35. Isolde
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ISOLDE
A t nightfall the next evening, Bastian, Isolde, and Selene made their way down to the feast hall. Most Wolves were already inside, if the buzz of conversation emanating from the double doors was any indication.
Despite the fact that Everett and the other Wolves hadn’t harmed Isolde the night of Bastian’s Punishment, she didn’t quite like the odds of two Vampires in a hall packed with Wolves—some of whom, apparently, would be pleased to abolish the Pact and hunt her down like prey if given the chance.
Beneath her black velvet gown, she had the knives Bastian had given her strapped to her thighs, but she wasn’t so foolish as to think that would be enough if anything went awry tonight.
As they reached the doors to the hall, Anselm emerged. “Good evening,” he said, offering Bastian and Isolde a smile, and Selene a scowl. “I trust you ladies slept well today?”
Isolde, in fact, had not. She’d spent another day pestering Aggie about blood moons and bloodlines, trying to puzzle it over with Bastian, to no avail.
“Fine,” Selene said shortly. She cut a hand toward the banquet hall doors. “Shall we?”
Anselm offered her his arm. She shot him a glare, but then… she took it.
Bastian offered his to Isolde, and she looped her fingers around his arm the same way Selene had—minus the glare.
“I know it seems like she’s about to bite his head off,” she muttered to Bastian, trying not to notice the hardness of his bicep beneath her fingers as he guided her toward the double doors, “but I can’t believe how amenable she’s being, really.”
There’d been plenty of glaring and threats and insults bandied about, especially at that first meeting at the dining table, but Isolde knew Selene—knew how much she despised Wolves—and this was tame.
“Anselm, too,” Bastian muttered back. “He spent my whole childhood railing about how much he hates Vampires, but he’s being disturbingly nice. To Selene, but to you, especially.”
“Except for that little threat about feeding me to the Wolves,” Isolde replied dryly. “I suppose the Pact is too important for either of them to risk making things ugly here.”
They entered the hall, walking in step behind Anselm and Selene, and whatever reply Bastian made fell by the wayside. Isolde was too busy taking in the sea of Wolves who were seated at the long tables, every one of them suddenly going silent as their eyes fell on her and Selene.
Almost every stare was hostile. Some were more curious than others, eyeing Isolde and Selene like they were novelties. She supposed they were to the Wolves, who never set foot in Bloodhaven to lay eyes on a Vampire.
A good majority of the stares, though… they were filled with pure hatred.
Low snarls erupted as they passed by. Isolde could hear the Wolves sniffing, scenting them, growling low in their throats.
Hands twitched towards knives, fingers curling on the edges of the tables.
One Wolf even snapped his jaws at Selene as she and Anselm walked by, falling back into his seat when Anselm bared his own teeth.
And as the four of them processed down the long aisle between the tables, toward the dais at the other end of the hall, people began to whisper.
“It’s true, Bastian’s back…
“…smell so fucking good. I’d like to sink my teeth into her…”
“…said he’s bedding the blonde one. Can’t say I blame him…”
“…don’t know why Eamonn Thessarian ever agreed we’d stop hunting them…”
“…so wrong that Anselm is listening to a word those bloodsucking cunts have to say.”
Isolde tightened her grip on Bastian’s arm, fighting the urge to reach for her daggers. She felt so small and helpless—worse than that night in the woods with the poisoned blade, or when Everett held the stake to her heart.
“Relax,” Bastian murmured, dipping his head low so she could hear him. “I’m not going to let any of them touch you.”
“There’s a lot more of them than there are of you,” Isolde whispered back.
“I don’t care.” Bastian folded his opposite hand over hers, tucking her more closely against his side as they neared the dais.
One Wolf lifted a hand toward Isolde as they passed, his eyes glassy with hunger, and Bastian sent a guttural snarl in his direction.
“I’d burn this whole damn house to the ground before I let anyone hurt you. ”
Isolde swallowed hard, hoping to disrupt the sudden fluttering sensation in her gut. These people… Bastian had grown up amongst them, had no doubt counted many of them as friends once. And now he was threatening to kill them on her behalf?
The fluttering only amplified as the implications of that hit her.
She was in such deep shit.
Fortunately, they reached the dais then, which put a solid oak table between them and the hostile crowd.
Anselm took the seat at the center, which overlooked the hall, and Selene occupied the seat of honor on his right.
Bastian pulled out the seat next to Selene’s for Isolde and tucked it beneath her, then took the chair next to hers.
A number of other Wolves occupied the remaining seats, including Aggie and Torin; only one was left empty.
The hall had fallen silent again as they took their seats, and now everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
Anselm raised a hand, gesturing along the tabletop, and the banquet began.
All at once, every Wolf in the hall reached for their goblets. Wine began to flow while more Wolves poured from side doors, carrying platters of roasted meat and glazed carrots and bread. For the time being, the attention was off Isolde and Selene, the Wolves too busy loading their plates to glare.
“Do you want any?” Bastian asked, offering up a cut of steaming chicken. “I know you can’t eat it, but?—”
“I can,” Isolde interrupted. The meat steamed on the fork, dripping with fragrant juices. “Just a little. I… want to taste it.”
Bastian gave her a look, but dropped the chicken onto her plate anyway.
He served her a pile of carrots next, then seasoned potatoes and a hunk of the dense brown bread.
Anselm piled food onto Selene’s plate, too—full, heaping servings, unlike the small tastes Bastian had given Isolde.
When he was finished, Selene didn’t hesitate to tuck in, slicing her chicken with sharp, precise movements.
Isolde had never seen Selene eat human food before—not once. But she supposed appearances mattered here, beneath the eyes of so many Wolves.
Carefully, Isolde speared a piece of her own chicken on her fork and lifted it to her mouth. It had been months since she tasted anything but blood—the last human food she’d had had been a few bites of roast beef at Winter Solstice, and that hadn’t smelled anywhere near as delectable as this.
“Oh,” she sighed, as the savory, herb seasoned meat touched her tongue. “That’s delicious.”
“Yeah?” Bastian shoveled an enormous bite of potatoes into his mouth. “Our cook here, Easton—this is the way he always makes it.”
“I forget how much I miss human food,” Isolde admitted, taking another small bite. “Human blood all tastes the same, you know, so it’s not really like actually eating , where half the fun is the way it tastes.”
Bastian set down his fork and slowly leaned toward Isolde, his eyes twinkling with… something as he brought his mouth down to her ear. “You’ve tasted my blood before,” he murmured, low enough that no one else at the table would hear. “How does that compare?”
Isolde took a hasty sip of her wine—which was rich and spiced and reminded her forcefully of the very thing Bastian was asking her about.
Though she’d fed just before they left Bloodhaven, and she shouldn’t need to again for at least a fortnight, she had to breathe though the urge to let her fangs slide free.
“Better than this,” she admitted, the words barely even a whisper. She didn’t dare look at Bastian. “Better than anything I’ve ever tasted.”
Bastian’s only response was a low hum of approval. He sat back in his chair and returned to eating.
Isolde took another shaky sip of wine, fighting with all she had to keep her face blank.
Desperate to distract herself, she cast her gaze around the hall.
Now that the meal was fully underway, hardly anyone looked in their direction.
Wolves, she decided, ate like… well, animals.
At every table, people were stuffing their mouths with food, hardly pausing to breathe as they cleaned their plates.
“I don’t see Everett,” Isolde remarked, scanning the hall for Bastian’s asshole of a brother.
“I know. He ought to be sitting up here with us.” Bastian nodded to the one empty seat at their table.
Isolde didn’t feel particularly good about his absence, but it didn’t seem like the proper time to say anything more about it—not with so many other Wolves who were loyal to Anselm around. Despite everything, Everett was still Anselm’s son, and heir to the pack.
“Can you tell me which Wolves to look for when Anselm makes his speech?” Isolde asked.
Bastian spent the next half hour pointing out Wolves who he knew had white fur when they changed, while Isolde studied their faces. She managed a few more bites off her plate before her stomach began to twinge, while Bastian cleared his completely and then went for a second helping.
On Isolde’s other side, Selene was having her second glass of wine. And she’d cleared her plate.
“Doesn’t your stomach hurt?” Isolde asked her, nodding to the empty plate.
Selene glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “No,” she said, and offered nothing more.
As dinner began to wind down, Anselm called for another round of wine. He’d told Isolde and Bastian that he planned to give a toast before his speech about the attacks in Bloodhaven. Isolde straightened in her seat, searching the crowd for the faces Bastian had pointed out to her.
But just as Anselm seemed about to rise, his freshly filled goblet in hand, one of the side doors to the hall banged open.