Page 84 of Break Out the Girl

“Couldn't agree more,” a second man chimes in, swirling a snifter of brandy. “When the tears come as they finally give up hope? Gods, divine.”

“Shut it, Neville. My cock is getting hard just hearing about it. Won’t be able to focus on today’s fun,” a third man chuckles.

“You haven’t a hope, Bossley. Not with that gut. The prize is mine this time, I can feel it.”

Inside my chest, the serpent coils tight, its fangs dripping with an acidic fury that wants to tear these men apart right on the Persian rugs. I take a glass of mineral water from a silver tray and sip.

Patience.

Their blood will be mine, but all in due time.

The rhyming brings London to mind for a minute, and a slight lightness enters my spirits. I’d like to see him tap-dance them to death with his sharp obsidian hooves.

I turn away from the fireplace and spot a familiar face standing near the long French windows. A man called Simon Sterling.

He is, or was, a mid-tier Conclave director, and a terrible sycophant.

“Simon,” I drawl, stepping into his line of sight.

Sterling’s head snaps up from his coffee, his eyes widening in shock as he recognizes me. “François? Good gods, man! I thought you were buried away in that academy down south.”

I offer him a tight smirk as I lean against the panelling. “My father thought an experience at Ménage Manor would be more educational. This is my first time. What about you?”

Sterling’s chest swells, clearly thrilled to be asked a question by me.

“Not my first run by any means, François. Quite happy to give you any pointers, quite happy indeed.”

Excellent.

Raising an eyebrow, I look at him with some genuine interest.

He clears his throat. “So, of course, we adhere strictly to traditional Ménage rules,” Sterling waves a hand. “We hunt on two feet, rifles and beaters only. Shifting into a beast during the hunt is considered a terribly vulgar display. We stay a hundred percent human until the quarry is officially claimed.” He shrugs. “After that? It’s your choice.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, leaning closer to whisper. “I’m not going to lie, I’m happy The Director runs things in the traditional, pre-awakening ways. So much fuss about shifting and status these days.”

That makes me smirk. “Quite agree, so what is your innate creature, Sterling?”

He hides a grimace. “A…wild boar.”

I can smell the lie.

Simon Sterling shifts into a common pig.

“What a marvelous addition to a hunt you could be,” I reply. “I, myself, am a snake. Not such a vicious creature as yourself.”

A few months ago a sentence like that would never have left my mouth. But I have learned that modesty is also a stratagem. To be underestimated is an advantage.

All the way along, I underestimated the wolf, and by Gods, naturally the hopeless faun.

But I was proven wrong.

Sterling chortles. “A snake, eh, boy? Never mind. At least you’re not a badger like old Montgomery.”

“Very true. What exactly is the itinerary for the morning?”

Sterling leans closer, eager to spill whatever secrets make him feel powerful. “Oh, it’s a beautiful setup today. The Director has turned the entire eastern valley into a closed hunting ground. The horn will sound at precisely ten-thirty. If you haven’t brought your own man, you’ll be assigned a beater, then tally-ho! We’ve been assured that this season’s quarry will have some unexpected obstacles to keep everything extremely interesting.”

“And all the quarry will be out for the hunt? Or just some left behind?”