Page 137 of Claiming Pretty

The passage opened into a cavernous circular room. Fire torches lined the walls, their flames guttering in the draft, illuminating the space in an eerie glow.

The dean stood at the edge of the room, cloaked in a dark-brown robe, the fabric catching the firelight like oil on water. A gold rope belt twisted around his waist and knotted in a Celtic knot before falling into ropes along his thigh, ending in two golden snake heads.

His smug expression twisted my stomach, but what unnerved me more was the four hooded guards flanking him, their faces hidden in shadows.

Three of the guards casually clutched rifles, their fingers resting a little too comfortably near the trigger.

The fourth, the smaller build of the four, stood empty-handed, his posture relaxed but watchful.

They wore the same kind of robes, except their belts were bronze instead of gold. The gold must mean the High Lord. Or maybe the inner circle.

I eyed the guards. They were all too slim to be the police commissioner.

One of them could be Cormac Senior. But… I couldn’t imagine that silver-spooned elitist dirtying his hands with guns and blood.

I clocked them all, silently cursing the knives concealed on me—Arya, Dundee, and Jack. Useful in close combat, maybe, but they were nothing against the firepower in this room.

Guns were illegal in Ireland, the rare exceptions being antique shotguns used by the wealthy for archaic pheasant hunts, ancient rifles clung to by stubborn old farmers, and the occasional smuggled pistol.

Yet the weapons these guards carried gleamed with precision, unscarred by age or misuse. It spoke volumes about the Sochai’s reach—powerful connections and friends utterly devoid of scruples.

“Bravo, son.” The dean’s voice was oily, dripping with false warmth. “Welcome.”

I forced myself to smirk, masking the unease threatening to choke me. “Not much of a warm welcome. I thought the other members would be here to greet the son of one of their own.”

The dean chuckled, the sound echoing off the walls. “Patience, Mr. Donahue. Besides, you’ve not passed your initiation yet.”

I froze, my muscles tensing instinctively. My grip on Ava tightened ever so slightly, grounding myself—and maybe her too. “I thought deciphering your damn riddle was the initiation.”

“No, my dear boy.” The dean’s eyes gleamed with something predatory, and his gaze flicked to Ava. “The pretty little gift you’re carryingisyour initiation.”

The guards stepped forward, their movement subtle but deliberate, as if ready to wrest her from my arms.

My heart thundered, and for a split second, I thought I felt Ava’s breath hitch against my neck. I squeezed her closer, a silent promise,Not a chance in hell.

“‘What the father possesses, his heirs shall claim,’”I quoted from the Sochai manifesto as written in my father’s journals. I met the dean’s gaze, letting steel edge my voice. “I am my father’s heir and I claim her asmydaughter. No one touches her but me.”

The dean’s smile faltered. His jaw tightened briefly, irritation flashing across his face before he smothered it with feigned amusement.

“What a clever little heir our dearly departed Gardener raised,” he said, his voice a mix of mockery and spite. “We don’t need to touch her for you to initiate… butyoudo.”

He clapped his hands, the sound sharp and deliberate.

The unarmed guard stepped forward, grabbing a crimson cloth that covered something at the center of the room. With a dramatic flourish, he pulled it away, revealing a stone altar beneath before he stepped back.

The dean gestured toward the altar, his hand lingeringon a camera mounted on a tripod nearby. How had I not seen it before?

The lens was fixed squarely on the altar, a sickening testament to whatever twisted ritual they had planned.

A dark apprehension poisoned my blood and I clutched Ava even closer. Every cell in my body screamed at me torun.

“There’s no need to be shy,” the dean drawled, adjusting the camera with deliberate precision. “No one will see the recording outside of the Sochai, unless…” His smile sharpened, wolfish. “…you need reminding of your loyalties.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, though dread had already begun to creep into my veins.

“It’s simple,” he said. “You lay her down on the altar and fuck her.”

The implications short-circuited my brain and I almost broke character.

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