The silence was oppressive in the chamber.
Almost no light shimmered on the rock walls, throwing the long dark silhouettes that seemed to move their own restless dance. The red silk-covered bed in the middle looked like a royal seat, or an altar. Everything screamed out ancient rituals. Duties. Old habits of long before her ancestry.
And she was despising each and every bit of it.
Her heart was racing fast as she stood in the bright light of the moon from the window. The atmosphere was dense, as if it were something physical, and she felt that she could not take a breath. There was a wolf inside her that was moving right under her skin, its claws were scratching her ribs, and it was getting angry with every moment. Her chest was very tight, and she was gasping for air as if the air was trying to suffocate her.
I don't want this.
I don't want him.
The case of the door.
Without a change of expression, his icy blue eyes looked at her and immediately, and then he detached himself from the most formal outfit he was wearing for the practice. No hesitation, no awkward feeling, no pride, just him. Calm. Distant. Completely in control.
Especially, vampires did not feel shame.
Her heart was about to stop. She was leaning a little bit on the wall, her throat was tight, and she was trying not to move back.
"Strip."
The line struck her as a butcher's blade would.
She caught her breath. "What did you say?"
He was silent. He did not repeat the words. He only looked at her with indifference and from his province of a world where all this is just child's play, he gave no sign of it.
Breaking point was in the breach.
Her sorrow. Her rage. Wake up in the four years each time to an empty bed. The memory of Carlos, lifeless, crushed, branded. All these came flooding to the surface, in their bare and unyielding forms.
"Who do you think you are?" she said coldly, her hand trembling. "Me you command as if I were nothing? I am as if God himself didn't exist. I am as if without you my life would have been wonderful. Isn't that ironic? You came into my life and it crumbled."
"You're inhuman," she said furiously, tears escaping her eyes. "Demonic. I mean, I wish your entire family breaks down like wreckage,"
"Isolde." His voice stopped her from going on indifferently. It was not a command; it was a signal, not of wrath, but something else that he didn't recognize.
She ignored his voice and pointed her finger at him: "It was you who killed him! I saw the injuries! I saw how your bite tore into him. How much of him you left! Now, if you don't mind, can I just go? I can't stand it that you. are touching me? Are you branding me like a mere. a piece of property?"
Her voice faltered.
The silence was lethal, one could hardly breathe.
Leslie refused to move. Didn't argue. Didn't even try to defend himself. He simply allowed her ire to strike him as if he were a cliff beaten by the sea.
However… under that calm, very little, which she couldn't identify, changed. That very quick glimpse of distress. A signal that he was not a mere automat of authority.
After her tirade was over, dropping like a stone and gulping down air, it was his turn to speak.
"Your body has absolutely no appeal to me," he stated in a soft voice. "It's only the mark."
He should have calmed her with his serene state.
But, it was not so.
Instead, it was much worse. His icy manner, his incessant aloofness, and the absolute lack of sentiment in him – all these factors worked together to strengthen her hate towards him. She hated that her being was unrequired. She hated how he never doubted for a second. She hated how he wasn't even affected in the least bit.
However… there appeared to be some slight reserve there. Some hesitance to let go. That barricade was too carefully constructed.
Her stomach was twisting. The wolf within her was growling, and that low, deep, rumbling sound seemed to shake the whole room and resonate in her chest as if to warn her of something which she couldn't afford to turn a blind eye to.
"Okay," she slowly agreed, her voice barely made out, and it was a bit rough. "Why don't we just get this over with?"
Leslie slowly and cautiously came closer to her, as if she was not really willing to do it. The warmness of his exhale on her skin was very different from the way her inner wolf was reacting, which was to growl and even push the ribs as a warning, while it is quite strange that the hair on her neck and arms still went up, and this time she was not controlling it.
Then the fangs came down.
Her world came crashing down.
She was no longer in the special room. She found herself back in the forest scene. The cold air and wet grass were still there beneath her, and she could still see the lifeless stare of Carlos. His throat was ripped open. The bite. The mark.
"No. Not again. Not again", her brain was shouting, as it was very hard to keep the panic under control.
The inner wolf took charge of the woman. Pure instinct. Fear. Survival.
"Don't touch me!" she yelled and simultaneously, with the utmost command of her Alpha strength, she pushed him away.
When her hands hit him, he was sent flying into the air and thus, he came down heavily on the stone wall, making a loud sound, with his back firmly. Dust rose. A lamp flickered. The place rattled with the силы of her rage.
Her breath was coming quickly and unevenly. Her fingers were transforming into claws. Her eyes were on fire but she still had the strength not to shed tears.
Leslie did not resist.
He rose to his feet, his composure and willpower evident as dust slowly came off the wall behind him. His gaze fell on her, his face changing from one emotion to another and, at the least, seeming… accepting.
"Isolde," his voice was beginning to say.
"No," she said abruptly, her broken voice. "Don't even think of coming near me."
Her heart was feeling as if it had been torn apart.
"I just… I just can't," she said in a
very low voice. "Be the one that's marked by the person who left my husband's dead body."