40. Isolde
CHAPTER FORTY
ISOLDE
B astian carried Isolde upstairs, cleaned her up with a damp cloth, and tucked her into his bed. He slipped into the sheets behind her, and Isolde listened to the steady, even rhythm of his breathing, basking in his warmth until dawn began to approach.
In the gray stillness before the sun rose, Bastian walked her through the bloodied streets, back to the cabin. He held her hand all the way up onto the porch, where he wound his arms around her waist and pulled her in for a soft, lingering kiss.
The taste of him exploded on her tongue like the first ripe berry of summer, sweet and tart and spicy all at once.
With his blood coursing through her, everything was heightened.
His taste, his scent, the heat of his hands on her waist. Isolde was half convinced she could fly with the strength feeding from him lent her.
“The Wolf got away,” he murmured, drawing away from her mouth to bury his nose in her hair. “I’ll meet you here for patrol tomorrow night. We can walk to town hall together.”
“I can take care of myself, you know,” Isolde told him. She grinned at his words, though, nipping playfully at the shell of his ear. “I don’t need some big strong Werewolf to protect me.”
“No,” Bastian agreed, “but maybe I need a beautiful, scary Vampire to protect me . Did you ever think of that?”
“Well, no,” Isolde said, drawing back just enough to see Bastian’s face. “But now that you mention it, that sounds like a title I might be amenable to.”
Bastian chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest. Isolde could count on one hand the number of times she’d heard him laugh, and God, did she cherish the sound of it.
But the smile melted off his face as he studied hers.
His brown gaze tracked over her features, lingering on her eyes, her mouth, the little triangle of her throat that her cloak didn’t cover.
He lifted one hand from her waist, reaching up to pinch a loose strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger.
“Like moonlight,” he murmured, his eyes swimming with awe as he gazed at that piece of hair. Just like he had that night on the roof, when he first called her moonbeam. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You just say that because you’ve only ever seen it at nighttime,” Isolde said. “You might find it perfectly ordinary if you saw it in the sunlight.”
“No,” Bastian insisted. “It would be glorious in the sunlight, too. Like when the moon and the sun are in the sky at the same time.”
Isolde’s heart clenched at the longing in his voice—at the way it so perfectly mirrored the longing she felt within herself. Longing for the kiss of the sun on the crown of her head, its warmth on her cheeks.
Longing for something she’d never feel again.
Bastian’s breath coasted across her brow, warm and sweet-smelling from the jam he’d eaten before they left. It wasn’t the sun, but to Isolde, it was pretty damn close.
He dropped the strand of her hair, reaching instead for the hood of her cloak. He smoothed his thumb along the silken lining. “Will you tell me the real reason for the silk now?”
It was the only fabric I could find that was the exact shade of blood, she’d told him the last time he asked. Hides the stains if I make a mess when I feed.
That hadn’t been a lie, really. The silk was the color of blood, and it did hide the stains.
But that wasn’t the reason her cloak was lined with it.
“Selene had it made for me,” Isolde told Bastian softly, reaching up to touch the fabric herself. “From the dress I was wearing the day she turned me.”
“The day she…” Bastian trailed off, his eyes darkening with realization as they dropped to the crimson fabric. “The day those men nearly killed you.”
Isolde let go of Bastian to draw the edges of the cloak more closely around herself, tucking her chin against the lining. “They did kill me,” she whispered. “Selene just brought me back.”
“I wish you hadn’t killed those men,” Bastian murmured, voice low, “so that I could hunt them down and rip them to pieces myself.”
Isolde gave him a little smile. “Selene gave me the cloak the day I set out to find them. Wear it as a reminder , she told me. Of what you were, and what you are now. Of the strength you’ve gained.”
“She loves you.”
Isolde nodded. “She’s like a mother. She’s always known exactly what I need to keep from breaking.”
Bastian’s eyes turned sad. She wondered if he’d had that with Anselm before he’d been turned, or if no one had ever taken care of him the way Selene had taken care of her.
Isolde wound her arms around his neck, sliding her fingers into his hair to draw him down for a deep, languid kiss. He gave a low hum off approval as she swept her tongue along the seam of his mouth, his hands tightening on her waist.
When they broke apart, they were both breathless. The shadows around them were lightening, a tinge of golden light shining in the east.
“Goodnight, moonbeam,” Bastian murmured. He pressed a kiss between her brows.
Isolde bit her lip, trying and failing to suppress a smile. “Good morning, Bastian.”
That got another low chuckle out of him, and Isolde tried to memorize the sound as he released her and stepped off the porch, heading back toward Bloodhaven.
As Isolde turned to go inside, she braced herself for Selene’s anger.
Dawn light kissed the horizon, she was clad from head to toe in Bastian’s clothes, since her own dress had been ruined, and she hadn’t bothered to let Selene know she was alright after the Wolf attack.
If Selene had been mad at her before, she was sure to be full of rage now.
But as Isolde came through the door, Selene didn’t even look up.
She stood over the settee, cramming items into a leather pack.
Dried blood stained the side of her face and smeared her chest, and her hair spilled out of the chignon she’d pinned it in for the festival.
She still wore her festival dress, too, though the skirt was slashed to ribbons and one sleeve hung on by a thread.
“Selene?” Isolde said warily. “What are you doing?”
Selene’s head snapped up, like she hadn’t noticed Isolde until then. “The Wolf escaped,” she said. Her voice sounded… off, but not in the way Isolde had expected. “I chased it south for miles. Finally caught up with it—had it trapped. It put up a fight. Almost killed me.”
She kept shoving things into her pack—knives, shirts, books. A second pack sat beside that one, already bulging with things.
“Okay.” Isolde edged closer, scanning Selene for lingering wounds. All she found was dried blood, the skin beneath her ruined dress healed to perfect smoothness, just like Isolde’s. “Are you going somewhere?”
“I’m going north.”
“To the Vampire coven?”
Selene didn’t answer right away, focused as she was on cramming the last of her things into the bag. “Yes,” she finally said. “They need to know what’s happened, now that there’s been another attack.”
Oh, God. Getting the whole Vampire coven involved would mean war .
“You don’t think it would be better to go back to Wolf territory?” Isolde suggested carefully. “To talk to Anselm?—”
“ No,” Selene barked. She went still, the pack forgotten, her eyes a little unfocused as she stared at Isolde.
“We tried solving things with the Wolves peacefully, and the beast came back. It slaughtered a dozen humans and maimed fifty more. The Pact is violated. I have no choice but to inform the others.”
“Will they even believe you?” Isolde reasoned. “Last night wasn’t a full moon. You didn’t believe me when I thought it was a Wolf before, so I can’t see how the other Vampires will.”
“I saw it.” Selene lifted her hands, pressing her fingers against her eyes. “Everyone did.”
“Yes, but?—”
“Don’t argue with me, Isolde!”
Selene dropped her hands, and Isolde saw it written all over her Sire’s face.
The fear.
Isolde knew Selene angry. She knew her bored, and impatient, and vengeful, and worried. But she’d never seen her afraid.
“Let me come with you then,” Isolde said. “They’re more likely to believe both of us than just you.”
“No.” Selene shook her head, going back to her bags. “You need to stay here with Bastian. Protect the village if the Wolf comes back.”
Isolde frowned. Yesterday morning, Selene had told her to stay far, far away from Bastian, and now she wanted her to stay with him?
But she didn’t say anything about that.
“I need to rest,” Selene announced, apparently done packing. “I’m leaving at sundown.”
“Alright,” Isolde said. She watched Selene hurry into her bedroom and slam the door.
Isolde sat for a long while after that, frowning at the place where her Sire had disappeared. Just when she was about to give up and go to bed, one of the packs on the settee toppled sideways.
And an apple rolled out.
Brows furrowed, Isolde scooped up the apple and went to tuck it back into the bag. As she did, she glimpsed the rest of the pack’s contents—loaves of bread, hard cheese wrapped in cloth, more apples.
What need would Selene have for human food? And in Vampire territory?
But Isolde didn’t have a chance to ask Selene. She was gone before Isolde woke that night.