Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Bishop, ever the instigator, leaned around me, his grin never wavering. “So, how does Cass feel about this now?” he asked, his tone carrying a playful edge.
I could feel Jamison’s tension rise at the mention of his wife, Cassandra. She’d stayed quiet through most of this ordeal, but I knew she wouldn’t be thrilled with the arrangement. Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things. Cass had her role, and she’d play it, whether she liked it or not. That’s how things worked on the Isle.
Jamison’s eyes flickered with something darker, but he kept his response measured. “She’ll do what’s expected of her,” he said, his voice a touch too controlled.
Bishop chuckled softly. "Of course, she will. But you know she's not gonna be happy about it."
Jamison didn’t respond, but I could see the flicker of irritation in his expression. It didn’t matter. This was about the future of the Isle, about maintaining our bloodlines. Cassandra knew that better than anyone. Emilio and I had a running bet that he would eventually do away with Cassandra.
Her death would, of course, be framed as an accident. It was only a matter of time. Probably why she was keeping so quiet about him bringing in another breeder, especially after Emilia, the woman he’d been closer to loving than any of the others. If I could take that pain away from him, I would, but for now, this was the best I could offer—Anya. And while it didn’t seem like much, at least I could keep my promise to Lolita.
Jamison’s gaze lingered on Anya a moment longer before he shook his head. “I need to think on it some more,” he said, his voice low. "Before I make any decisions."
“Take your time,” I replied, leaning back in my chair, knowing full well he’d come around eventually. “She’s not going anywhere.” My lips twisted into a smirk before I added, “But while you’re deciding… how about we pay Clarice a visit?”
Both Jamison and Bishop perked up at the mention of my biggest mistake, their expressions shifting from neutral to something far more enthusiastic. The two of them hated her with a passion. Clarice had a way of getting under people’s skin—especially theirs.
“Hell yes,” Bishop said, leaning forward with a glint in his eye. “I could use a little excitement.”
Jamison nodded, his mood shifting instantly. “Count me in.
I gave the disciple a curt nod, offering my final words before leaving the room. “Move her to a better-equipped cell,” I instructed, glancing back at Anya, who stood in her restrained obedience. “But keep her collared. She’s not ready to be without it.” The disciple bowed slightly, accepting my orders without question, and I turned to leave, the decision no longer weighing on my mind.
The three of us—me, Jamison, and Bishop—left the viewing room and headed for the elevators, the hum of the prison’s cold, mechanical systems droning in the background.
We rode silently to Level 3, where Clarice had recently been moved. She had been shifted from Level 4 in preparation for the upcoming Rite, one she would partake in unwillingly, of course, but that hardly mattered. The Isle always got what it wanted.
When we reached her cell, I couldn’t help but note how much further into isolation she was than Anya. It was a cell within a cell, really—layers of barriers and locks, a testament to her fall from grace. I entered one door, and there behind the bars of her enclosure was the former beauty of Stygian Isle. Even the air felt thicker here, heavier with the weight of time and confinement. As soon as I stepped inside, Clarice turned to look at me, her azure eyes narrowing as they landed on me and the men beside me.
Her once ethereal beauty was still there, but over a year in this place had left its mark. Her thick, platinum blonde waves were tangled, though they still fell just past her shoulders, as if clinging to the last vestiges of her former life. Her porcelain skin had lost some of its sheen, but it remained pale, an almost ghostly contrast to the dark, stone walls that surrounded her.
She stood tall, her slender yet curvaceous figure exuding the same regal grace she’d always possessed, though now it was laced with a defiant tension. She still had that presence, that aura that could captivate anyone foolish enough to be taken in by her, but I was long past that. I knew better.
Jamison and Bishop stood on either side of me, both of them watching her with a mixture of disdain and amusement. The hatred they harbored for her was palpable.
“Well, well,” Bishop drawled, his voice dripping with mockery as he leaned against the bars, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Look who’s still putting on airs. You’d think after more than a year here, you’d learn some humility.”