Page 80 of Breaking Isolde
He scowls, then looks back at me. “Very well. But know this: the Board always collects. If not from her, then from you. If not from you, then from what you love.”
I know the threat. I’ve lived with it every day since I was old enough to walk these halls.
I turn to Isolde. She looks up, blue eyes burning with terror and rage.
I rest my hand on her shoulder.
You’re safe, wildcat, just trust me a little longer.
Abelard sits, shoulders stiff. “Don’t think this is over, Grey,” he says, waving his hand.
I help Isolde up, take her hand as we walk down the steps. Her fingers feel so small in mine, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there’s nothing they can do to me that isn’t worth turning this shit show on it’s head.
He gestures to the guards. The doors open.
“Get out,” Abelard spits.
We leave, and I feel like I’ve actually won something.
Until she starts screaming at me the minute the doors close behind us.
Chapter 17: Isolde
It’sthesecondthedoor clicks shut behind us that I lose it. Not in the glamorous way of old movies, with a single tear or a slap across the face. I explode. All the words I had been saving up—every razor in my throat, every shard of betrayal—come out at once.
“How the fuck can you offer them our firstborn?”
My voice ricochets off the corridor. I barely recognize it as mine. It’s all screech and edge and years of being told to hush up, to mind my tone, to accept what’s given. Rhett says nothing, not even a muscle twitch. Just watches me with those dead-green eyes and lets the blast hit him square in the chest.
I want to kill him. I want to drag my nails across his jaw and open him up from cheek to Adam’s apple. I want to take his precious contract and set it on fire, then stuff the ashes down his throat. I want—I don’t even know.
I want it to stop hurting.
I thought…
I thought he loved me. Or I dunno, at leastlikedme.
“You didn’t even blink,” I roar. My hands won’t stay still. They’re shaking, so I shove them through my hair, almost rip the scalp off, just to get the feeling to go somewhere. “You just sat there and—”
“And what, Greenwood?” His voice is calm, too calm, so I hate him even more. “Saved your life? Made sure they don’t skin us alive and bleach our bones for the next twelve generations?”
He’s trying to be reasonable. That’s the worst part. He thinks he’s the only adult in the room.
“Fuck you,” I say, because anything else would come out as a scream. “Fuck you for making it sound like you did me a favor.”
He steps toward me. Not aggressive, but solid, like a wall getting closer.
I flinch anyway.Coward.
He stops. “You want to run? Go ahead. I’ll catch you… anywhere you go, Isolde. Make no mistake.”
I do want to run. So I do.
I shove past him, hard enough that my shoulder crunches into his chest. I don’t wait to see if he follows. I take the stairs two at a time, hand sliding on the polished banister, my feet hitting the marble so hard I swear I’ll break an ankle.
The main hall is empty. All the sheep are still at dinner or hiding in their rooms. I power through the lobby, the cold punch of January air a slap in the face as I hit the quad. No plan, just the raw animal need to escape.
I don’t even know where I’m going until I’m there. Archer House, my tiny shithole sanctuary, the only place I can breathe. I shoulder through the door, up the steps, and down the hall to my room. The key stabs the lock three times before it catches.
