Page 19

Chapter Fifteen

B efore I even reach the bottom step, the scent of burnt toast hits me.

With my bag flung over my shoulder, I round the corner into the kitchen just in time to see Jeremiah—one of our newest society members and a shitty ass hockey player—leaning one shoulder against the fridge, smirking like the smug bastard he is.

Avery’s bag is on the counter next to her notebook, coffee in her hand.

"Don’t tell me that look is just for your professor," Jeremiah says, eyes skating down her legs with zero shame.

Avery raises a brow. "You’re blocking the fridge and I need creamer."

He doesn’t move, just smiles wider. "You want cream, sweetheart? I’ve got plenty."

My jaw tightens, fists clenched at my sides.

I watch from the entryway as Jeremiah slinks a little too close to Avery, boxing her in like he thinks she might flirt back if he breathes close enough.

"For someone staying in a house full of guys," he says, "you sure know how to make a man feel ignored."

Avery’s face doesn’t even twitch. "For someone with a functioning brain, you sure don’t know when to shut the hell up."

For a second, I prepare to intervene and put this asshole in his place. But Avery is tough as fuck and can take care of herself. That doesn't mean Jeremiah won't pay for this little interaction later. But for now, I just stand, watch, and plot.

Avery steps sideways around him to grab her backpack off the counter, but he reaches out and snares her wrist.

My teeth grit, ready to lunge at him, but Aidric appears out of nowhere. Without a word, he grabs Jeremiah by the throat and slams him back against the wall so hard a painting crashes to the floor.

Avery stumbles back, completely thrown. But not as thrown as I am because Aidric, of all people, is actually defending her.

"What the hell?!" Jeremiah croaks, clawing at the hand around his throat.

"Shut up." Aidric’s voice is deadly calm. "You don’t get to talk to her. You don’t even get to look at her."

"It's fine, Aidric," Avery says calmly.

"She’s under this roof because we allowed it," Aidric growls, eyes locked on Jeremiah. "Say one more thing, make one more move, and I swear I’ll crush your windpipe just enough to remind you who the fuck you’re dealing with."

I step in, placing a steadying hand on Aidric’s shoulder. "He gets it," I say evenly. "Take it easy, man. We're already under a microscope."

Aidric holds the choke for one more beat before shoving him back. Jeremiah wheezes with his hands on his throat.

Avery is still frozen, her grip white-knuckled around her bag strap.

"You okay?" I ask her gently.

She nods, even though her pulse is visibly hammering in her throat.

Aidric doesn’t even glance at her, just turns and walks off like that entire outburst didn’t just happen.

I watch him go, wondering what the hell just happened.

Avery looks at me. "What was that all about?"

I arch a brow. "Welcome to the hockey house, Little Lamb."

She swallows hard, glances once at Jeremiah, then storms out of the kitchen.

The front door swings shut behind her, and the second it does, I shift my attention to Jeremiah.

"Keep your hands to yourself," I grit out. "And if I catch you giving her a hard time again, I'll be the one making your life a living hell."

He laughs like he thinks this is all a joke, but I don’t. I let the silence do the talking so he can see how serious I am.

"She’s not yours, man."

"No," I say, stepping around him to grab a coffee cup, "but she sure as fuck isn’t yours either."

He mutters something under his breath and heads toward the living room, probably to bitch about me and Aidric to Slade.

I don’t care because no matter how much I try to convince myself that Avery Castle is a complication I don’t need, every time I see her, I'm reminded that complications like her are exactly the kind I crave.

These guys will fall in line; I’ll ensure it. Some of them forget who holds the power in this house—in the Ice Lords Society—and I love having the chance to remind them exactly who I am.

After practice, I didn’t even bother showering at the rink. I needed air and distance—fast. Now I’m back in my room, sitting on the edge of my bed as I lace my boots tightly, hoping the pressure around my ankles will ground me.

Coach was on a warpath tonight, barking through every drill, tearing into every missed pass like he wanted to gut us. The guys are running on fumes. I can feel it in the heavy silence and in the frustration that simmers under the surface. Even Aidric is losing his edge.

The way he came to Avery’s defense today still has my head spinning. We’ve all claimed to hate her a time or twenty, but Aidric meant it. The guy fucking hates everyone. So him stepping in and laying hands on Jeremiah wasn’t just impulse, it was protection.

It has to be Callan's absence. It's taking a toll on all of us. Not just on the ice, or the Society, but in the house, too. The space he’s left behind is so obvious it’s fucking painful.

My phone dings beside me and I glance down.

Aidric: Chamber in 10. The others will be down shortly after. Bring your war face.

Avery is at the archery range with Benson, so I don’t need to worry about her snooping around tonight, and at least with Benson there, I know she won't get herself killed or do something fucking stupid like she always does.

Downstairs, Aidric is waiting for me at the staircase that leads to the chamber. He tips his chin. "Ready to fuck shit up?"

A devious grin pulls at my mouth. "Always."

"Good," he says. "Because without Callan, we’re playing blind. I want Eaton Rapids' best player out before Friday's game."

I raise a brow, but he doesn’t elaborate. Whatever he’s cooking up, I know it'll be dark.

We head down, and as soon as we hit the bottom step, we stop cold.

"What the fuck," I hiss.

Spray-painted across the walls in dripping black paint are random threats:

You will pay.

I'm coming for you.

Rot in Hell.

Each phrase is loud and personal, like whoever did this wanted to be heard and feared.

On another wall, the Ice Lords’ crest is slashed out in red. Then, scrawled across the back wall in are the words…

You were kings. Now you’ll crawl.

Aidric drags his hand over his jaw, but he doesn’t speak because it's my role to be his voice in this sacred space.

I walk to the nearest wall and run my fingers over the paint. "It's fresh. Probably less than a few hours old."

Aidric lashes out and kicks a chair across the floor, breaking it in two as it crashes into the wall.

A chill slides down my spine. We’ve always had enemies, but no one’s ever had the balls to breach our house, let alone The Chamber.

I yank out my phone and open the backdoor security app I coded myself. One camera is fixed on the main entrance to The Chamber so I scroll through the feed, scanning each empty frame during practice hours.

At first I'm certain I'll come up empty-handed, but then a single frame glitches, and when it clears, the door is slightly ajar.

"Something’s not right," I mutter, pulse spiking.

Aidric steps beside me as I switch angles to the hallway cam. That’s when we see a cloaked silhouette, masked and moving fast, headed straight for the back wall.

"There," I say, tapping the screen. "That’s the old boiler hall."

Aidric narrows his eyes.

My throat tightens. "No one uses that corridor. Surface level was sealed off years ago. Only the founders and us even know it connects to The Chamber."

The footage glitches again and when it returns, the figure is gone.

"They didn’t stumble in," I say. "They knew exactly where they were going. If it’s not one of us, it’s either someone who used to be, or someone who’s been watching us for a long fucking time."

Aidric stares at the red-slashed crest on the wall, rage simmering behind his silence.

I save the footage, mark the timestamp, then set a motion alert. The moment that corridor so much as breathes, I’ll know.

One by one, the others file down the steps. But I raise a hand, stopping them before they can speak. "I swear on Edison Einhorn’s grave," I say, voice razor sharp, "if one of you did this…if someone in this room betrayed us, I will bury you where you stand."

I look at each of them, hoping like hell there isn't a snake in the bunch. Loyalty is everything in this society and if one of our own members is the one behind all the shit happening lately, I'll kill them with my bare hands before feeding their corpse to the wolves.

Maintaining professionalism, I clear my throat and cross to the room, stepping onto the altar, along with Aidric. "This," I say, gesturing toward the walls, "this isn’t just an act of vandalism, it’s a declaration of war."

Whispers ripple through the room and I raise my hand again, silencing them.

"I don’t know who did this," I continue, "but they got in. They found our sanctuary and they want us exposed and crawling." I glance at Jeremiah, who has the good sense to avert his gaze. "And speaking of crawling," I say. "Some of you seem to have forgotten what loyalty looks like."

Jeremiah's throat bobs. "I didn’t?—"

"Don’t finish that sentence unless you want to clean this room with your fucking tongue."

Aidric stands behind me like a statue, silent and unmoving as he watches.

"As Lord Speaker, I’m invoking rite protocol," I announce. "Tomorrow night, we will reconvene for inspection. Everyone will arrive in full ceremonial cloak and mask," I continue. "No excuses. You show up, or you don’t show your face here again."

My eyes sweep across the circle, landing on each of them because I want them to feel this in their bones. "Someone out there is impersonating us. Or worse, they are one of us."

I let that sink in while they look from person to person, distrust blooming.

"We will inspect every mask and every cloak, along with every name and role." I pause. "Show up, stand tall, and wear your legacy on your goddamn face."

Aidric shifts slightly, his silence amplifying every word.