Page 22 of Breaking Isolde
The words are smooth, practiced. A job description for a monster.
Abelard steeples his fingers. “You have one week. At the conclusion of that period, she will be presented to you for the ritual.”
Julian leans in, blue eyes sparking. “What if she breaks before the Hunt?”
Valence smiles without moving her face. “Then you clean up the mess, as always.”
Colton speaks. “What if someone else gets to her first? She’s a pretty big target.”
Abelard waves this off. “The Board’s protection extends to all Prey. Any breach of protocol will result in—”
“—consequences,” Bam interrupts, rolling his eyes. “We know. We’ve all had the speech.”
Valence clears her throat. “Gentlemen, let’s review logistics.”
A drone of talk follows: transportation to the woods, emergency protocol in case of a repeat, where to hide the cars, what to do if campus security gets curious. Abelard wants tighter timing on the extraction; he’s obsessed with minimizing exposure, as if the real danger is bad press, not the violence.
I tune out until Valence’s voice sharpens, addressing me. “Rhett. Will you be providing the attire, or shall we?”
I blink. “Attire?”
“For the Prey. White dress, as per custom.”
I shrug. “You pick. I don’t care.”
She smiles with her teeth. “We already have the measurements.”
Jules snorts. “Creepy, even for you.”
Valence ignores him, turning to Abelard. “And the flower crown?”
Abelard looks at me. “Preference?”
I hesitate, then: “Lavender. And white roses.”
He nods, scribbles it down. “Just like her sister.”
The table goes silent for a moment, everyone careful not to look at me too directly.
Valence breaks the pause. “Next: security. We will escort the girl to the perimeter, but after that, it’s tradition. You know the drill. Catch her. You must mark your claim in front of the Boys before sunrise, or you forfeit and she dies. No one will miss her.”
Colton murmurs, “Rules are rules.”
Jules laughs. “Funny how the rules always change when you’re winning.”
“Enough,” Abelard says, voice cold. “This Hunt is not about sport. It’s about preservation.”
I glance at the wall searching for a clock—useless, since there isn’t one—and realize the meeting has probably only been about half an hour. Time here runs slow, like blood in winter.
Valence folds her hands. “Any questions?”
Jules raises a finger. “What if she dies like Casey?”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Then you make it look like an accident.”
Abelard leans in, gaze fixed on me. “Do you require anything else for the evening, Mr. Grey?”
My mind jumps to Isolde: the taste of her blood, the flash of fear in her eyes, the way she never backed down, even when I had her cornered. I want her. I want to break her so completely that she can’t remember who she was before me.
