26. Isolde
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ISOLDE
T orin led them to the front of the manor.
Bastian slid down from the horse first, then reached up and lifted Isolde right out of the saddle as Selene dismounted beside them.
Two more Wolves appeared, staring at the three of them with varying degrees of distaste and curiosity as they took the reins of the horses and led them away.
Throughout all of this, Seraphine and Calden stalked along behind them, weapons sheathed but their hands lingering on the hilts. Both of them looked about ready to start snapping their jaws at Bastian, and the looks they were giving Selene and Isolde were nothing short of ravenous.
Isolde kept close to Bastian’s side as Torin escorted them through the grand front doors of Lake Hall.
The inside of the manor was made of the same rough gray stone as the outside, though here it was decorated with earth-toned tapestries and thick rugs on the floor.
A massive wrought-iron chandelier hung high above the entry hall, dozens of candles casting a golden glow over everything.
Despite the danger she knew she was in, and the tension that prickled at the back of her neck and rolled off Bastian in waves, Isolde couldn’t help but feel grateful that the manor was warm .
She stifled a sigh of relief as they followed Torin down a corridor off the entry hall, and the heat thawed her frozen limbs.
Still, Isolde kept her cloak drawn around herself to conceal the way she rested her hands on the hilts of her new knives.
“I ought to warn you,” Torin murmured to Bastian as he led them through another set of double doors, into a large dining hall lined with empty tables. “A lot of Wolves want to abolish the Pact—more than when you left. They’re getting more vocal about it by the day.”
“Everett told me,” Bastian muttered back, but his gaze was trained on the opposite end of the hall.
On a dais taken up by a long table, two Wolves waited.
One, an older woman with a hunched spine, gray eyes, and long, silver hair, lounged in a chair at the head of the table.
The other, a man with dark hair and even darker eyes, leaned against the front edge of the table, one ankle crossed over the other and his arms folded across his chest. His tanned face showed signs of age—he was perhaps ten years or so older than Selene had been when she turned—and yet his spine was straight.
Though he wasn’t particularly tall, his frame was packed with muscle.
As they neared the two Wolves, Isolde heard Bastian’s breathing quicken. When she glanced up at him, though, his expression was stony and unreadable. If Torin and Selene noticed anything, they didn’t let on as the four of them fanned out in the empty space before the dais.
Beside Isolde, Bastian dropped abruptly to one knee. “Anselm,” he greeted, bowing his head.
Anselm . Isolde’s eyes shot back to the dark-haired Wolf, whose posture was still entirely nonchalant as he gazed down at Bastian.
This was the man who’d turned Bastian against his will, left him in agony for hours as the moon rose, took away his choice…
and Bastian was kneeling for him, his head bowed as if he had committed some great sin.
Isolde wanted to seize Bastian by the arm and haul him back to his feet. She wanted to spit at Anselm and demand that he be the one to kneel, to beg forgiveness for what he’d done to Bastian.
Selene, as if she sensed exactly what Isolde was itching to do, wrapped a firm hand around her wrist.
Anselm straightened, unfolding his arms. “Stand up, Bastian.”
Bastian did as Anselm bade. Once again, Isolde wondered if anyone else heard the shaky breath he took. Even as he stood, he kept his head down, gaze trained on the toes of his boots.
“Forgive me, Anselm,” Bastian said, his voice soft. “I come here, to Lake Hall, disgraced. I abandoned the pack to live among humans, and have made the change alone. I understand fully that in doing so, I relinquished my privilege to exercise my rights as a member of the pack.”
“This is true,” Anselm agreed.
Bastian took another shaky breath. “In spite of this, I’ve come back on a matter of what I believe to be great urgency.
” He turned, then, and gestured to Selene and Isolde.
“These Vampires reside in Bloodhaven, where I’ve been living.
Three nights ago, on the full moon, a Wolf came into the village and attacked several humans—in violation of the Pact.
Selene has come to address the matter with you, Anselm. Isolde is her progeny.”
“I see,” Anselm said. His dark gaze tracked first over Isolde, and then Selene, where it lingered for a beat before drifting back to Bastian. “Is that all you wish to say?”
A long moment of silence passed where Bastian seemed to hesitate.
“If you wish to exile me for my abandonment of the pack,” he finally said, his hands balled into fists at his sides, “I am ready to accept my punishment. I only ask that you wait until Selene has said her piece, so that I may offer her and Isolde my clemency during their time here. When they go, I’ll go. ”
Bastian lowered his head once more, staring penitently at the floor.
Anselm regarded him from the dais, his expression unreadable.
Isolde might have considered it a good sign that he hadn’t shouted at Bastian when they walked in, or drawn a weapon, or exiled him immediately from Wolf territory, but still she wanted to scream at Anselm, to sink her fangs into his throat and tear it out for Bastian’s sake.
She settled for shifting a step closer to Bastian, so that her arm brushed against his in what she hoped was silent comfort. The move didn’t go unnoticed by Anselm—or Torin, who had joined Anselm and the older female Wolf on the dais. All three wolves tracked the movement with their eyes.
“Bastian,” Anselm finally said, stepping down from the dais. He came toward them, and Isolde knew she ought to back away, but she stood rooted in place. Bastian kept his head bowed. “Look at me.”
Bastian obeyed. A flash of agony broke through his stony expression for the briefest of seconds before he locked it back down, and though Bastian had several inches on Anselm, it seemed as though he was looking up at him, like he was still begging on his knees.
And then Anselm said, “I forgive you, Bastian.”
Bastian’s shoulders crumpled inward at the words. “But I?—”
“Don’t,” Anselm chided gently. He reached out with one hand and gripped Bastian’s elbow—the one Isolde wasn’t standing at.
For the second time in the last hour, she felt Bastian flinch, but he didn’t pull away.
“I understand why you left, and I don’t blame you for it.
I will not punish you, and I certainly will not exile you. ”
“Anselm, I…” Bastian broke off, his face crumpling. He sucked in a sharp breath, closing his eyes for a moment before he tried again. “I don’t know if I?—”
“That’s bullshit. ”
The voice cracked through the hall, echoing off the vaulted ceilings. Isolde spun, her hands curling around the hilts of her daggers as stalking footsteps approached from behind.
“Everett,” Anselm warned sharply. Bastian was suddenly in front of Isolde, nudging her backward as Everett stormed toward them.
His dark, tousled hair and the squareness of his jaw matched Anselm’s. So did the flat line of his mouth and the slant of his brow, and the confident set of his shoulders. Anselm’s son by blood, unlike Bastian.
He spared the barest of glances for Isolde and Selene as he approached, his hazel eyes narrowed with fury and trained solely on Bastian. At least he didn’t seem to be carrying a wooden stake, like the last time Isolde had encountered him.
“Everett, control yourself,” Anselm snapped.
Out of the corner of her eye, Isolde saw Torin come down from the dais, edging around to flank her and Bastian on the opposite side. She tightened her grip on her knives.
“You absolute prick ,” Everett snarled, and launched himself at Bastian.
Everyone moved at once.
Isolde made to draw her knives, heedless of the fact that Bastian had warned her not to.
Selene was there in an instant, seizing her by the shoulders and yanking her out of the way.
By the time she got her bearings again, Everett had Bastian by the collar.
Torin was holding onto his other arm, hauling it back to keep Everett from landing a punch to Bastian’s jaw.
Anselm was in the middle of it all, prying Everett’s hand away from Bastian’s throat.
“ Everett, ” Anselm barked. “You will stand down. ”
“I will not.” Spit flew as Everett yanked at Torin’s grip. “He’s a fucking traitor, and it’s complete and utter bullshit for you to let him come back here with a bunch of bloodsucking?—”
Isolde hardy saw Anselm move. One moment, Everett was snarling in Bastian’s face, struggling against the other men to get a hit in.
The next, the sickening crunch of bone was echoing through the hall.
Blood sprayed and Everett went staggering back with a shout.
So did Bastian, who tripped over the edge of the dais and caught himself on the table.
Silence followed.
Isolde’s nostrils flared as the scent of the blood reached her, smelling of?—
She blinked. Sniffed again.
It smelled like Bastian.
Not identical—Everett’s blood had more of a crisp, bright scent than the rich spiciness of Bastian’s, but that earthy essence was the same. Like moss and oak.
Slowly, Everett lifted his head, blood trickling from his nose and coating his chin. He ran his tongue over his teeth, as if to confirm they were all still there.
“If you’re not going to exile him,” he said to Anselm, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage, “at least let me deal the Punishment.”
“Fine,” Bastian said, stepping back down from the dais. Resignation was painted all over his face, but something akin to dread swam in his eyes, too, which Isolde didn’t like one bit. “If that’s what it takes for?—”
“No.” Anselm threw up a hand, cutting Bastian off. His knuckles were already blossoming with bruises where they’d connected with Everett’s jaw. “I will not exile him, and he will not be Punished. He is my son, and your brother, Everett, and?—”
“He is not my brother,” Everett shouted, lunging forward once more. This time, Torin got in the way, shoving him back. “Not by blood, and not by oath. Not anymore.”
Isolde glanced at Bastian. His shoulders heaved with his too-quick breaths, but his expression was locked down. Blank.
“If that’s how you feel, fine.” Anselm’s voice was tight.
“But I am your pack leader, and your father, and I am ordering you to stand down. You will not Punish Bastian, nor will you lay a hand on Selene or Isolde for the duration of their stay at Lake Hall. Bastian’s clemency stands, and you are bound by your oath to the pack to respect it. ”
Everett glared at his father, seething. Torin still blocked his path to Bastian. No one else dared to move, least of all Isolde.
Everett turned to Bastian. “Fuck you,” he snarled, before spitting at Bastian’s feet, turning on his heel, and stalking out the way he’d come.
Anselm cleared his throat in the silence that followed. “Well. Selene, Isolde, welcome to Lake Hall. I’m sure you’d like to rest, since the sun is coming up.”
Selene, who hadn’t spoken a word since the Wolves first approached outside, stepped forward. “Thank you, Anselm.” Then, to Isolde’s eternal shock, she offered Anselm her hand. “We’re very grateful for your understanding, and your willingness to discuss the sordid matter at hand.”
Anselm clasped Selene’s fingers between his palms with a gracious dip of his chin. “It’s my pleasure to have you here, Selene.”
Isolde doubted that very much, but Anselm did a good job looking the part. Selene did, too, her face arranged into an impassively polite smile.
“There’s a suite in the eastern tower that should suit your needs,” Anselm went on. “Thick curtains, and shutters meant to keep the wind out, but they do a decent job blocking the sun, too. Though that shouldn’t be much of an issue this deep into winter.”
“Excellent,” Selene replied. “We’ll speak at nightfall, then.”
“Until nightfall.” Anselm bowed his head once more. “Torin will show you to the suite. Bastian, perhaps we could?—”
“I’d like to rest, too, if that’s alright,” he interjected, moving toward Isolde. “It was a long journey from Bloodhaven.”
Isolde could have sworn Anselm’s face fell. “Of course. You know the way to the suite.”
With that, Isolde and Selene followed Bastian out of the hall.