5. Ivy
Chapter 5
Ivy
“Need some help?”
I lift my head and look at the lilac-haired girl standing at the door, watching me. She’s holding a mop and bucket. Two things that look completely out of place against her cute little jumpsuit and ballerina pumps.
I’m still in the kitchen. I’ve been in here for an hour already and it looks like I’ve barely done anything.
“I won’t say no.” I set the cleaning sponge on the side and smile at her. “I don’t want you to get in trouble though.”
“I won’t.” She walks in and sets the mop and bucket to the side. “I’m beyond the reach of Tiffany’s bitchiness. I would have defended you earlier but we’re not allowed to challenge our superiors in front of the others.”
“Oh. Thanks for coming to help me.”
“No worries. I’m Eilish.”
“That’s a nice name. I’ve never heard it before.”
“It’s Irish.”
“It’s very pretty.”
“So is Ivy.”
“Thank you.” When people compliment my name I always think of my real name— Annika . That was a pretty name. My father gave it to me.
Mom called me Ivy after her great grandmother when we had to take new names.
“I’m a sophomore here and the sorority’s student counselor. Basically you come to me with your grievances.”
Given my situation, I half smile, half frown at the irony in that. On seeing my reaction, Eilish gives me a sheepish grin.
“Believe me I’ve noted this unfortunate event. That’s why I’m here.” She nods. “But if you have any other grievances, like with your room, classes, or you just need to talk, I’m your girl.”
“I appreciate that.” I look around at the mess and dirty everything still left to be done. I frown when I think of simply touching it. “What happened in here? It was completely trashed.”
“We had a party last night.”
“I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Don’t be. Tiffany should have been more understanding because your flight was delayed but she loves being queen bitch. By the same token, you need to watch your back now. She’ll make life hell for you until she finds something more interesting to do.”
“Oh God. I really don’t need this.”
“Once you get past the trials and you’re in the fold she won’t be able to screw with you as much, so just tread softly.”
“Okay. Tread softly.” I attempt to smile and resume cleaning the counter. “Like, just keep swimming .”
She giggles at my Finding Nemo reference. “Yes. Just keep swimming.”
“Come on, let’s get to work. I have an hour before I have to go.”
“Thanks again for helping me.”
“No worries.”
We manage to get most of the kitchen done by the time Eilish has to leave.
To my surprise the guy who was with Thorne and Caspian picked her up. Eilish introduced him as Lucian.
Without the company of the Ivanovs he seemed even more approachable and the fact that he knew Eilish made me like him. She said he was her childhood best friend but I saw something more than that when they looked at each other.
Now I’m alone.
There’s movement outside the kitchen but no one is coming in. Since our rooms are like mini apartments equipped with a state-of-the-art kitchenette and state-of-the-art everything no one needs to come in here.
I work for several more hours, cleaning until the damn kitchen is spotless. I move on to the bathrooms, where I mess up my nails and bruise my knees.
It’s ten p.m. when I finish. I don’t want to think of how much later I could have been if Eilish hadn’t come to my aid.
When I go up to my room, I find a little pink pastry box outside my door.
I pick it up. It’s from Isabelle and the girls.
Inside the box is a delicious cupcake from the pastry shop on campus everyone is talking about. There’s a note next to the napkin with Isabelle’s phone number on it along with the other girls.
Under Mackenzie’s number are the words:
Sorry for what happened to you. Let’s hang out for lunch tomorrow xx
It’s really nice of them to do this for me. As horrible as my punishment was— and Tiffany —the incident helped me make progress in the friend department.
I open the door and go inside my room, which is stunning.
With its baby blue and rose gold color scheme, French Proven?ale furniture and décor, the room looks like it was made for a princess. And I feel like one, even after hours of cleaning like a hopeless Cinderella.
Levgen and Mom had the room decorated for me. As these are the rooms you get to keep for the duration of your stay at Raventhorn you’re allowed to decorate to your taste.
Last night I was so tired and freaked from meeting with Thorne that I didn’t get to appreciate the beauty until I woke this morning.
Taking in the stunning beauty, I appreciate it again now, allowing it to calm me.
I head to the ensuite to shower and get ready for bed, then I eat the cake which tastes like a slice of heaven. I make a mental note to get the same cupcake tomorrow when I’m done with Professor Bates workshop.
To wrap up the evening I call Mom and Levgen and then Millicent, my friend from high school. She went to study at Cambridge in England.
We have a circle of four friends but I haven’t heard from the others. Honestly, I was closest to Millicent, so it’s okay that I’ve only been in touch with her.
The fact that she’s in England is the only easy thing about being at Raventhorn. It would have been harder to part ways if we’d planned to go to the same college and couldn’t.
At least I didn’t have to explain the Knights to my friends because people on the outside consider Raventhorn on par with the Ivy league colleges.
I get in my bed and find I can’t sleep. I just lie there thinking for hours.
I’m tired, but I can’t seem to summon sleep.
It’s a good thing classes don’t officially begin until next week or I’d be in trouble. There’s nothing worse than having a zombified mind when you’re trying to concentrate in class.
My thoughts drift to my father and I wonder how he is. I always think of him, especially in these quiet moments.
Moments when I see his face with that smile and the wealth of love in his eyes.
He loved me so much. But now he believes I’m dead.
It’s not the first time I’ve wondered how he took that news. I know it would have broken him.
Memories of that night I will never forget drift into my mind and I allow them to come.
I see myself as the little nine-year-old girl with her teddy bear. My father took me to work that night because Mom was working late.
She was a cardiothoracic surgeon in Russia. She got called in for an emergency.
I was only too happy to go to work with my father because he was at the palace in Moscow. Because of his role he’d move around a lot and I got to see some of the wonderful places he’d work at. The palace was my favorite.
I felt like a princess then too, roaming the halls with the tapestry on the walls and the crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ornate ceilings covered in paintings.
Dad put me to rest in one of the guest rooms.
“Off to bed with you now, little one.” He spoke to me in English sometimes because he wanted me to learn the language.
That’s why he also allowed me to call him Dad or Papa.
I begged for a story but he told me it was too late.
The last thing he said to me was he’d wake me up when Mom came to pick me up.
I fell asleep but the sound of gunfire that woke me. It sounded like a war zone. There were people screaming amongst the rattle of bullets firing.
I knew to hide if ever I heard anything like that. My father drilled it into my head. So I jumped off the bed and hid behind the secret wall behind the bookcase.
It had a little frosted window, so I was able to see what was going on.
I was just in time getting myself to safety. Not a minute later the door smashed open and two men came in, throwing punches at each other.
One was Michael, another guard who worked with my father. The other man was one I’d never seen before. He had a scar entrenched so deep across his face he looked monstrous.
He also had tattoos on his wrist. The tattoos of the Knights.
The man shot Michael in the head twice and killed him. But it didn’t end there. When Michael fell on the ground, the man pulled out a knife and stabbed Michael through the heart. Then he carved out his heart and held it up to the light with blood dripping from it.
I heard him say ‘I will kill all of you. Every last guard here’, then he uttered a chant in a language that sounded old and creepy.
“Valin mortilum dohaliues.” That’s what it sounded like.
He placed the heart in a black bag and hurried out of the room after, looking hideous with his knife in the air.
I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to find my father but I was so terrified I couldn’t even move. I’d never seen a man die before, and it was someone I knew.
Michael was always so kind to me and looked after me when my father was busy. Now he was dead.
An eternity might have passed before my father came into the room, but he was covered in blood from head to toe. I was so happy to see him that I rushed out of my hiding place.
He grabbed me and picked me up, but I made the mistake of looking at Michael’s bloodied, heartless body. His eyes were wide open, the bullet hole in his head was oozing blood, and blood gushed from the place his heart used to be like a river.
“Papa,” I screamed and Dad held me closer.
“Don’t look, moya lyubov . Don’t look,” he’d mumbled in my ear, but it was too late. I couldn’t unsee what I saw.
Dad ran out of the room with me straight into more dead bodies of people I knew. They littered the path.
The sight of death, blood and gore only ended when we reached the door to the underground tunnels.
We went down there and met Mom on the other side where she waited in hysterics.
Dad had managed to tell her about the attack and got her to meet us somewhere safe.
As he handed me over to her, we begged him to come with us but duty sent him running back into the arms of danger. My father was the senior guard, and he took that responsibility to heart.
That was the last time I saw him.
After that night I only knew what had happened to my father from what I heard by eavesdropping or Mom actually sitting me down to tell me.
Dad was found unconscious on the palace grounds. Even though he was injured there was evidence that suggested he was involved in the attack. The targets were the Russian Syndicate of Bratva leaders and senior Knights.
Dad saw the man with the scarred face too, but no one believed him.
No one could identify anyone who fit that description, and since the cameras at the palace were all down they had no footage of the incident or the man.
Eventually people thought my father was lying and when I told Mom I saw the man she thought I was lying too to save Dad. Because mom was worried for our lives she forbade me to mention him again.
She wouldn’t even allow me to talk to Levgen about the scar-faced man, so he never knew that the man was a Knight or about the mysterious words he spoke.
My mother was disgusted with Dad for putting me in danger. The thing was I wasn’t meant to be there that night. My presence there was solely because Mom had an emergency at work, but she felt my father risked my life anyway to kill the Syndicate members.
Apart from me, Dad was the only person in the palace who survived. That was suspicious enough.
We weren’t allowed to see him, but Mom knew what was coming next—our deaths.
That’s when she got Levgen’s help. The only thing he could do to save us was stage our deaths by blowing up our home. Then he arranged for us to go to L.A. under the pseudonyms of Ivy and Oksana.
He made it seem like my father’s enemies had killed us in retaliation for what had happened at the palace.
Levgen married Mom to add a further layer of protection. It was expected of him as a Knight of his caliber to take a wife. His previous wife had died years before from an illness.
We started our lives in the States with the vow to forget my father.
Except I can’t forget him as easily as Mom did.
My body feels heavy after that trip down memory lane, and tears well in my eyes.
I get off the bed and pull out my storage box from under it. I have a little trinket box I took from home. Inside is something that should have stayed in L.A. but I couldn’t part with it.
I pull out the little ring my father had made for me. He was going to give it to me on my sixteenth birthday.
At least Mom still honored him by giving it to me, but she gave it to me when we’d just gone to live with Levgen. It didn’t matter if she was doing so because she was trying to rid my father from her mind. I was happy to have it.
The ring has my father’s family crest embossed in the center, but on the inside is the inscription in Russian: T o my daughter Annika, love you forever.
This is the only thing I have left of my father. I always feel close to him when I look at it. Always, even at two in the morning when I should be asleep in bed.
Who am I kidding? I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Not even the Sandman can help me.
Feeling frustrated, I sit on the fluffy white rug and stare at the ring.
I usually don’t keep it on me—or anywhere anyone can find it—but I feel like I need it now. Just for tonight.
I push to my feet and set the ring on the nightstand. Then I pull on a sweatshirt and yoga pants, and slip the ring into the inside pocket.
I’m going to do what I always do when I get like this—write music.
The library here is open twenty four seven and they have sections there for people like me who like to vocalize when they’re writing music.
They also have a café that’s open at this hour too, but that closes in fifteen minutes. If I hurry I can catch them open and grab a cappuccino.
It’s going to be a long night, so I need it.
Half an hour later I’m seated in a comfortable spot in the library.
There’s no one around but me, and it’s so quiet I can hear my heart beat and myself breathe.
I grab one of the worktables by the window. It offers a great view of the moonlight kissing the surface of the river. The trees in the backdrop look like an army of shadows.
I sip my cappuccino and lose myself in the scenery while musical notes bounce around in my mind.
There’s a stillness about the campus tonight with anticipation heavy in the air, like time is waiting for something to happen. It feels like a macabre precipice between worlds, between life and death.
I love it.
And I love being able to admire my surroundings when I’m working. My pieces are inspired by landscapes, moods, and atmosphere.
There was a melody teasing me on the flight from L.A. I wrote down the first verse in my notebook while I was on the plane. The melody came back to me yesterday when I was talking to Isabelle in the café.
I can hear it again now, but within the still silence and the dark beauty before me the melody deepens and grows the longer I stare.
I decide to write down what I can hear so I don’t lose it, but when I turn around I find Thorne Ivanov sitting right in front of me.
The fright that shoots through my body at the sudden sight of him devastates my nerves worse than the first night we met. It rips through me like a hurricane, sending a wild shudder over my skin.
It’s the type of fright that would make you scream, but I just about manage to stop myself.
Nevertheless, my coffee has slushed over the desk—thank God it was a small cup.
My free hand clutches my rapid beating heart, holding it in and my breath is lodged in my throat.
“Oh my God.” The words tumble out of my mouth through my panting.
“Jesus, Bambi, you really need to be careful. I’d bet someone could kill you and you wouldn’t even know you were dead until you were dead.”
If that’s not a fucked up thing to say, then I don’t know what is. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
I know my tone is way harsh, but I don’t care who he is. He frightened the living daylights out of me. Again.
I’m still trying to catch my breath and assure my heart I’m not under attack while he just watches me with that unhinged calm. And of course, even at this ungodly hour he looks as shockingly handsome as ever, with that dark, dangerous edge that both warns and, regrettably, entices me.
“It’s funny how we keep meeting like this.” He sits back and sharpens his stare. “In these strange places.”
I grab some tissues from the holder on the table and clean up the spilled coffee. “This is the library. It’s not a strange place. Also, last time I was lost.”
“But that wasn’t the last time we saw each other. Was it now, little deer?” His lips curl into a slow predatory smile.
At first I’m stumped about what he’s talking about, then I remember. I saw him yesterday when I was with Isabelle.
“That was hardly a meeting. And must you scare me every single time you see me?” Once again I didn’t hear him come up.
“You need to be more aware of your surroundings.”
“I am, but you snuck up on me.”
“What are you doing up at this hour?” He taps the table and lifts a skeptical brow.
“Studying.”
“There’s no way you have shit to study yet. And not at this hour.”
“Maybe I want to get ahead of myself. What are you doing up?”
“Taking a walk.”
He seemed to be out for a walk the other night too. “ Here ?”
He pulls out a slim cigarette from his pocket and allows it to dangle between his fingers. “You don’t think I use the library?”
I choose not to answer because, no, I don’t think the library is his scene.
“No comment, huh?” He chuckles and lights up, completely ignoring the no smoking sign across from us.
“Is there something you want?”
“Of course. There are many things I want.”
“I mean specifically from me.”
“Like I said. There are many things.” The way his gaze moves over my face, slow and unhurried, makes my temperature rise, but I try to keep my head screwed on.
His cryptic words are the least of my worries. The problem is that he’s talking to me again. Why?
I’m not the kind of girl who attracts guys like him. And it’s nothing to do with looks. I’m just different, and in this instance he’s off limits to me.
“It might not be such a good idea to want anything from me.”
My answer seems to amuse him. “What if I like you? Are you telling me I can’t?”
My eyes widen and my breath stills. I don’t know if that was a joke or a trick. Something to rattle my brain or jar me like the urban legend.
I wait for him to say something more like he’s joking, but he looks serious. I don’t know him, but I think I know enough from our brief encounters to figure out that he’s not a guy who wastes words. No matter, I already know the answer to give him.
“Yes. I am saying that you can’t like me.”
Thorne leans forward, resting an elbow on the desk. “What if it’s too late and I’ve already decided you’re mine?”
My lips part and my mouth goes dry as all the moisture drains from my body. When the moisture returns it beads between my thighs, sending ripples of heat through me like liquid fire.
I try to school my thoughts but my damn traitorous body likes the way he said that word— mine.
“I’m not your type.” I have to rein this in. Diffuse the situation before it gets worse. Things feel like they’ve already gone south, so I need to change course and hope he does too.
“Interesting, first she refuses my dick, then she refuses me.” He gives me a maddening smile. Then he tilts his head to assess me, the way you would when you’re trying to figure something out like a puzzle. “How do you know what my type is?”
“I just know it’s not me.”
“Why’d you say that?”
“You don’t know me.” And he can’t.
“I know enough. Ivy Yegorov, age eighteen, daughter of Oksana Yegorov and step daughter to Levgen Yegorov. You’re doing music here with a minor in English literature because you love classical literature and post-romantic poetry. Favorite color is lilac, favorite artist is William Waterhouse, favorite bands are The Cranberries and Heilung, favorite movies are the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit trilogies, favorite food is cannelloni. And you hate graveyards, which is interesting because your compositions all sound like death to me.”
My lips tremble. I stare at him, utterly taken aback. Unlike him I can have social media because my relatives aren’t part of the Knights leadership, but since I still have to be careful I don’t post a lot of personal stuff. He knew a lot of personal stuff I don’t think I’ve ever shared with anyone.
He looked me up. No. It’s more than that. He knew about my music. You’d have to look deep to find that because I only have my collection uploaded to SoundCloud.
“You looked me up?” Saying the words outside my head sounds incredulous in relation to him.
“I make it my duty to know who I need to know. Should I tell you some more things I know about you?” He flutters his fingers over the table as if playing the piano.
“Tell me.” A cold tremor lances through me. I don’t think he knows my secrets or we wouldn’t be here talking like this. But curiosity pushes me to find out what he knows.
“Fear looks good on you, little deer. So does innocence. Maybe that’s why I want your V-card.”
Shock slams into my chest and stays there, shackled to my heart. My nerves erupt in tremors and I know I’ve turned several shades of red, each one deeper than the shade before it.
How in the hell does he know I’m a virgin? How? It’s not like I have the word virgin stamped on my forehead. And that’s not usually something you can tell just from looking at someone. Is it?
Thorne stares back at me with expectancy. I want to tell him he couldn’t possibly know that about me and he needs to leave me alone, but my mind can’t compute an answer.
“So you see, I do know you.” His menacing voice pulls me from my stupor.
“How… how did you know I still have my v-card?” It’s silly, I know. I should have chosen to tell him I’m not a virgin, but I’m so stunned that he would know something like that I want to find out how.
“I just told you, I make it my duty to know who I need to know.”
“But that’s personal.”
“Not to me, Bambi.” A lopsided grin slides across his face, then it disappears as if it was never there.
“Now I’m left with the question of what will happen next.” Thorne keeps his gaze trained on me.
“What will happen next for what?”
“You. Do you give me your V-card? Or do I take it?”
The seriousness that creeps into his expression makes my heart stagger in an offbeat symphony. My skin crawls as if a million ants are beneath it and I try to calm my breathing. But I fail.
Thorne is an absolute psycho. I suspected it before, but now I know.
“I’m not giving you my V-card and you’re not taking it.”
“That’s debatable.”
“You need to leave me alone.” I summon courage, hoping like hell he’ll listen, but when that sly smile returns to his face my hopes die.
“No.”
“Why?”
“You got my attention, little deer. And remember, there are many things I want from you. Your V-card is just one of them. Those lips around my cock are another. I always get what I want, so…” He taps the table again and then stands, looking colossal, like a giant.
It’s not until he leans over the table to stare at my notebook that I realize I’m not breathing. And I’m still not breathing. It’s like I’ve forgotten how.
“G sharp, F sharp, C sharp. Try that. It will give you the atonal structure you’re going for. You might also want to get a better look at the river in the moonlight. See what’s beneath the surface.”
I simply stare back at him, my mind a chaotic mess of thoughts and emotions.
He straightens, then walks away.
I actually hear his footsteps against the concrete floor which makes me think he really did sneak up on me. Or like he said, I wasn’t aware of my surroundings.
I’m aware now. Aware of him.
What the hell just happened?
He wants my V-card, my lips around his cock and God knows what else.
How in the hell did this happen to me?
That whole encounter felt like I just stepped into some alternate fucked up dimension.
I might be new but I know most girls would kill to get Thorne Ivanov’s attention. I’m the only one who doesn’t want it, but I have it.
Now that I do, I fear what else I might get.
Thorne dug for information on me. He knows me and my music. He knows my music enough to decipher the algorithms of my mind just from looking at the few notations in my book. I picked up the fact that he must play the piano too, but what he said to me was more than that. He figured out what fascinated and inspired me.
What else will he figure out?