Epilogue
ASHER
TWO YEARS LATER
All the hope in the world couldn’t have her keeping to her word. I mean, shit, I’m not mad. Sitting here watching as she goes through maneuvers with the students is somewhat healing.
She’s fucking great at it. More than great.
“It’s kind of terrifying how good she is.”
Sinead leans against the railing of the patio with the expression of someone who has already placed three bets on how many bones Ivy breaks before lunch.
Below us, a dozen young Dubois stand in two rows across the frost-bitten lawn.
They range from fourteen to eighteen. Every one of them wears black training clothes and the rigid posture the old house carved into its children.
Ivy has spent two years teaching them how to loosen their shoulders, breathe through panic, and keep their hands from becoming weapons every time someone raises their voice.
It’s going well.
One boy drops his gaze when Ivy approaches. She hooks two fingers beneath his chin and lifts his face toward hers.
“Look at me when you’re afraid.”
His throat works. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Again.”
“I look at you when I’m afraid.”
“Good. Fear gives you information. It doesn’t get to make your decisions.”
She moves between them, barefoot in the thin grass, her long dark hair braided over one shoulder. Sunlight falls across her skin, bringing out the green in her eyes. She wears a black tank top and tight black pants tucked into combat boots, with her sheath clipped around her thigh.
She points toward the stone table in the center of the courtyard.
“Book One.”
The children answer together.
“Psychological Warfare.”
“Book Two.”
“Corps de Violence.”
“Book Three.”
“Advanced Manipulation.”
“Book Four.”
“Emergency Protocols for Emotional Contamination.”
Ivy nods once.
“Regulation comes before every book. If you lose control of your body, someone else gets to use it. If you lose control of your thoughts, they don’t even need to touch you.”
The kids barely blink.
Sinead glances at me. “Terrifying.”
I shrug. “Foreplay.”
Ivy turns toward the greenhouse she’s brought back to life, and Camille shuffles out of the shade at the end of a leash.
At the sight of the leash, I push off the pillar and head down the steps, stopping at the bottom when Ivy fists Camille’s hair.
Camille’s eyes find mine but no one is home. The shadows from the greenhouse harden her features, and her hair is about two years overdue for a cut. This is Ivy’s first time bringing her aboveground.
“Everyone say hi, Camille!” Ivy sing-songs.
The students stare. They all know who Camille is because she tutored them under Aléia, Emeric, and Alderic.
Ivy’s grip tightens, and Camille’s head jerks back, her throat exposed. My pulse stays even, unbothered.
“Camille was a puppet in the game, sure, but she is less than innocent.”
Camille keeps her eyes on me. I hold her gaze until Ivy jerks her head forward by the hair, forcing her attention back where it belongs. Possessive monster that she is.
Ivy’s green eyes slide off me and land on her. “You don’t get to look at him.”
I lean back against the pillar at the foot of the steps, hiding my chuckle behind my hand.
Ivy takes Camille's right hand and turns it palm up, her fingers finding the ulnar side of the wrist.
“Between tendon and bone,” Ivy says, clipping each word. “Control the pressure, angle, and timing.”
Her thumb sinks into the nerve, and she pops the wrist a fraction, demonstrating the break in structure. Camille sucks air through her teeth, her whole body locking under Ivy’s grip on her hair.
The students lean in, their faces shifting from fear to focus.
Ivy jerks the wrist again, showing another angle of attack, and Camille’s knees buckle. Ivy keeps her upright by the hair and twisted wrist, staying loose and balanced while she explains the follow-through in a level voice.
My cock strains against my zipper because my girl is fucking beautiful. I adjust myself in full view, and I don’t give a fuck who notices. They’ve watched me do worse.
Ivy’s green eyes flick to mine for half a second, the corner of her mouth lifting.
“Again,” she tells the students, and releases Camille’s wrist just long enough to reset the demonstration.
The freckled blonde in the second row raises her hand, her stance perfect and her face blank. When she speaks, her voice stays steady enough to creep me the fuck out. She’s gonna be a weapon.
“Mama V, could you demonstrate on him too?” She tips her chin toward me.
Every student turns toward me.
Motherfucker. She sure did learn from the best.
I should decline. I’ve got a brand deal meeting in three hours, a video conference with the Monét council in five, and a body that’s still healing from her fucking me to sleep every day of the week.
The blonde’s mouth curves slightly. Every student waits for my answer. They want to see us both in action.
Ivy’s smirk widens, and my lip twitches.
Sinead comes down the steps and stops beside me. “I’ll stock up on Band-Aids.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
I bite back a grin. Sinead laughs as they disappear through the archway.
Cracking my neck, I head toward the center of the formation. Crushed stone gives way to padded training surface beneath my boots.
Ivy releases Camille’s wrist and squats in front of her, letting the leash fall slack between them. She keeps her back straight and her weight on the balls of her feet, lowering her voice.
“Do you understand why you’re here?”
Camille’s throat bobs. “Yes.”
Ivy pats her cheek. “Good pet.”
I grab my shirt by the back of the collar and pull it over my head in one motion, letting it fall onto the stone border around the mats. The mountain air hits my bare chest, cool against the heat under my skin.
Ivy’s eyes move over me before she stands and turns to face me. She rolls her shoulders and drops into a ready stance.
“Well, come on then, Ice Butcher.” She flashes a grin. “Let’s play.”