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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ISOLDE

“You’re damned right, we will,” he says, his voice a low growl that vibrates through the cavern.

His eyes, burning with amber flecks, lock onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath.

“Bound. Officially. Forever.” He steps forward, cupping my face, his thumbs brushing away the last of my tears.

“My name, my mark, my vow, my soul. All yours, Isolde.”

“A fated bond,” William murmurs, his gaze sweeping over the statues, over the ancient script. “Sealed in blood and power. Yes. It is time.” He moves to my other side, his presence a dark, reassuring weight. “My life is already yours, my queen.”

A thought strikes me as he says this. Perhaps this is his way back to full corporeality.

Cassiel’s silver eyes, usually so analytical, now hold a fierce, almost desperate devotion. “The celestial and the supernatural, the living and the resurrected, the fated and the fallen. A court unlike any this world has seen. If this is our path, then I walk it with you, Isolde. To whatever end.”

Their words weave around me, binding me tighter than any spell.

The whispers in my head fall silent, momentarily silenced by the sheer force of our collective will.

Looking at the three powerful, dangerous, magnificent beings standing with me, their devotion a force to be reckoned with, I feel a surge of power that has nothing to do with Sanguinarch abilities.

This is strength. This is unity.

“Then we’ll do this,” I repeat, my voice ringing with a conviction that banishes the last vestiges of fear. The crown awaits, and Damadere with it. But they won’t find just one Sanguimonarch. They’ll find a court, ready to rewrite destiny.

“When?” William asks, his gaze boring into mine with an intensity that alerts me to the fact he has had the same thought as I did. He thinks this will make him whole without the use of the runes.

“Soon. We need to prepare so this is done right, perfect.”

“Agreed,” Cassiel says. “We need to do this with all the strength we possess.”

I nod and look around, my gaze skating over Elise Morvoren. I gulp and look away. “Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

None of the guys questions that.

We make our way back through the tunnel, the truth wards flickering dimly now that we’ve passed through them once.

The antechamber feels almost mundane after the overwhelming presence of the true Sanctuary. I drop blood onto the floor again, and we emerge into the Bell Tower with relief I don’t bother hiding.

“I suppose we’d better hit the dining hall and then get some rest,” I mutter, but a blur hurtling towards me doesn’t give the guys a chance to answer.

I’m knocked off my feet, landing flat on my back with a large, rabid werewolf standing over me, his paws on my chest, pushing down with the strength of a mountain.

“Hey,” CJ snaps and punches, I’m guessing, Benz in the snout. “Get your fucking filthy paws off her.”

Benz, being in wolf form, can’t speak, so he growls louder, snarling and hissing in absolute fury.

Benz’s massive jaws snap at my throat. I roll sideways just as his teeth would have torn out my jugular. His claws rip through my chest, and pain flares, but it’s nothing compared to the rage that explodes through me.

“You’ve come back for another round? How many times will your family bring you back before they feel you’re a liability?

” I snarl, power blooming from my hands.

This is my go-to. My defensive magic that I was born with.

But it’s backed up by a heavy dose of whatever else lurks in my blood now, and I think Benz can see it.

William moves with vampire speed, grabbing Benz by the scruff and hurling him across the courtyard. The werewolf hits a stone wall with a sickening crack but recovers instantly, his yellow eyes blazing with murderous rage.

That’s when I notice we’re not alone. Other werewolves emerge from the shadows around the Bell Tower, at least six of them, all in wolf form and radiating the barely contained violence of their beast nature. Benz’s friends have come for revenge and a spot of aggression to light up their night.

Well, they picked the wrong fuckers to mess with.

CJ, William and Cass circle me, protecting me while they keep their eyes on the circling wolves.

“Pack tactics,” CJ growls, his markings flaring to life beneath his skin. “They want to overwhelm us with numbers. See, this is why I fucking hate wolves.”

“Let them try,” William says, his voice carrying the cold promise of violence. His hands glow with dark energy, the power of a century’s worth of suppressed rage finally given form.

Cassiel’s wings snap out to their full span, black feathers rustling with anticipation. I duck as one nearly whacks me in the head, and I growl.

He chuckles. “Sorry. Six wolves, four of us. I like those odds.”

Benz throws back his head and howls. The sound echoes across the courtyard, a challenge that makes my blood sing with answering fury. The other wolves take up the call, their voices weaving together in a symphony of threat and promise.

“Are they actually calling for more?”

“Yeah,” Cass replies. “This isn’t just revenge. It’s a declaration of war.”

“Then let’s give them one,” CJ snarls, and suddenly he moves. His vampire speed, combined with something I now know as draconic, makes him undeniably deadly as he slams into Benz with bone-crushing force.

“My money’s on Aquila!”

The cry of the students around us as they descend for the fight of the term, placing odds and cheering on their picks. Of course, no one bets on me. But I don’t give a shit.

I see Cordelia on the sidelines, and she purses her lips at me. Then she calls out, “Ten on Morvoren. I saw what she did to him last time!”

And that’s when chaos erupts.

All eyes swivel to me as the battle escalates around us.

William’s magic tears through two wolves simultaneously, dark energy shredding fur and flesh.

Cassiel launches himself into the air, launching black-tinged golden magic orbs at the wolves.

They howl and move out of his range, circling me, boxing me in.

The wolves think they’ve got me trapped. How fucking wrong they are.

Silver light erupts from my hands. The wolves closest to me yelp and stumble backwards, their supernatural senses overwhelmed by the raw power arcing from my palms. But I’m not done. Not even close.

I reach out with my consciousness, extending it as William taught me, but this time I don’t target floating spheres of blood. I target the wolves’ blood.

“Mine,” I whisper, and suddenly I can feel their heartbeats, taste their blood on my tongue without ever touching them.

The nearest wolf, a grey beast with scars across his muzzle, takes a tentative step forward. His mistake. I lock onto his life force and squeeze.

He drops mid-stride, convulsing as I manipulate the blood in his veins.

“Holy shit,” someone in the crowd breathes. “She’s not even touching him.”

The other wolves whimper, suddenly uncertain. They can sense what I’m doing to their packmate, feel the wrongness of it in their bones. Benz, still grappling with CJ, lets out a frustrated howl.

“Isolde,” William calls, his voice tight with something between pride and concern. “Make it boil.”

“What?” I shout back.

He gives me that wicked smile as a wolf dives on him, and I focus on the wolf whose blood I’m connected to.

“Boil,” I murmur and then watch as the wolf screams.

My stomach clenches, and I end his life with a flick of my fingers. I’m not a torturer, but I won’t stand by and be killed or have my guys hurt by these creatures.

The bell tolls to inform us all to quit it as the dead wolf hits the ground with a wet thud, steam rising from its corpse. The remaining wolves back away, their bravado evaporating as they see what they’re truly facing.

“Anyone else?” I ask, my voice carrying across the suddenly silent courtyard. Silver light still crackles around my hands. I can feel the blood of every creature within fifty yards calling to me.

Benz shifts back to human form, bloodied from his fight with CJ. His eyes burn with hatred. “This isn’t over, Morvoren,” he snarls, backing toward the shadows with his surviving friends. “You can’t kill us all.”

“Watch me,” I reply, taking a step forward.

The wolves flee.

The crowd of students who’d gathered to watch erupts in a mixture of cheers and nervous laughter. I hear someone collecting on bets, Cordelia’s voice rising above the rest as she claims her winnings.

“Show’s over,” CJ announces, examining a vicious claw mark that has ripped his shirt and chest open. His flesh is healing, but he’s furious about his clothes. “Everyone back to whatever the fuck you were doing, and if any one of you rips my fucking clothes again, you are deader than dead.”

The students disperse reluctantly, casting glances over their shoulders as they go. Within minutes, the courtyard is empty except for the four of us and one very dead werewolf.

“Well,” William says, his eyes alight, “that was invigorating.”

“I might’ve known it would be you four,” Blackridge’s voice echoes around the courtyard.

“Like you didn’t already know,” William points out.

They exchange a loaded stare before Blackridge turns his stare to me. “Miss Morvoren.”

“Sir,” I say, lifting my chin a fraction higher.

“He is dead.”

“I’m aware.”

“I mean, he is dead-dead. He won’t resurrect.”

I glance quickly down at the wolf before I stare into Blackridge’s abyss gaze. “He won’t?”

He shakes his head. “You picked one of the creatures who has no backup plan.”

“Well, that was dumb,” William mutters.

“Not everyone is as skilled at avoiding death, Mr Harrington, as I’m sure you are aware.”

William hisses, his fangs extending.

“Enough of that, Mr Harrington, unless you want to start a fight you can’t and won’t win,” Blackridge states, his voice carrying an authority that even William seems to acknowledge, albeit reluctantly.

“Back to your rooms. Curfew is in place for you four, seeing as you can’t seem to keep yourselves out of trouble. ”

“What?” CJ snaps. “She needs to feed.”

“Perhaps you should’ve thought of that before you took on a pack of wolves.”

“They started it!” William snarls.

“I’m fairly certain that I spoke English, a language you all understand, so please move. Now. Before you force me to move you myself.”

I don’t give him a chance. I’m gone before the guys catch up with me.

He is seriously pissed, although by his outward attitude you wouldn’t know it.

But I felt his power rippling under the surface.

Malevolent, oily, sickeningly powerful. I won’t give him an excuse to lay his hands on me again. Not ever.

“Your own rooms,” Blackridge calls after us, his voice resonating off the buildings.

“My room is your room,” William says with a wink.

“Unless he moves you,” I mutter.

“Let him try,” he mutters back.

We reach my room without further incident, though the corridors are filled with whispering students who melt away as we approach. The news of the wolf pack’s defeat has spread like wildfire, and apparently, so has Blackridge’s pronouncement.

“So,” I say, once the door is shut behind us. “My room is your room?” I look directly at William.

He gives me a roguish grin. “Always, my queen.”

CJ scoffs. “Don’t encourage him. Blackridge is looking for any excuse to make your life difficult.”

“My life is already difficult,” I point out. “A pack of werewolves just tried to kill me, The Collectors want to turn me into a god or a display piece, and Damadere wants me dead. You two really should go to your own rooms.”

“And give him the chance to have you all to himself?” CJ says with a glare at William. “I don’t think so.”

Cassiel, who has been unusually quiet, finally speaks. “It can always get worse. Blackridge’s curfew is more than just punishment. It’s a message.”

“A message?” I ask.

“He’s reasserting control,” William explains. “Showing us, and anyone else watching, that he’s still the one in charge here at SilverGate.”

“And that we’re his pieces to move on the board,” CJ adds darkly.

The weight of it settles on me. We’re powerful, yes, but still constrained by forces beyond our immediate control. The fight with the wolves was a skirmish, not the war.

“So, we obey the curfew?” I ask, already chafing at the restriction.

“For now,” Cassiel says. “We pick our battles. And tonight, the battle is to do as he says.”

“And feed.” William offers his wrist, his eyes burning with an intensity that has nothing to do with anger.

I take it without hesitation, sinking my fangs into his flesh. His blood floods my senses, strong and vital, infused with the echoes of his resurrected life and the dark power of the runes now thrumming beneath his skin. It’s a potent cocktail, and I drink deeply, feeling my strength returning.

CJ and Cassiel watch, a silent understanding passing between them. The dynamics of our court are shifting, solidifying. Blackridge may be able to control us as students, but he underestimates the bonds we’re forging.

The bonds of blood, desire, and defiance.