Page 32 of Breaking Isolde

I don’t rise, don’t flinch. “I figured you’d like the chase.”

He grins, but there’s no humor in it. “You could have just asked.”

“Didn’t think you were that easy,” I say.

He shrugs and pushes off the door, walking toward me with a measured pace. His boots make no sound on the gravel, but his presence is loud enough to fill the room.

He stops a few feet away, studies me with the focus of a biologist dissecting a frog. His gaze lingers on the bruises at my throat, the marks on my wrists. I keep my hands in my lap, fingers threaded, refusing to cover up.

“What do you want, Isolde?”

The way he says my name makes me want to scream. It’s raspy and low, and deep and sexy. It does things to me that I don’t want. I swallow it down, let the silence breathe for a few seconds. “I want to know why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you do it,” I snap, sharper than intended. “Why you hurt people just because you can.”

His smile doesn’t waver. “I don’t hurt people. You just think I do.”

“You killed my sister.”

He laughs, soft and incredulous. “Still on that, huh?”

“I saw the files. I know about the Hunt. I know you’re a monster, but I want to know why.”

He walks forward and then crouches down, leveling his face with mine. The sunlight through the fractured glass paints his skin in a mess of shadows. “Because it’s what I am,” he says. “Becausesomeone has to be the predator. Why does anyone do anything at this place? Because it’s the only way to matter.”

“Bullshit,” I say. “You matter without the violence. You could have done anything.”

He straightens, brushes imaginary dust from his knee. “Not anymore.”

“Why me?” I demand. “Why Casey? Was it just the Board, or did you actually want to?”

He sighs, like he’s bored of the conversation already. “With Casey, it was… complicated.”

I glare. “Try me.”

He steps forward, close enough now that I can smell the cinnamon gum he’s chewing, the cologne. His hand comes up, slow and deliberate, and he brushes a strand of hair from my face. I slap his hand away.

He grabs my chin, fingers digging into my jaw. “You want the story, Issy? Fine. Casey was picked for the Night Hunt. Smart, loyal, meek. She was supposed to be mine. Forever.”

“Did she even have a choice?”

“She hated me at first. Much like you do now. But she grew to appreciate me. Except on the night of the Hunt. Then she gotscared. I almost caught her. Almost completed the ritual.” His voice drops, almost a whisper. “But she freaked out and ran. It was wet. Slippery.”

I twist my head, break his grip. “She ran because she was scared of you.”

He shakes his head. “No. Because she was scared of what she’d become if she stayed. She wanted out. But there’s no out, not for people like us. Not once you’re chosen.”

I swallow. My hands shake, but I keep them visible. “So you chased her.”

He grins. “I always catch what I chase.”

“But you didn’t,” I say. “You let her die.”

The words hang in the air. He blinks, once, slow. “That’s not how it happened.”

“Tell me,” I say. “Tell me everything.”