Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
He did not smile. “Listen up.” His voice was gravel and broken glass, a growl that carried effortlessly to every corner. “I’m only saying this once.”
The hall fell utterly silent as every hunter wisely decided not to move. Even Hadrian had the sense to shut up and stand still.
“You’re here by invitation.” Hunter descended three steps, his dark presence overshadowing the space like a thundercloud. “That invitation can be rescinded at any time, for any reason, at the Host’s sole discretion. Understood?”
No one spoke.
“Good.” He clasped his enormous hand on the banister. “The rules are simple. The safeword is timber. If a tribute can’t speak, they sign the letter T. When you hear it or see it, you stop. Immediately. No exceptions. No interpretations. No pretending you didn’t notice.”
His gaze swept the room, landing briefly on Hadrian before moving on.
“The Feast is theater, not cruelty. There is a difference, and if you can’t understand that difference, you don’t belong here.” Hunter took another step, his thick Russian accent delivering orders with clipped clarity. “No permanent damage. No broken bones. No broken skin. No marks that don’t fade within a week. You, along with every tribute, signed a contract to be here. Those limits are not suggestions. They are law.”
Someone shifted uncomfortably near the bar, drawing Hunter’s sharp gaze. “Question?”
The man shook his head.
“Consent can be withdrawn at any time,” Hunter continued, his voice dropping a degree, making it all the more terrifying. “A clear ‘no,’ ‘nyet,’ or ‘stop’ may not end a scene, but the safeword always does. If a tribute uses their safeword and you do not stop, you will be removed from the grounds immediately, banned from all future events, and subject to whatever consequences your Host deems appropriate. And I promise you,” he added, “the Host’s imagination for consequences is extensive. Are we clear, comrades?”
A murmur of understanding rolled from the crowd.
“The hunt begins at sunset and ends at sunrise. The bells will sound both times, for a solid minute—not to be confused with the single bell toll, which will mark each unique conquer. Any hunter still engaged with a tribute after the final bells will be considered in violation.” Hunter paused and glared at the men, a wall of scarred muscle that could kill every last one before they knew what was happening. “I know how men get when the blood is up, and the mask is on. Consider this your only warning.” He cracked his neck, the click sharp as a gunshot. “You are in Volkov territory now. We see everything. Break our rules, and we will find you.” His lips curved into a challenging threat. “The tributes are under our protection, more valuable than any of you. Treat them accordingly.”
A ripple of nervous laughter, quickly silenced.
“The Wrecking Ball begins in five minutes,” Hunter said. “Remember your manners and put your masks on. And for fuck’s sake, try to act like you deserve to be here.”
He turned and walked back up the stairs without waiting for a response.
The room exhaled.
Jack grinned. He liked that crazy Russian.
Sweeping his gaze over the crowd, his gaze settled on Hadrian. He leaned toward one of his companions and muttered something that made the other man snort.
It didn’t matter. The warning had been delivered.
The games were ready to begin.
Chapter Fourteen
The Wrecking Ball
The holding room smelled of orchids and fear.
Daisy stood at the window, her breath fogging the glass as she stared out at the grounds below. The Preserve stretched into darkness a shadow from a dark room. Green lanterns dotted the landscape forming clusters like constellations where the safe zones were, their glow swallowed by the fog that crept between the hedges like a living creature. Torches lined the gravel paths, their flames bending in the breeze.
It was stunning. It was terrifying. It was endless.
A humid draft billowed from the windows as the curtains danced inward and tributes gathered in wait. Fire crackled in the hearth behind them despite the tells of spring in the air.
A chill crawled over Daisy’s shoulders. Somewhere beyond those manicured gardens and ancient oaks, the hunt would unfold. Out there, in the unknown, she would either survive the night or become a stranger’s conquest.
“It’s bigger than I thought,” Maggie whispered, following her gaze. Her Irish lilt had worn thin with nerve and her enormous brown eyes reflected the torchlight like twin moons from behind her mask. “How are we supposed to hide in something so open?”
Daisy had no answer.
She’d studied the grounds from every window she passed, trying to memorize paths, but the darkness swallowed everything beyond the lantern light. Against that swallowing darkness, two hundred acres might as well have been ten thousand.
“Hide?” Trisha scoffed, approaching from behind. She stared through the window as if looking into a vanity mirror, removing her earrings and stuffing them into her bra. “I’m not hiding from shit.”