25. Isolde
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ISOLDE
I solde would never admit it, but without Bastian’s warmth pressing into her from behind, the cold might have killed her.
Every night she spent on patrol in the village was miserably cold, but tonight… her teeth didn’t chatter this viciously when she needed to feed. There was a storm blowing in from the west, and not even the dense pine trees were enough to keep the wind from cutting straight through Isolde’s cloak.
“You don’t need to feed again already, do you?” Bastian asked, his voice right against her ear.
“No,” Isolde bit out. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Your teeth are chattering.”
Whatever arousal Isolde might have felt at the way Bastian’s muscular thighs cradled hers, the feeling of his cock growing instantly hard when she joined him in the saddle, or the way he’d fastened the knives so deftly to her thighs, it was long gone now.
All she felt was unfaltering irritation at being trapped on this horse with him, and bone-deep, miserable chill.
“I’m just cold.” She yanked her hood down over her face, no longer caring that she couldn’t see out. Her eyeballs were likely to freeze solid, anyway. “You know, something that happens to regular, non-animal beings.”
“I get cold,” Bastian replied, his tone annoyingly pleasant. “And for the record, you’re an animal being, too. Just an undead one.”
“You won’t refer to us as undead ever again, boy,” Selene snapped from behind, where her own horse trotted, “if you want to keep your head.”
“Apologies, Selene,” Bastian called back over his shoulder. Then, more quietly to Isolde, “Aren’t you, technically? Undead?”
“Yes, but most Vampires take great offense to being called that.”
“Noted.” Bastian adjusted his grip on the reins. “Anyway. Vampires run much colder than even humans, don’t they? Doesn’t seem like cold weather should affect you.”
Normally Isolde would have been irritated by Bastian’s questions. Now, she was grateful for the distraction from her shivering. “You would think,” she answered bitterly. “But it’s actually the opposite. Because we run so cold, it takes a lot more to keep us suitably warm.”
“I see,” was all Bastian said.
Then he took the edges of his own cloak and folded them around Isolde. He shifted the way his arms draped around her, too, tucking her more closely against his chest and shielding her from the wind.
“Thanks,” she muttered.
Bastian didn’t respond. Isolde prayed he couldn’t feel the erratic thumping of her heart against his chest.
They didn’t talk much for the rest of the journey.
The trees looked no different the further south they traveled, but Isolde knew when they neared Wolf territory because of the way Bastian grew tense behind her.
The further they traveled, the more Isolde felt like she was leaning against a slab of marble.
Even through all the layers of their clothes, she could feel the way every one of his muscles was drawn so tight, he was practically vibrating.
“Are you alright?” Isolde murmured, turning her head so she could speak to Bastian without Selene hearing.
“I’m fine,” he said. It sounded like he had to force the words out through his teeth.
Are you sure? Isolde wanted to pry, but something told her to keep her mouth shut for once. She nudged her hood back enough to see, using her darksight to peer into the pines. Nothing looked different than it had hours ago, before she tucked herself away from the cold.
Except for the fact that the snow all around them was trampled with Wolf tracks.
“We’re almost there?” Isolde asked Bastian.
“Yes.”
Isolde didn’t know for sure when he’d left, how long it had been since he’d been here. After what Anselm had done to Bastian, though, she could see how it wouldn’t be easy for him to come back.
Before long, the trees began to thin and the forest gave way to a wide open field.
Hundreds of yards of flat, snowy land stretched out before a sprawling manor of gray stone, with a peaked roofline and a high, rounded tower on the east side.
Most of its windows were still dark, but a few glowed with candlelight.
“Is this were you grew up?” Isolde asked Bastian as they started across the field. “After Anselm took you in?”
She felt him nod behind her. “Welcome to Lake Hall,” he said, sounding anything but pleased.
A few minutes more, and Isolde saw where the manor got its name. Behind the grand house, stretching far into the distance, was the biggest lake Isolde had ever seen. Despite its size, it was frozen over completely, the surface rough with what she could only assume were claw marks.
At that moment, Selene drew her horse even with Bastian’s. “You do know the official words to extend your clemency to us, I assume?”
“Of course I do.” Bastian snapped, the politeness he’d managed before no longer present. “I lived here for almost twenty-two years before I moved to Bloodhaven. You think I don’t know how to conduct myself?”
“Bastian,” Isolde warned softly, at the same time Selene barked, “Watch your mouth, mutt. I won’t hesitate to tear your throat out if I suspect you’re not up to the task of mitigating the risk to Isolde’s life.”
“And who will protect you then, Selene?” Bastian fired back. “My presence here is the only thing preventing the Wolves from tearing your throat out.”
Selene opened her mouth to retort, her dark eyes flashing with ire, but Isolde cut in before she could speak. “Stop.” She squinted into the darkness, through the flurries of snow that had begun to fall. “Someone’s coming.”
Three figures made their way across the field toward them—two tall and distinctly male, the other small and feminine. One of the men held a flickering torch, glowing crimson in the pre-dawn shadows.
“Say nothing until I’ve announced myself,” Bastian said quickly, his voice sharp. “Don’t make any sudden movements, or reach for your weapons. We’re not safe until we talk to Anselm and he accepts my right to offer clemency.”
Selene bristled, and Isolde could only pray she did what she was told. She wondered if she ought to have asked Bastian whether his abandoning the pack to go live in Bloodhaven would have any bearing on his ability to extend clemency, but there was no time for that now.
Bastian drew their gelding to a stop, and Selene followed suit beside them. The three figures—Wolves in their human forms—stopped a short distance away, the man on the right holding the torch aloft.
“Who are you?” called the taller man in the middle, his hand resting on the hilt of a knife at his belt. “Remove your hoods.”
Behind Isolde, Bastian reached up and pushed his hood back. Isolde followed suit, trying not to wince at the sting of frigid wind slicing across her cheeks.
“I am Bastian Thessarian, son of Anselm Thessarian,” Bastian announced, his low voice echoing across the field.
“I bring with me Selene Lascar and Isolde Renault of Bloodhaven, who come to speak with Anselm about a Wolf attack that occurred in the village last full moon. I invoke my right as a member of the Northern Wolf Pack to extend clemency to these Vampires for the duration of their time at Lake Hall.”
At that, a chorus of guttural snarls erupted from the Wolves.
Isolde sharpened her gaze on the three of them.
She could see their nostrils flaring, their pupils blowing wide.
She could see their hunger. Their eyes narrowed with whatever biological urge drove them to want to tear her head off her shoulders.
Isolde shrunk back against Bastian’s chest.
“You have no right to invoke clemency here,” snarled the woman on the left.
Her short chestnut hair ruffled against her jaw as she glared up at Isolde and Selene.
The razor sharp edges of her daggers shimmered in the predawn light.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, a hungry snarl rumbling in her throat before she hauled her gaze back to Bastian.
“You lost that privilege when you abandoned the pack and went to Bloodhaven without a word.”
“Pretty fucking bold of you to bring two bloodsucking cunts into Wolf territory, too.” The one holding the torch, whose hair and rounded features were too similar to the woman’s for them not to be related, spat in the snow near the horses’ hooves.
“Anselm ought to exile you. Can’t fathom why he hasn’t already. ”
At the word exile, Isolde felt Bastian flinch.
“As I said,” Bastian replied, his voice hard despite the way Isolde could see his hands trembling where he gripped the reins, “a Wolf came to Bloodhaven and attacked several villagers on the full moon?—”
“That’s bullshit,” the woman interrupted. “No doubt these Vampire whores are making that up to stir trouble and start a new war.”
“We ought to just rip their throats out now and get it over with,” suggested the man. “Then we’ll have two less of the vermin to exterminate.”
Bastian’s arm tightened around Isolde’s waist until she could barely inhale, but his voice remained level as he carried on as if the Wolves hadn’t spoken. “—and Selene has come here to discuss the matter peaceably with Anselm.”
“Who’s to say you weren’t the Wolf attacking people in Bloodhaven?” said the man with the torch. “You turn on the full moon just like the rest of us, but you’re the only one who wasn’t here in Wolf territory the other night.”
“The Wolf that attacked was white,” Bastian said. “The three of you should be well-aware that my Wolf form is brown.”
“And how do you know what color the Wolf was?” demanded the woman. “Or did you make the change right there in the village, like the abomination?—”
“That’s enough.” The Wolf in the middle, who had been silent since he called for Bastian and Isolde and Selene to remove their hoods, stepped forward.
“Seraphine, Calden, keep your opinions to yourselves, at least until Anselm passes judgement. It’s Anselm’s decision alone to exile Bastian, but as that decision has not yet been made, there’s nothing to say that he can’t return to Lake Hall and invoke his right to extend clemency. ”
“But they’re Vampires, Torin—” the woman—Seraphine, apparently—protested.
Torin cut her off. “I said enough , Seraphine! You are not the leader of the pack. We will escort them inside and let Anselm decide what to do with them.”
“You’re not the leader of the pack either,” argued the other man, Calden.
“No, but I outrank you.” Torin jerked his chin at Bastian, gesturing for him to ride toward the manor. “Come on, Bastian. Your clemency stands for now.”