36. Isolde
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ISOLDE
T hey departed for Bloodhaven at dusk the next day.
Isolde wasn’t remotely satisfied with what they’d accomplished at Lake Hall—a threatening speech, Bastian Punished to the brink of death, and a few nonsensical words from Aggie—but Selene insisted there was nothing left for them to do.
Anselm promised to write with regular updates on his search for the killer, as well as to deliver the Wolf to Selene’s vengeance when and if they were discovered.
Anselm had also granted Selene permission to deal with the killer in whatever manner she deemed appropriate, should she and Isolde and Bastian manage to capture the beast in Bloodhaven.
When they arrived home, having avoided any more unfortunate encounters with Everett, pulling Bastian’s still-healing stitches, or falling victim to Pact-hating Wolves, Isolde fully expected to learn that several more villagers had been torn to pieces.
As it happened, though, in the week that they’d been gone, all had been quiet in Bloodhaven. No one had spotted the Wolf. No one had gone missing. No one had died.
Bastian believed this was a sign that Anselm’s speech on the night of the banquet had worked.
He thought that even if the Wolf hadn’t come forward to confess his or her betrayal, Anselm’s threats had frightened them into leaving Bloodhaven in peace.
Isolde supposed he might have been correct, but something about that just didn’t sit right with her.
Even so, there wasn’t much to be done about it from Bloodhaven besides patrol, and that’s what Isolde and Bastian did. Each night when the moon rose, they met outside the town hall and climbed onto its roof to survey the village until dawn.
“I can’t believe they’re still planning to celebrate the Night of the Bleeding Moon,” Isolde remarked to Bastian, sitting beside him on the roof nearly a week after they’d returned from Wolf territory. “The whole damn village, out in the open all night, and drunk on top of it… its so stupid .”
All around, banners of crimson ribbons fluttered in the breeze. The humans had spent the last week stringing them up all around Bloodhaven—between buildings, over doorways, in windows—so the whole village looked like it had been painted in blood.
“There hasn’t been an attack for two weeks,” Bastian reminded her. “And the festival is important to them. Especially now, I’d wager, after the attack on the full moon.”
“Offering themselves up on a silver platter for the Wolf to feast on hardly seems like a good way to commemorate the humans who died in the Bleeding War.”
“Yes, but they don’t know it’s a Wolf eating their neighbors when the moon isn’t full, do they?”
“No, I suppose you’re right about that.” Isolde huffed a sigh, her breath clouding in the air before her.
The cold spell that had begun the night they left for Wolf territory still hadn’t broken, and if it weren’t for the heat radiating off Bastian as they sat side by side on the roof, Isolde’s teeth would have been chattering loud enough for the whole village to hear.
But Isolde couldn’t help but think that she’d be a hell of a lot warmer if Bastian would deign to touch her.
She was irritatingly aware of the fact that they hadn’t touched even once—not so much as a brush of the arm or a hand to haul her onto the roof—since he’d helped her off their horse when they arrived back in Bloodhaven.
Isolde didn’t know why it bothered her so much, other than that there was a certain degree of unresolved tension from the moments right before Bastian’s Punishment.
The orgasm he’d given her had been mind-blowing, and he’d been seconds away from coming himself when Everett burst in.
And then, with everything that had happened, neither one of them had mentioned it.
Purely physical , Isolde had said after that first encounter. It won’t happen again, she’d said, and Bastian had agreed.
But then it did happen again. Twice.
And God help her, but she wasn’t convinced it was purely physical anymore.
Not now that she kept having that disturbing fluttery feeling in her gut when he looked at her in certain ways or threatened to murder people in her name.
Definitely not after the way she’d felt when Everett had dragged Bastian away from her, or when he was bleeding out in her arms—like she was dying all over again, and the only thing that could save her was if he lived, too.
Isolde had long since quit trying to convince herself she hated him.
He’d saved her life twice , which was reason enough not to hate him anymore, but at some point since the night he’d tended her poisoned wound, she’d stopped finding him intolerable, too.
In fact, she thought she might even enjoy his presence.
It didn’t matter to her that he was a Wolf. It never really had, if she was being honest. That had just been a convenient excuse to profess to hating him, to keep him at arms length and deny that persistent, burning desire she felt every time he came within touching distance.
Despite the fact that those feelings scared the complete and utter hell out of her, she also couldn’t stand this stalemate they were in, where it seemed no one was brave enough to make the next move.
Even out here, away from Selene’s sharp-eyed, Wolf-hating stare, Isolde was too scared to kiss him again.
“You don’t think that when Aggie said blood moon, she was talking about the festival, do you?” Isolde blurted, desperately trying to think of something to say other than why the hell haven’t you kissed me again? “Blood moon. Night of the Bleeding Moon?”
“It’s possible, I suppose, but I doubt it.
” Bastian frowned down at a loose thread in the knee of his trousers.
“Aggie’s never left Wolf territory before.
Hell, she hardly ever sets foot outside Lake Hall, except on full moons.
I don’t see how she could possibly know about a human festival in a village she’s never been to. ”
Despite the fact that Bastian had a counterargument for nearly every theory Isolde raised about the whole blood moon, bloodline business, he was never unkind about it.
He hadn’t gotten frustrated or shut her down yet, either, despite the fact that she’d been talking in circles on the issue for nearly two straight weeks.
“But what else could it be?” she argued. “It’s too big of a coincidence. Just like we thought two separate creatures attacking the village was too big of a coincidence, and we were right about that.”
“A true blood moon?” Bastian suggested. “You know, where the moon turns red in the sky? You’ve seen that before, haven’t you?”
“Not since I was a child, but yes.” Isolde stared at the half-moon sinking toward the horizon. “The scientific term for that is a lunar eclipse, if you didn’t know.”
“Listen to you, with all that fancy university knowledge,” Bastian said, tone light and teasing.
Isolde shot him a glare, then went back to watching the shadowy village.
“There are astronomers at the university who can predict eclipses,” she said.
“Maybe we ought to to travel to Aaldenburg and do some research. See if there’s any lore surrounding the blood moon that might be a clue, or if there’s one coming soon. ”
“We wouldn’t make it back in time for the next full moon,” Bastian argued. “And we’d be leaving Bloodhaven defenseless while we’re away.”
“It’s not like the two of us are providing any great protection for the village. People are still dying.”
“But the two of us stand a better chance of stopping the beast than the humans do.”
Isolde sighed. He was right, of course.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was looking at her. She could feel the heat of his gaze on the side of her face like a brand.
When she turned her head, their noses were a few scant inches apart. “Why haven’t you touched me since we got back from Wolf territory?” she blurted. The words were out before she could stop herself.
Bastian said nothing—only stared at her. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it as he hesitated, and Isolde tracked the movement with her eyes. “I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he finally admitted.
Isolde blinked, taken aback. What could possibly have made you think that?
she almost asked, but then, she had been the one to withdraw from Bastian’s touch at the banquet, hadn’t she?
With Selene watching, and the array of absolutely confounding feelings which she’d been avoiding like the plague, she’d gotten spooked. She’d pulled away.
For the most part, she still didn’t know what the hell she was feeling for him.
She didn’t care if Selene disapproved, she decided.
He was her… friend, she thought. Her friend, who filled her with burning desire at every touch, and for whom she was prepared to slaughter every person who had ever harmed him.
Her friend, who she desperately wished would kiss her.
“I do,” she told him softly.
She’d partially expected him to lunge for her as soon as the confession left her lips—to seize her mouth in a searing kiss and lay her down and shatter her with his fingers between her thighs.
But all he did was flick his eyebrows upward. His breath ghosted over her lips, the heat of it a stark contrast to the cold night air. But he still didn’t touch her.
“Is that so?” His voice was an octave lower than it had been before.
Isolde swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Tell me where you’d like me to touch you, Isolde.”
Oh, fuck. That fluttering sensation was back and stronger than ever, like a million tiny moths had taken up residence in her stomach. Right along with it came a flood of heat between her thighs, which she had to clench together to keep from squirming where she sat.