcome they won’t forget.”
“This is our ground now. Our fortress.” My city might be under siege, but my queen is right here. My war is wherever she is.
“We need to prepare,” Venetia states, turning to face all of us. The leader. The fucking queen. “We have eleven loyal students, our own skills, resources, and a fucking castle built for defence. We find those that we don’t know about yet, and we use them.”
Her smile is pure, vicious promise. “Cravenmoor wants a war? We’ll give him one he’ll never recover from.”
The words hang in the air, a declaration of war that makes my fucking blood sing. This is it. This is the woman I’d die for, the queen I’d kill for. The beast inside me roars its approval, hungry for the violence she’s promised.
“We start with the architecture,” Blake says, his voice cutting through my bloodlust with cold, sharp logic. He gestures towards the main building. “This place was built to withstand a mediaeval siege. We need to get on the battlements. Scope out the lay of the land from there.”
Rafferty nods, already moving towards the door. “And we arm the loyalists. Every one of them needs to be a soldier by sunrise. No passengers.”
Venetia looks at each of us, her gaze settling on me last. There’s a question in her eyes, but she already knows the answer. My war is her war. My men can hold my city; I’m holding my world right here.
I follow them out of the wrecked office, the smell of burnt plastic and ozone clinging to my clothes.
The moon casts long, skeletal shadows across the quad, turning the ancient academy into the fortress it was always meant to be.
Let Cravenmoor come. We’re not just going to defend this castle.
We’re going to turn it into his fucking tomb and take it over before he even knows we’ve done it.
We move as one unit, four fucking generals marching across the quad. I feel more at home in the dark. Blake’s talking strategy, his voice a low, steady hum of logistics and architectural weaknesses. I tune most of it out. My strategy is simple: kill anyone who isn’t us.
We reach the main entrance of the residence building, the heavy oak doors feeling more like a gatehouse now. Inside, the new students are gathered in the entrance hall. They look to Venetia, their new fucking queen, waiting for her command. She doesn’t disappoint.
“Hutchinson,” she barks, and Peter steps forward. “I want you on the battlements with Blake. We need to map out defensive positions, kill zones, and lines of sight.”
“Donovan, keep that food coming. We are all fucking starving, and we need the fuel.”
“On it, boss,” he replies with a salute.
“Raff, we need weapons. Raid everyone’s rooms, the combat training rooms, every-fucking-where. Let’s see what kind of arsenal we’ve got.”
She turns her gaze on me, and the air crackles. “Viper. I want soldiers.”
A slow, vicious grin spreads across my face. I look at the remaining students, sizing them up. I see the flash of panic in some of their eyes, but it’s quickly squashed. They fucking know I will eat them alive if I see weakness. “Food, bed, up at dawn. I want to see what you’re all made of.”
They scamper off, heading behind Sean to the dining hall. I grab Venetia’s hand. “You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, this isn’t a negotiation. I wasn’t asking, wildcat. I’ll force-feed you myself if I have to.”
She sighs, but there’s no fight in it, just bone-deep exhaustion. “Fine,” she concedes, letting me lead her toward the dining hall. I keep my hand on the small of her back, a constant, possessive pressure. She belongs here. With me.
Sean has a fresh tray of sandwiches out, and I grab a plate, loading it up with whatever looks like it has the most calories, and a bottle of water.
I push it in front of her at a clean table and sit opposite, watching her.
She eats slowly at first, then with more urgency as her body remembers it needs fuel.
“Good girl,” I murmur, and she shoots me a look that’s half glare, half gratitude.
The other loyalists give us a wide berth, eating quickly and talking in low voices. They know who’s in charge. They know who she belongs to. Blake and Raff are already gone, off to do their own things, trusting me to handle her.
I watch her eat, every bite she takes is a small victory against the chaos trying to swallow us whole.
My men are fighting for my city, but my world is right here.
I reach out to brush the back of my fingers over her cheek.
She leans into my touch for a fraction of a second before pulling back, the mask of a queen snapping back into place.
But I saw it. The vulnerability. The trust.
And I’ll kill anyone who tries to break it.
“My appointment is next week,” she says after a few more bites, avoiding my gaze.
I tilt my head in question, but then I see the tremor in her hand. “You’ll make it.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
“I know, but I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”
“Promise?” she asks, her lower lip quivering as she finally looks me in the eye.
“I promise.” I reach out, my hand covering hers. Her skin is cold. “I’ll hold your fucking hand through the whole thing. And if any doctor looks at you sideways, I’ll rip their throat out.” That’s the only way I know how to say I care. It’s the only language I know.
She gives me an infuriated smile, a tiny crack in the fortress she’s built around herself. “You’re ridiculous,” she whispers.
“I’m fucking serious.” I squeeze her hand. “Whatever comes next, Venetia, we face it together. Me, you, Blake, and Raff. We’re a fucking unit. You need to tell them.”
She freezes but then nods slowly, taking another bite of her sandwich. The fight is coming back into her eyes, the vulnerability receding as the queen takes back her throne. That’s my girl. A fucking warrior. “I know.”
We fall back into silence as she finishes the last of the food, and I watch her, satisfied. Fuelled up, she’s unstoppable.
“We should get some sleep,” she says, her voice stronger now. “Dawn’s going to come fast.”
“Yeah,” I agree, standing up and pulling her to her feet. “And when it does, we start training your little army.”
She leans against me for a moment, her head resting on my chest. I wrap my arms around her, a fucking shield against the world. Let Cravenmoor come. Let them all come. This is a new challenge for me. I’ve never fought for anyone but myself before. I can’t wait to see what comes out of it.