Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 22: The Ice queen 2

Dust still hung faint in the Haven's wrecked air, a gritty haze catching the morning light as Kael faced the Ice Queen. Her shackles clinked soft, platinum-cyan hair glinting cold, and those icy blue eyes pinned him—sharp, unyielding, slicing through his bruised calm.

He forced a grin, tight and quick, and crouched beside her. Metal scraped as he worked the shackles free—fingers brushing her wrists, cool and steady—leaving only the collar locked tight around her neck, its dull gleam a silent threat. She didn't flinch, just watched him rise, her silence louder than words.

He gestured to a chair—one of the few still standing, wood scratched but solid—and she sat, not on the chair he chose, but the one she chose, posture straight, regal despite the blood drying on her split lip from Liss's fists.

Kael ducked into the kitchen, boots crunching glass, and rummaged the counter—dent still glaring from last night's brawl. A kettle hissed to life, steam curling up, and he poured hot tea into a chipped mug, the scent of jasmine cutting through the stale stink of fight and dust. He grabbed an ice pack too, cold biting his palm, and carried both back—setting the mug before her, offering the pack with a nod. "For your face," he said, voice low, steady despite the shiver her gaze sparked.

She took the tea—fingers curling slow around the mug, steam brushing her knuckles—but waved off the ice pack, a flick of her hand dismissing it. Her lips parted, voice smooth and firm, a quiet command. "Remove this collar." Her blue eyes locked his, frost in their depths, and Kael's throat tightened—nerves flickering under his skin.

He shifted, boots scuffing, and rubbed his neck—bruises pulsing faint. "Can't," he said, gentle but firm, meeting her stare. His hazel eyes held steady, but her gaze pressed harder—a cold weight he couldn't shake.

She blinked once, slow and deliberate, then sipped her tea—lips brushing the rim, steam curling up—as if he'd said nothing at all. The abrupt shift jarred him—silence swallowing her demand, her calm a wall he couldn't read. Kael's mind raced, pulse ticking up. Rhea'd been easy—fire and fury he could spar with, bend to his rhythm. This woman—Ice Queen, Liss called her—was different. Tall, poised, her quiet maturity a puzzle he couldn't crack. Liss hadn't dropped a rank, a file, a damn hint—just cash and a leash. Who was she? He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and started simple. "What's your name?"

Her gaze flicked up, icy blue cutting through steam. "Ice Queen," she said, voice flat, final, sipping again.

Kael's brow creased, a grin tugging his lip. "Your real name," he pressed, hazel glinting, testing her edge.

She set the mug down—soft clink on wood—and met his eyes, cool and unyielding. "Call me Queen. That's all you get." Her tone shut the door, no crack for him to pry.

He opened his mouth—another push brewing—but a creak split the air, sharp and loud. Rhea's door swung open, hinges groaning, and she stomped out—crimson hair a tangled mess, amber eyes bleary with sleep.

The white t-shirt and pajama pants he'd left her hung loose—soft cotton swallowing her frame, a stark swap from last night's red tease. She rubbed her face, crankiness rolling off her in waves, and launched into a growl.

"You're a damn pervert, Kael—making me wear that slutty dress when you had these stashed away?" Her voice scratched, loud and raw, as she waved a hand at her outfit—oblivious to the stranger sipping tea.

Kael's grin twitched, hazel flicking to her—ready to fire back—but Rhea froze mid-step, drowsy eyes snapping wide. The Ice Queen came into view—tall, poised, platinum-cyan hair glinting—and Rhea's jaw dropped, amber blazing. "What the hell are you doing here, Freya?" Her shout cracked the air, fists clenching, sleep burned away in a flash.

The Ice Queen—Freya?—tilted her head, mug pausing mid-sip, blue eyes widening just a fraction. Surprise softened her frost, then settled back to calm. "What are you doing here, Rhea?" she asked, voice smooth, curious, setting the tea down with a faint clink.

Rhea's lip curled, a snarl brewing. "That bitch Liss dragged me to this shithole—locked me up like some damn pet." She jabbed a finger at Kael, amber eyes flashing. "This idiot's holding me captive, playing rehab hero."

Freya's gaze slid over Rhea—slow, appraising—taking in the loose clothes, the lack of chains. Her lips quirked, a ghost of a smirk. "You look well," she said, tone dry, then flicked her eyes to Kael—blue cutting deep. "Seems this man's taking good care of you."

Kael's spine stiffened, a shiver crawling up—her stare a blade, cold and sure. He forced a laugh, rough and quick, leaning back in his chair. "Looks like you two go way back," he said, voice steady, hazel darting between them. Another shiver hit—two villains, old ties, him alone. What were the odds they'd turn on him, collars or not?

Rhea's snort cut through, sharp and loud. "No. I hate Freya." She crossed her arms, amber eyes blazing, words spitting fast. "She's the splinter in my wood, the pebble in my shoe, the mold on my bread—pure damn misery."

Kael's grin broke wider, a chuckle rumbling out—ribs twinging, ignored. "Got it. Rivals, then." He nodded, settling the score in his head.

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Freya scoffed—soft, barely a breath—and Rhea's head snapped her way, amber narrowing. "What's so funny?" she snapped, voice rising, fists itching at her sides.

Freya's blue eyes glinted, cool and cutting, as she leaned back—chair creaking faint. "It's amusing you think we're rivals," she said, voice smooth, edged with disdain. "Our strength, our ranks—they're worlds apart. You're no match."

Rhea's face flushed—red creeping up her neck, amber eyes boiling—and she lunged, a yell ripping free. "I'll show you strength, you smug bitch!" Her fist cocked back, pajamas swishing as she charged—aiming straight for Freya's calm face. But the Ice Queen didn't budge—didn't blink—just sat, tea abandoned, her gaze flicking to Kael. He was already up—boots thudding, hands snagging Rhea's arm mid-swing—pulling her back as she thrashed, snarling loud.

"Cool it," Kael grunted, grip firm—ribs aching, nose pulsing—holding her steady as she glared daggers. Freya watched, unruffled, then rose—slow, deliberate, towering over them both. Her platinum-cyan hair caught the light, blood crusted on her lip, and she stepped close—iron in her stance, blue eyes locking Kael's with a chill that sank deep.

Her lips moved, voice low, a warning wrapped in silk. "You'll remove this collar—smooth and simple, or rough and broken. Your choice." The words hung heavy, a blade poised to drop, and the Haven's air thickened—Rhea's fury, Kael's unease, Freya's frost colliding in a silent storm.