The Queen Who Fights Back (by Lily Hastings) novel Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Inside the small, dimly lit tent, an uneasy silence settled between Nova and Damien Thorn. Both of their faces were taut with tension, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

Nova, in particular, wore a guarded expression, her eyes sharp and watchful. This moment was worlds apart from their last encounter—when she had intentionally thrown herself into Damien Thorn’s arms, using the contact as a means to escape. That time, she had been in control of the situation, making the choice herself. But now, she felt like a passenger, swept along by forces beyond her command.

She could sense the familiar tightening in Damien Thorn’s chest again. His body remained rigid, and his hand resting on her chest seemed to press and knead almost unconsciously, betraying his own inner turmoil.

Nova’s face darkened with frustration. She fought the urge to shove Damien Thorn out of the tent, but instead, she forced herself to stay calm. Quietly, she called out to Maxwell, who was waiting just outside, “I’m fine. Just woke up from a nightmare.”

That was the explanation for the sounds he must have heard. It was a flimsy excuse, a quick improvisation born from necessity, but Maxwell accepted it without question.

To Maxwell, no matter how much Nova tried to appear strong and composed after returning home, she was still his little sister. In his eyes, she remained just a girl who could be startled by a bad dream now and then.

With a gentle smile and a shake of his head, Maxwell replied softly, “If you need anything, just call me. Try to get some rest.” Then, with a quiet step, he retreated back to his own tent.

What Maxwell didn’t realize was that only moments before, another man had been inside his sister’s tiny tent. Given Damien Thorn’s towering stature, any movement from either of them would have been impossible to conceal—Maxwell would have surely noticed.

Holding her breath, Nova remained perfectly still, careful not to make a sound. She could only endure Damien Thorn’s weight pressing down on her, frozen in place.

Fortunately, Damien Thorn mirrored her stillness, matching her silence with his own.

As soon as Maxwell zipped up his tent flap, Nova acted on pure instinct. Without hesitation, she drove her boot into Damien Thorn’s chest, sending him flying out of the tent in a swift, decisive motion.

Damien Thorn landed gracefully on one foot, rising with an effortless, silent confidence. If any other man had been booted out of a tent by a woman, he might have stumbled and made a fool of himself. But Damien Thorn carried himself with an unshakable composure, exuding an air of quiet nobility.

His entire body was like iron, every muscle taut and unyielding, as if sculpted from steel.

Moonlight cast a pale glow over him as he glanced down at his hand. The softness of Nova’s skin still lingered in his palm, even now. It was more delicate than he had ever imagined. A subtle smile tugged at his lips despite himself.

“Boss,” a voice whispered from the shadows.

Aiden, Damien Thorn’s ever-watchful right-hand man, stepped forward from the darkness. His tone was low and cautious, barely disturbing the stillness of the night.

He had witnessed the entire scene—Nova had just kicked the formidable Damien Thorn out of the tent.

As a professional killer, Aiden kept his face impassive, hiding any hint of emotion. But inside, his mind was a whirlwind of disbelief.

Damien Thorn was known as the most ruthless man alive—the night king who ruled the global underworld with an iron fist, never sparing a second thought for any life. And yet, here he was, coolly taking a boot to the chest from a girl—and not even reacting with anger.

Aiden felt stunned to the point of hunger, as if he could devour an entire sheep to process the shock.

After a moment, he finally broke the silence. “Boss, should I go in and bring her out?”

He didn’t know who Nova truly was. To Aiden, assassins came and went without a trace. If Damien Thorn set his sights on someone outside their usual circles, he would either kidnap her or keep her as a mistress—that was how the big players in the underground world operated.

Though Damien Thorn had never had a woman by his side before, perhaps this time might be different.

But Damien Thorn lifted his gaze with an air of arrogance, his thin lips parting to issue a sharp command. “Do not touch her.”

Aiden bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, sir.”

Inside the tent, Nova was certain Damien Thorn wouldn’t simply walk away after she had kicked him out. She suspected he had followed her all the way to Saint Laurel Royal Academy’s survival training, intending to eliminate her.

Her body tensed, ready to face him head-on if he made a move.

Yet suddenly, the tension outside the tent dissipated entirely.

‘Wait… did he really leave?’ Nova blinked in disbelief. ‘He just left? Without doing anything?’

Confused and uncertain, Nova struggled to understand what Damien Thorn’s true intentions were. The battle-hardened queen who had never tangled with love games was completely at a loss.

Maybe he was just testing her, gauging her strength and resolve, she thought, still unsure.

After all, sooner or later, she and Damien Thorn were destined to be adversaries. When that day came, it would be a fight to the death.

That night, Nova barely slept, her senses on high alert, bracing for Damien Thorn’s return.

But he never came back.

He was truly gone.

The section of primeval forest near Wodisen where they trained was unlike other forests notorious as human no-go zones.

It lacked swarms of wild beasts and deadly threats.

There were no poisonous dart frogs, no piranhas, no caimans, no jaguars—none of the fierce creatures that typically roamed true jungles.

Aside from the wolf pack they had encountered on the first day, Nova’s team faced no significant dangers during the six days and seven nights of survival training.

Occasionally, arguments flared within the group.

Hannah and Claire still found opportunities to throw shade at Nova whenever they could.

But nothing serious ever transpired.

Perhaps the only notable fact was that they never once crossed paths with Zane, the head of the Taekwondo Club.

Not that it was surprising; with a forest this vast, random encounters were rare.

When the survival training concluded, all the students boarded school buses and headed back to Ravenport.

Morning dawned again at Blake Villa.

“I’m over the moon!” Sophia squealed with delight.

Nova walked with one hand tucked into her pocket, saying nothing.

Sophia ignored her silence and continued, bubbling with excitement, “See, Nova? You have no idea why I’m so thrilled.”

“Junior Year Class A has Maxwell, Ethan, Zane, and Jessica Watson—the other school beauty. Sophomore Year Class A has Hannah and Claire.”

“That means we’ll be swimming with the three most handsome boys and the three most beautiful girls in school during the first two periods.”

“Oh my god, this is probably a once-in-a-lifetime event that no one else in the entire school could even dream of,” she added breathlessly.

Six of the school’s absolute untouchables gathered in one place—it was enough to make anyone scream.

Nova responded coolly, “Oh.”

She was long accustomed to Sophia turning every little thing into a dramatic spectacle.

As they walked toward the pool, Sophia couldn’t stop chattering about finally getting to see the three school heartthrobs in swimsuits, showing off their physiques.

“That must be amazing,” Sophia gushed, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Five minutes before class began, Nova slipped into the single-person locker room to change into the standard female swimsuit of Saint Laurel Royal Academy.

The swimsuit hugged her body perfectly, accentuating her long, flawless legs.

Her curves were striking, undeniably alluring, impossible to ignore.

There wasn’t an ounce of excess fat on her frame; her figure could captivate anyone’s attention.

Yet, when Nova looked at herself in the mirror, she saw more than just her flawless silhouette.

Her exposed arms and shoulders bore countless scars—cuts, bullet wounds, both old and fresh.

Some scars hadn’t even fully healed before new ones had appeared.

It was almost unimaginable that a teenage girl could endure so much.

At the edge of her heart, a few wounds still throbbed with dangerous intensity.

One particular gunshot had come within a hair’s breadth of ending her life.

Every scar etched onto Nova’s skin was a testament to her survival in the ruthless international underground world—a record of battles fought across the globe.

Each mark was a hard-earned medal of strength, proof of how she had risen from an overlooked slum girl to the iron-fisted queen of mercenaries.