23. Isolde
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ISOLDE
S elene insisted on coming with Isolde to feed.
She hadn’t done this since Isolde was freshly turned, when she’d needed the supervision to keep from descending too far into her predatory impulses and accidentally killing someone.
It had been eight years since Isolde had needed that kind of supervision, though, and having Selene with her wasn’t exactly speeding her hunt along.
“If you don’t stop glaring at every human man who looks our way,” Isolde hissed across the table at Selene, who was staring daggers around the tavern at anyone who moved, “I’m not going to get a single drop of blood in me tonight.”
Selene’s gaze shot back to Isolde, but her glare remained in place. “If you didn’t insist on letting the men come to you, it wouldn’t be an issue,” she said. “Honestly, girl, you’re a predator . You ought to act like one.”
Isolde suppressed a sigh. She and Selene had had this argument many times before, and it always ended the same.
Isolde enjoyed the hunt, yes. She enjoyed the feeling of meeting a man’s eyes and finding them full of desire.
She knew they only wanted her for her body, for the effects her venom had on their bodies, but she enjoyed it all the same.
She enjoyed it even more for the fact that she knew they couldn’t hurt her—that she knew she was stronger because she was a Vampire, which meant she was in control of the situation.
But there was also a certain degree of guilt that came with it. She could ignore it most of the time, reason with herself that there was no cause to feel that way when she needed this to survive, and her partners were more than willing. She got to eat, and the man got an orgasm out of it.
If she got off from the transaction, too, her climax was often dulled by a crawling pit of shame, low in her gut. No matter how enthusiastically the men she fed on consented before the venom entered their systems, it felt wrong to Isolde to feed on their life force and take her own pleasure.
At that exact moment, Isolde realized she hadn’t felt even the slightest hint of that shame when she’d fed from Bastian.
“Oh, don’t pout,” Selene chided, seeing the way Isolde’s face dropped at the revelation and misinterpreting it. “You’ll come to terms with the lifestyle eventually. Believe me—I did.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Selene,” Isolde said dutifully, forcing thoughts of Bastian far, far from her mind and refocusing her attention on the meager tavern crowd. “For tonight, though, could you let me do it my way? My options are already limited.”
She’d never seen Bloodhaven’s tavern so empty before. Plenty of men still sat over tankards of ale, but after the events of the full moon… people were afraid. They were barring their doors, not venturing out after dark for fear of what might be lying in wait.
“Fine.” Selene slipped out of their booth, her movements perfectly graceful, as always. “I’ve spotted my own prey for the night, anyway.”
Isolde watched as Selene drifted across the tavern, the dark amber velvet of her gown clinging to her curves as she made for an older man seated at the bar.
Isolde recognized him as Asher Falgrave, one of the woodcutters.
He wasn’t her usual type—Selene preferred them closer to her immortal age, and she hated a man with a beard, but he did have the burly, muscular build she preferred.
Isolde couldn’t judge. She just hoped Selene fed on him here, instead of taking him home to the cabin.
Without Selene scaring everyone away, it was only a matter of minutes before a man slid into the vacant seat across from Isolde.
His sandy blond hair brushed the tops of his shoulders, and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her.
He wasn’t particularly tall, but slim and packed with lean, sinewy muscle.
“Good evening,” he said, flashing her a sultry grin.
Like Selene with her target, he wasn’t Isolde’s usual type, but he’d do.
“Hello,” she replied. “What’s your name?”
“Luca,” he told her. “And yours?”
Isolde feigned a gasp. “You don’t know?”
Luca’s smile turned sheepish. “I know it, Isolde,” he said, never breaking her stare. “It just seemed more polite to ask.”
Isolde laughed—a light, airy sound that was nothing like the real thing. It felt forced in a way she wasn’t used to, like she had to work extra hard to get it to come out.
Luca leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “Normally at this point I’d ask if I could get you a glass of port, or ale, if that was your preference,” he said. “But I suppose instead I ought to ask…”
He trailed off, still grinning, an endearing flush creeping onto his cheeks.
“If I’d like to come with you to the stables out back?” Isolde supplied.
Luca’s flush deepened, but so did his grin. “Well, I rent a room across the street from here, so I was going to suggest that, but… wherever you prefer is suitable to me.”
“Excellent.” Isolde slipped out of the booth and offered her hand to Luca. “Shall we?”
His palm was clammy against Isolde’s, like she’d made him more nervous than he let on, and her foolish, traitorous mind couldn’t help but compare it to the memory of Bastian’s hands on her skin.
His were warm and firm and big, and while Isolde had never held them in hers, they seemed to engulf every part of her he held onto.
Luca’s hand came nowhere close to engulfing hers.
Why was she thinking about Bastian like this?
Comparing him to the human man she was about to feed on and feeling disappointed that the human didn’t measure up?
God, that was the most ridiculous thing of all—that she somehow thought Bastian , who she barely even got along with, was better than any other man she encountered.
Maybe it was just the way he’d reacted when she said she was going to feed—his incredulous tone, the way his jaw had set into a hard, sharp line when she’d said yes—as if he had any right to judge her for it after he’d offered up his own vein a few nights before.
She’d never been one to let go of anger easily, at least inside her own mind. Maybe that was why she couldn’t stop thinking about Bastian right then, even with another man’s hand in hers.
The stables behind the tavern were dark but for the softly glowing lanterns at the door. The horses in their stalls snorted, shifting uneasily as Isolde led Luca down the center aisle to the last stall, which was always empty.
“Sit,” she murmured to Luca, nudging him down onto a bale of hay against the back wall. He obeyed, his eyes wide in the darkness and his lips parted in anticipation. Isolde hitched up her skirt and climbed up with him, planting her knees on either side of his thighs.
It was the same position she’d taken with Bastian, when she?—
No. She forced all thoughts of him out of her head and far, far away, where she couldn’t reach them.
“I need you to tell me, Luca,” Isolde murmured, letting one hand rest on the man’s shoulder. He tilted his head at the touch, giving her access to his throat, and Isolde couldn’t keep her gaze from shooting to the place where she knew his pulse beat. “Do you want me to feed from you?”
His response was immediate. “Yes,” he breathed. “Please feed from me.”
Luca’s hands rested on Isolde’s thighs as she leaned in. Usually she’d feather kisses over his neck, or at least run her tongue over his pulse point a time or two, but tonight she didn’t feel like it. She let her fangs slide free and sunk them straight into the vein at the side of his neck.
Luca moaned when she bit him, the sound bright and loud against her ear.
Instantly, Isolde felt his cock harden against her, but the sensation didn’t spark much inside her own body beyond basic, instinctive arousal.
She could feel wetness pooling between her thighs, but she felt none of the thrumming ache that Bastian had ignited in her.
And Luca’s blood…
It was hot and sweet as it flowed across her tongue. It slid down her throat with ease.
But it was nothing compared to the taste of Bastian’s blood. Bastian’s blood tasted rich, complex . It was half a dozen flavors all in one, the most perfect essence of him that she could possibly imagine.
Luca’s blood tasted like… blood. It was fine—good, even, but to compare it to Bastian’s was like comparing watered down ale with the most expensive wine in the world.
Isolde was barely hungry, but she knew she needed the fuel, so she kept drinking.
Luca was still moaning loudly, his cock straining against the front of his trousers.
She slipped her hand between their bodies and began to loosen the buttons, trying not to let herself notice the way her fingers folded easily around Luca’s cock when she pulled it free—to compare it to the way Bastian’s had filled her hand so nicely.
She guided his cock to her entrance and sunk down on it.
Luca moved with her, his hands on her waist guiding her up and down as she continued to drink.
Isolde had to hand it to him—he knew what he was doing.
When his own upward thrusts turned uneven as he neared his own climax, he shifted the angle of their hips so he was hitting just the right spot inside Isolde.
Soon after Luca finished, Isolde withdrew her fangs and tumbled into her own climax.
“Well,” she said, when a respectable amount of time had passed and Luca had caught his breath. “This was a pleasure.”
“Did you get enough to… drink?” Luca asked, still looking a little dazed as Isolde slipped off his lap and straightened her skirt.
“I certainly did,” Isolde told him. She leaned in and pecked his cheek, more out of courtesy than anything else. “Thank you.”
Luca scrambled upright as Isolde headed for the stall door, hurrying to refasten his trousers. “When do you need to feed again?”
“Not for a while.” Isolde slipped out of his reach, plastering what she hoped was a flirty, yet not overly suggestive smile onto her face. “I’ll see you around, Luca.”
She slipped off into the shadows before he could get another word in.
When she walked back into the tavern, Selene had disappeared. So much for babysitting Isolde, apparently. She’d probably hauled Asher Falgrave back to the cabin to feed on him, and Isolde would have to wait out in the cold until Selene sent him on his way.
She supposed, if she was going to be outside anyway, she might as well go see if Bastian was out patrolling. Then again, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d be able to face him after he’d been the only thing on her mind as she fed from another man and rode him to climax.
Especially since said climax had been nothing compared to the one he’d given her. Now, she was unsatisfied and aching, and if she saw Bastian, she was half sure she’d end up begging him to do that magnificent thing with his tongue that had driven her so forcefully over the edge.
Home it was, then. She yanked her cloak tight around herself and stalked back out into the cold?—
And directly into Asher Falgrave.
“Oh!” Isolde staggered, steadied by Asher’s hands on her arms. She didn’t need the help, but she did appreciate the gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“That’s alright,” Asher replied. “Glad I caught you, though. Selene said to tell you she’d see you at home.”
“I see. Thank you.”
Asher nodded in response, then disappeared back into the tavern. Evidently Selene had made quick work of feeding on him.
For all her worry, and her insistence on coming with Isolde, she didn’t bother coming out to see that Isolde had made it back to the cabin safely.
This had always been her way—pester Isolde about feeding, worry and hover at odd moments, and leave Isolde to her own devices all the rest of the time.
With the Wolf problem weighing on her shoulders, it seemed Selene was feeling moodier than ever.
In a thoroughly foul mood of her own, Isolde snatched the first book she saw off Selene’s shelves, hauled it up into her room, and read until dawn.