14. Isolde #2
“It’s not Selene,” Isolde said. “If the beast of Bloodhaven is a Werewolf, I can assure you it’s not her who’s helping it. She hates Werewolves more than your murderous prick of a brother hates Vampires.”
Bastian’s eyes flashed, his mouth twisting. Isolde braced herself for him to snarl at her, to snap that Everett might be a murderous prick, but he was still his brother.
But he said nothing. He just turned and stalked off into the trees.
Isolde followed him in silence, hating the way she still salivated at the scent of his blood.
They reached the place where Isolde had been felled by the nightsbane blade. She didn’t recognize it by sight, but the blood staining the snow at her feet was indication enough. Isolde tried not to look at it, focusing instead on the footprints.
Two sets came from the way she and Bastian had come—theirs from the night before. A third set entered the clearing from the west, then veered off to the north after the tracks of the beast.
“These are a man’s boot prints,” Bastian said, crouching over the tracks that came from the west. He lifted his head, his nostrils flaring. “No scent left behind, but it was windy last night. I didn’t catch anything then, either.”
“Let’s see where the tracks lead from here, then,” Isolde said, eager to get away from that spot.
Bastian walked behind Isolde as she followed those boot prints, and the beast’s tracks alongside them. They continued north through the trees before curving back to the west…
And then back into the village. The trail disappeared, indiscernible from the dozens of other tracks in the muddy road.
Isolde cursed. “We’re never going to be able to find where it picks up again.”
Bastian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Do you want to go check that place with the altars, like we talked about?”
Isolde thought for a moment. There might be fresh tracks there, but what would that tell them?
Unless the beast and its accomplice were already there, more footprints in the snow wouldn’t do a lick of good.
Besides, the snow was picking up, and trekking all the way through the forest to get there sounded miserable.
“No,” she decided. “Let’s just do our normal patrol.”
They walked to the town hall in silence, and still didn’t speak after they’d climbed onto the roof and settled in their spots from the night before.
Isolde watched the snow fall around her, admiring the intricate pattern of the flakes with her enhanced vision, trying desperately to ignore the tension that hummed between her and Bastian.
Several times, she saw him shift out of the corner of her eye, opening his mouth like he had something he wanted to say. Each time, he remained silent.
Eventually, Isolde couldn’t take it anymore. “About last night—” she started.
“You don’t need to say anything about it,” Bastian interrupted.
“What happened between us,” she forged on, “it doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Bastian turned his head, his eyes focusing fully on her for the first time since she’d snapped at him about Selene, hours ago. Isolde watched as he angled his head back, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
A muscle in his jaw feathered, so faint Isolde almost missed it. “No,” he said slowly. “It doesn’t.”
The sudden hardness of his voice, the tightness in his mouth… it was as if he thought she was about to make some confession, to demand an emotion from him that he certainly didn’t return.
“Good,” Isolde said quickly. “It was purely physical. A reaction to my feeding, on both our parts. It won’t happen again.”
Bastian looked out over the village, that closed-off expression still on his face. “No,” he said again, flatly this time, “it won’t.”
Isolde stared at him for a long moment, waiting for him to say more. She kept her own face carefully blank, impassive, prepared to throw herself off the roof before she let him think she was pining, or something appalling like that.
Still, just like that morning in the forge, a little part of her stung at the clear rejection in that look he wore—as if the idea of feeling something more for her was the most abhorrent thing he could think of.
It wasn’t that it was him, specifically, giving her that look.
Of course it wasn’t, because she didn’t want him to feel anything more for her.
It was only the implication that anyone might find her so repulsive.
“Good,” Isolde finally said. She got to her feet, dusting the snow off the back of her cloak. “I ought to head home before dawn. I’ll see you tomorrow night for patrol.”
“I won’t be here to patrol tomorrow,” Bastian said. He didn’t look at her.
“You won’t?”
“It’s the full moon,” Bastian explained, still in that flat voice. “I’m going south toward Wolf territory to make the change. I should be back the following morning.”
“Oh.” Isolde hadn’t realized what day it was. She’d been so busy with patrol, with trying to figure out what the beast could possibly be, she hadn’t noticed the full moon creeping up on them.
“Don’t let the beast get near you if it comes back tomorrow night.”
“I won’t.”
Isolde waited, once again expecting Bastian to say something else. She would have preferred if he’d yelled at her, insulted her, or picked a fight with her over this tense silence.
But Bastian said nothing. He didn’t so much as glance in her direction.
Isolde left him on the roof without another word.