The trip to the vampire land started well before the sun came up, when it was still dark and the Moonlight Pack was asleep under trees covered in frost. A wagon, with dark steel made into fancy shapes that somehow made it seem pretty and scary, was waiting at the boundary. Vampire soldiers stood next to it without a sound, like statues and well-behaved. Isolde got in without stopping, even though her body told her to go back, to run away, to go back to the woods where she belonged.
Leslie sat across from her, sitting up very straight, with a face that showed nothing. He did not talk, and she did not either. The quiet between them felt like a tight rope, almost too much to bear, only broken by the sound of hooves on stone and the creak of magic wood under the wagon wheels. Outside, the view slowly changed, with fewer trees and more stone paths, fields lit by the moon becoming tall towers of black stone, the buildings sharp, angled, and very exact.
When the gates of the vampire city finally came into sight, Isolde was surprised. She thought she would see death, darkness, a strong place covered in blood and bones. Instead, she saw a city made with beauty, frightening in how lovely it was. The towers shone softly in the moonlight, with lights along the streets, a gentle light reflecting off silver ponds in stone fountains. Vampires moved without a sound, their steps smooth, careful, sure, their eyes polite but distant. Nothing about this fit the awful stories the old people had told for years.
As the wagon slowed down, she saw how everyone was paying attention, the respectful bows of vampires toward Leslie, exact, well-behaved, without fear, not like anything she had thought it would be. She got down next to him, walking with care, even though her heart beat fast in her chest. Most of the people kept bowing as they walked by. Except for one person.
A female vampire stood at the side of the group, her red eyes focused on Isolde with strong, clear anger. Her body was stiff, quiet, a challenge. The soft growl from Isolde's wolf surprised her, the feeling of warning scratching under her skin. Leslie looked at the woman quickly, and for the first time, Isolde saw something in his eyes, small but clear. He got tense, then slowly, unwillingly, Isolde looked down, bowing as if she knew what to do, and the anger in the woman's eyes went away, leaving only careful watching. Isolde remembered the moment, feeling uneasy.
Leslie led her through the palace doors. The hallways were huge, with shiny stone covered in old symbols that buzzed with quiet power. Soldiers stood still at every opening, quiet unless someone spoke to them. The air was cooler than in the woods, calm, comforting in a way that strangely reminded her of the stress in her chest. The palace felt alive, as if it could know she was there and measure her.
They went into the Judgment Hall, a large room where the spy's trial would happen. Isolde thought there would be drama, scary stuff, maybe even cruelty. But instead, everything was careful and surprisingly fair. The proof was shown clearly. The betrayer admitted it because of magic that made them tell the truth. Messages that were meant to hurt both countries were shown. The doubts that the elders back home had put in her head finally went away. The spy was guilty.
She felt relief, but it was also a little sad. The truth often made her wonder more instead of feeling better. Leslie's words from before came back to her: "You will see the truth for yourself." They felt heavier than she thought they would.
When the trial was over, Leslie moved aside, letting her pass without saying anything. He stayed away on purpose, almost like he was being respectful, as if he wouldn't bother her unless she asked him to. His holding back made her uneasy. She walked through the halls toward the guest area, her body tired, the palace making her feel small with its grandness and quiet, cold power.
Then it happened to her.
A sudden, spinning feeling that made the floor seem to move under her, her sight blurry, her heart beating strangely. She reached for the wall, but her fingers slipped off.
Before she fell to the floor, a rush of cold air came around her, and then arms, strong, steady, and super fast, caught her.
She gasped, her breath catching. "Put me down," she said, even though her voice shook even as she tried not to let it.
He didn't do it.
Leslie held her, strong but gently, like he was holding something both breakable and special. He moved so smoothly that she hardly felt her weight change. His face was cold, like it was carved from ice, his jaw tight, his eyes looking at her closely with a curiosity she couldn't understand.
He carried her through a long hallway, quiet and steady. "Leslie," she said sharply, trying to make her voice sound strong even though she didn't feel it. "I said put me down."
"No," he said calmly, his voice steady and sure. "You are not feeling well."
"I can walk," she argued.
"You could not," he replied simply, and that was the end of the discussion.
The doors to her room opened before he even got to them, as if the palace itself listened to him. Inside, the room was big, dark, with small crystal lights on the ceiling that shone like stars. It was colder than any wolf's home, but there was a peacefulness in the cold.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked. "I have a guest room."
"You would not have made it there," he said calmly.
Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you care?"
For a second, a feeling crossed his face, small but clear, a tightening around his eyes, a breath that was too quick to be fake. He turned away, hiding it right away. "My kingdom cannot risk you collapsing, and neither can the alliance," he said finally, but the truth behind the words hurt more than any sword.
Her wolf was scratching at her chest, pushing forward, wanting to be noticed. The connection between them got stronger, sharp and real. Her breath shook as she tried to calm it down.
This isn't supposed to be occurring. This connection shouldn't be present. Her inner animal shouldn't react to him.
Leslie went to the opposite part of the space, making sure to stay far away, but he still seemed stressed and ready, looking at her with a careful focus she hadn't witnessed before.
"You aren't protected the way you are," he mentioned gently.
"What do you mean by that?" she questioned sharply.
"You're very tired," he explained, "and your wolf is… unstable."
She gasped slightly. He could feel it. Her inner animal flared up once more, stronger than before, agitated and restless.
No. Not in this place. Not at this moment.
She made an effort to suppress the feeling, holding back the worry growing inside her.
Leslie's eyes never moved from her. Not with desire, not with control, but with a feeling that made her much more uneasy: worry. Genuine, clear worry.
"You need to get some sleep," he stated calmly.
And at that instant, Isolde understood, her wolf was alert, fully conscious, and something within her had changed. Something permanently linked to the man standing on the ot
her side of the room. And they couldn't ignore that fact any longer.