The argument was there even before the sunrise.
Isolde exited her chamber, considering it to be a serene morning, but instead, the leaders were there, enraged like statues of granite.
Twenty pairs of eyes followed her every step, their aversion being so intense that it made the atmosphere suffocating. Duke Jordan was about to intervene when Elder Rowan halted him by raising his hand.
"You need to stop, Luna," Rowan said, his tone lacking any warmth. "We are doubting your leadership. The group should be calm."
"Calm?" Isolde said, her voice barely audible but still very assertive. "I have been the leader when there was a war, famine, and the collapse of the government. I am calm."
There was a murmur of discontent from the crowd but they stood their ground.
"It was the death of your husband that made you different," a member of the council stated, "and now you are involved with the vampire king. Your emotions are leading you to make decisions without thinking."
The words hurt her deeply, like a physical blow. She acted without thinking first, because she refused to obey, because she preferred freedom over being controlled. Her anger quickly increased, and her inner wolf became alert and ready. She wanted to snarl, to show them that she was strong, not weak, and that they had no right to judge her. But she forced herself to breathe deeply and calm down.
"You will not question my abilities again," she warned them.
The words seemed empty and meaningless even as she spoke them. She was weary, so tired of battling sadness, tired of political games, and tired of the leaders constantly doubting her. And beneath all of that, a little bit of fear began to grow stronger. What if they are correct? What if I am losing my control?
She turned away quickly so they couldn't see her hands trembling slightly.
---
She went to the only place the leaders never visited: the office of her dead husband. The smell of old paper and dust filled the air as she entered, reminding her of memories she both loved and feared. Carlos's desk remained unchanged, exactly as he had left it four years ago. She shut the door and pressed her hands against her eyes.
It was too overwhelming, all of it happening at once. Her inner wolf felt restless, pacing back and forth inside her spirit.
Then something shifted. There was a pull, a sudden burst of raw energy unlike anything she had ever experienced. Her wolf reached out, not to her own group, not to her family, but to someone else entirely. Someone forbidden. Someone impossible.
She gasped, trying to stop the feeling, but she was too late. Her wolf had already acted.
A few minutes later, a cold sensation touched her, and the door opened. Leslie walked in. His presence dominated the room, composed and precise, powerful but also different somehow. There was a small crease between his eyebrows, a slight stiffness in his shoulders, as if he was trying to understand something new.
"You called," he said.
Not a greeting, not a question. Just a statement of fact.
Isolde's heart skipped a beat.
"No… I didn't," she whispered softly.
Leslie tilted his head slightly. "Your wolf did."
Her stomach dropped with a sudden feeling of dread.
"That can't be true," she said, even though the shaky sound of her voice made it clear that she was scared. "Wolves and vampires can't share thoughts. That connection only occurs when they are life partners, and we, "
She stopped speaking. Leslie remained completely still. He simply watched her, his eyes calm but not unkind.
"I sensed you were troubled," he stated quietly. "A strong signal. Not spoken aloud, just felt. It brought me here."
She gasped softly. Her inner wolf moved closer inside her, ears perked up, tail tucked, drawn to the vampire king in a way she couldn't explain. She fought against it, but the connection buzzed under her skin like a gentle, constant vibration.
This should not be happening. This can never be happening. But it was.
She checked his face, looking for any signs that he was making fun of her, but she didn't see any. Instead, his face became a little softer, not by much, but enough that she noticed the change.
"That's not how it works," he said. "Vampires can't usually understand what wolves are feeling."
"Then how could you pick up on what I was feeling?" she asked without thinking first.
There was a quiet moment. She saw something flash in his eyes that she couldn't place, maybe it was confusion, or something deeper, something hidden away.
"I have no idea," he finally answered.
His honesty made her more uncomfortable than if he had lied to her.
---
They stayed standing, looking at one another in the silent office, not knowing what to say. The tension between them had moved beyond just differing political views or being caught in a difficult situation. It was now something delicate yet real: a bond that was forming even though they were resisting it.
Why did he persist in behaving like that? Why did he take her stress so lightly? Why was it that her wolf wanted to be with him rather than with her own people?
Leslie began moving as if she were going to leave. "Your leaders didn't speak softly. The problems with your group are dragging you down," he stated.
She stiffened. "I don't need you to take care of me."
"That much is clear," he replied. "But I still saw that you were upset."
There was neither pride in his voice nor an attempt to offend, just honesty. She averted her gaze, not being able to meet his, her chest tight with a puzzling mixture of irritation, fear, and something unfamiliar.
"You are not supposed to know what I am feeling," she said.
"And still," he said, "I am."
The space between them was filled with a quiet, clear truth that weighed on their shoulders. Something, indeed, had changed. He could see that she was getting frightened even though she was trying to hide it.
"The connection," he was going to say.
", cannot be real," she finished quickly.
Indicating that he felt the same he slowly shook his head. "I think the same."
Without making any movement, both of them were still standing. They continued to face each other without turning their eyes away. The thing that they both knew but didn't say was there. It wasn't just a feeling or a mistake. It was like a crack forming in the wall between them, a scary crack, a scary beginning.
Isolde experienced a terror that pierced deep into her. If her wolf still longed for him, and Leslie also wanted it, not even a
national treaty could define what they had. She was genuinely scared of the consequences.