Black Ice Academy

Journey to Black Ice

Chapter Two

“Journey to Black Ice”

“Are you ready to go, miss?” one of the two men taking me to Black Ice Academy asks.

“Yes, thank you,” I reply politely.

It’s 10 a.m., and half an hour ago a black SUV rolled up. Two men stepped out, informing me that they would be escorting me to Black Ice, hidden somewhere in upstate New York. My parents graciously loaned their private jet to take me, making an escape from there difficult.

This is one of the very few times I resent my family’s money.

“Can I have a hug goodbye, sweetheart?” my mother asks softly.

“No.” Smooth. I step into the back of the car. Neither man comments as they slide into the front seats, and we drive off. I watch, satisfied, as my parents are left teary-eyed in the dust.

“So, Miss Nova, I must ask—are we going to have any trouble with you on this journey? We were told you are a woman of your word,” the driver says.

“I give you my word that on the journey there, I will give you no trouble.”

“Thank you. I trust in you, since your parents said that you giving your word is the highest promise you bestow,” the passenger replies.

“Indeed,” I say simply.

They’re correct. Nothing is more binding from me than those words.

The journey itself is eerie. On the plane, I sit in the main cabin reading Sense and Sensibility. The men don’t disturb me, and I don’t disturb them. They’re at ease, knowing that since I gave them my word, I won’t try to escape.

I said I wouldn’t run away on the journey there. I never said anything about once we reached the destination. I’m sure they caught that.

Hours later, after dozing off, I’m woken to get into another black SUV.

During the short drive to the academy, I keep reading.

It’s when we pull up to a set of iron-black gates that my attention is finally snagged. The gates open automatically, and we roll down a long driveway leading to what legitimately looks like a college campus. Many buildings. Dorm-like houses. A central dining hall. Everything is medieval in architecture, but modernized in function.

“How many students are here at a time?” I ask.

“They don’t take more than two hundred, miss. One hundred Sources, one hundred Anchors.”

I gasp. “This campus looks built for at least five thousand.”

“Classes are small. And each house takes no more than five pairs, though each house could fit thirty.”

At least I’ll be living in style. I spot restaurants, grocery stores, even a Starbucks. Looks like they want to keep us enclosed.

The car pulls deeper into the campus—more like a town than a school—and onto the driveway of a lavish mansion.

“This is where you and Mr. Viktor will be staying.”

I step out, awed. This house is more beautiful than my own.

Turning in a slow circle, I take in the campus. It’s practically self-contained: restaurants, study halls, training facilities. No clothing shops or hospitals, but I don’t need them. I can sew. I can stitch wounds. I’ve stitched myself often enough when overwhelmed. Some call it self-harm. I call it control. A way to bleed the chaos out before it explodes.

“Nova Olgena.”

I look up. Standing in the doorway of the house is a man who looks carved from something sharp. Six feet, lean muscle under a tailored suit, brown hair slicked back, grey eyes like storm glass. His gaze cuts into me like I’m already his assignment.

He steps forward and bows, brushing his lips against my hand. Strange, for someone who’s supposed to be the one containing me.

“Michael, bring Nova’s bags to her room. Nina will unpack them,” he says over his shoulder, then keeps me close as he guides me inside.

I tune him out. Viktor Strauss is at the top of my ignore list.

He gives me a tour: kitchen, dining room, sprawling library that makes my heart twitch, and finally—his favorite—the Training Room.

It’s outfitted with containment equipment: energy-dampening cuffs, reinforced harnesses, padded walls, monitors that track spikes. It looks clinical, efficient. Still makes me want to gag.

I’m not insecure about my body, but I’m careful. Guarded. Nobody has ever had all of me. I’ve let people close enough to taste my lips, close enough to test boundaries, but never further. No one has touched me where it matters.

I’m eighteen, and I’ve kept it that way.

Finally, he leads me to the kitchen and gestures for me to sit at the counter. I do—because I want to, not because he asked.

“How was your journey?” he asks.

I give him silence.

He exhales through his nose. “I hope you’re not planning to spend the next weeks ignoring me. Communication is part of training, Nova.”

He says it evenly, but there’s no bite. If anything, there’s a flicker of patience he’s trying to hold onto.

I stand without a word and head upstairs to the master bedroom. Apparently he thinks we’ll be sharing a bed. That’s not happening. I’d sooner sleep on stone.

Inside, an older woman is putting my clothes away. She straightens with a kind smile.

“Miss Nova, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Nina, your maid.”

I smile back, offering my hand. “Pleasure, Nina. I’m not messy—I won’t make your work harder.”

“Nonsense. I enjoy cleaning. Your things are in the right side of the closet. Left sink is yours. I’ll leave you be.”

“Thank you. Please, just call me Nova.”

She bows her head gratefully. “Good night, Nova.”

Then she dips her head toward Viktor. “Good night, sir.”

Once she’s gone, Viktor’s tone sharpens. “So you speak to the staff but not me?”

I ignore him, examining the closet. Nina organized by color. Nice. My underwear drawer, however, isn’t to my standard, so I reorganize it swiftly, grab a change of clothes, and head for the bathroom.

I lock the door, shower, brush my teeth, and change. When I emerge, phone in hand, I barely have time to react before Viktor slams me against the wall. My phone clatters to the floor.

“What the hell—”

“Orientation is mandatory,” he says firmly, pinning my wrists above my head. His voice isn’t cruel—just steady. “We’re going to the Training Room so I can explain the rules. Then we’ll test containment.”

I grin darkly and surge energy through my body. He’s thrown back, crashing against the wall.

For one heartbeat, satisfaction.

Then he straightens without so much as a scratch.

Sh*t. My parents weren’t lying.

I push out another pulse, but this time—nothing. He absorbs it. Like it never existed.

“Very impressive,” Viktor admits. There’s no mockery. “But wasted.” He steps toward me, unfastening his jacket and tossing it aside. Calm, steady, controlled. “If you want to fight me every step, you can. But we’re still going downstairs.”

He grips my wrists again. Not cruelly, but with the kind of pressure that says he’s not letting go.

“Let me go.”

“I can’t, Nova. Not until you learn how this works.”

I kick him in the stomach; he exhales but doesn’t falter. Instead, with a grunt, he hauls me up and over his shoulder. His strength is real, not theatrical.

Downstairs, into the Training Room.

He sets me on my feet but keeps hold of me. His eyes flick over the equipment, deciding. I thrash, hating every second of this, but he drags me toward a reinforced frame. Containment harnesses hang there, glowing faintly with dampening runes.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Then don’t spike your energy.” His tone is even, almost gentle. “This isn’t punishment, Nova. It’s protocol. If you can’t keep yourself from burning the house down, the academy requires I show you this.”

I struggle, but he’s faster, stronger. The cuffs snap closed on my wrists and ankles. Energy drains, leaving me trembling and furious.

I jerk against the restraints, snarling, but he simply steps back, watching.

“I don’t like doing this,” he says quietly. For the first time, I see something flicker across his face—regret? Restraint? “But I will. Because if I don’t, you’ll hurt yourself. Or someone else.”

I freeze, teeth clenched, body thrumming with rage I can’t release.

And I realize: he means it.

He’s not trying to own me. He’s trying to keep me alive.

Which makes me hate him even more.