For what seemed like a very long time, the only noise in the space was her shaky breathing, quick, uneven, almost like an animal.
Leslie stayed still.
He was still pinned to the wall she had pushed him against, dust falling from the cracked stone behind him. He stood incredibly straight, his face giving nothing away. There was no sign of anger. No hurt pride was visible. No intense rage showed in his cold eyes.
Only still, cold quiet.
Isolde got ready, her heart pounding in her chest. Vampires did not let disobedience go unpunished. Wolves who attacked someone royal, especially a king, hardly lived long enough to regret doing so.
But Leslie just breathed in once, his shoulders shifted slightly, and then, he turned away from her.
He grabbed his cloak that had been tossed on a chair, put it over his shoulders very calmly, and headed to the door without even looking back.
No words were spoken.
No threats were made.
No anger was displayed.
He left as quietly as he had come in.
The door clicked as it closed behind him, leaving just the shadows that remained and the light smell of incense in the air.
Isolde's legs finally gave out. She fell onto the side of the special bed, her chest rising and falling quickly, her hands shaking so hard she had to hold them tightly against the blanket to feel steady. The room seemed to echo with the memory of pushing him, the feeling of her hands hitting him with all of her raw, desperate strength.
Why didn't he stop me?
Why didn't he make the ritual happen?
Why did he just walk away?
Vampires never put up with not being obeyed. And they really didn't accept an Alpha wolf hitting one of them.
Her wolf hid deep inside her, its ears pulled back, just as confused.
"None of this makes any sense," she whispered to the empty room.
Leslie wasn't nice. He wasn't caring. He wasn't even completely human in any way she could understand. He was ruled by instinct, tradition, and rules older than almost everyone in the hall, rules that demanded being obeyed and being in control.
So why… why had he let her go?
Isolde curled up, holding the bedding very tightly. The smell of incense was still in the room, and the red fabric seemed to make fun of her. Everything felt wrong, heavy, like the air itself was pressing down on her.
Her body hurt from the adrenaline and fear, her mind was racing. She looked at the wall he had hit, waiting for some sign of happiness, some mark of winning, some reason for what happened.
But instead, all she felt was fear.
And a strange, upsetting confusion.
Minutes went by, or maybe hours; time felt strange, before she was so tired she fell into a light, uneasy sleep.
---
Morning came suddenly.
A knock on her door broke the fragile quiet, loud, demanding, unforgiving.
Before she could even get up, the elders rushed in, their faces showing their anger.
Elder Rowan didn't waste time with greetings. "What have you done?"
Elder Mara's arms were crossed tightly, her eyes full of anger. "The king left your room untouched. Do you even realize what you've put at risk?"
Isolde slowly stood up from where she was sitting by the window. Her body hurt, and her eyes looked tired because she hadn't slept well. Her voice was shaky but firm as she said, "I was defending myself."
"From what?" Rowan asked sharply. "A practice your family has followed for hundreds of years? A promise meant to keep our group safe?"
"Don't tell me about what we usually do," she replied quickly, her wolf nature starting to show. "I did what I needed to do."
"What you did," Mara said, her voice quiet and mean, "was to disrespect a very old ruler. It could be seen as betraying our people."
She tightened her jaw. "Then why is the king still going ahead with the wedding?"
The older members seemed unsure and worried.
Just then, as if her question had called him, the air changed, and a vampire messenger walked in, looking pale, smooth, and without any expression, moving like a shadow.
He held out a sealed letter on a silver plate, bowing slightly.
"For Luna Isolde. From His Majesty."
Her hands trembled slightly as she broke the seal, her heart beating fast. Inside was a short, fancy note:
"The marriage stands.
The ritual can wait."
, Leslie Reed
She gasped.
The older members' faces turned pale.
"What…?" Rowan stammered. "How, why would he…?"
"That's not what vampires usually do," Mara whispered, her voice shaking with disbelief.
The messenger didn't move, his face giving nothing away, and he bowed slightly before leaving.
Isolde read the words again. The ritual can wait.
Vampires didn't wait. Wolves didn't wait. Mates didn't wait.
Nothing about Leslie Reed fit with what she thought she knew.
Rowan looked at her closely. "What exactly did you do to him last night?"
Isolde looked back at him steadily. "Nothing that concerns you."
Mara's look could cut through anything. "His kindness doesn't protect you. The council will not allow things to be unstable."
The older members' warnings and accusations faded into the background as her heart pounded in her ears.
Why give me space?
Why abandon tradition?
Why give me control in a ritual that should have taken it away?
Her wolf felt uneasy, pacing inside her, with instincts she refused to listen to.
He didn't want to hurt you.
He held back.
He could have forced you… but he didn't.
Isolde stopped the thought, shaking her head. "No," she muttered quietly. "I won't think about that."
Leslie wasn't kind. He wasn't gentle. He wasn't human.
He was hiding something.
Something deeper than tradition. Something bigger than duty. Something no older member, no council, no human or immortal person could guess.
She held the note tightly, her fingertips pressing into the thin paper, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down harder than any physical pain.
And for the first time since the blood agreement, fear felt different in her chest, not fear of him, but of not knowing the reasons behind the cold mask he wore so carefully.
The political tension in her group was growing. The council was talking quietly in secret. The older members were almost panicking.
But none of it scared her as much as one thought:
What is Leslie Reed planning?
Being cruel was predic
table. Tradition was predictable. Vampire rules were predictable.
But what about a ruler who didn't do what he said?
That… was risky.