Linton's POV
Bernard responds with a casual shrug, his voice flat and unaffected.
I watch Isabel's body convulse as her wolf tears at her from the inside, the same agony I once endured reflected in her twisted features. She drops to her hands and knees, retching violently as whatever food she'd consumed earlier spills onto the floor. I turn my head away, remembering all too well the sensation of my body betraying me in similar ways.
The hospital room after Wellington's death remains the only reason I'm still breathing. My body had craved death, needed it, but those sterile white walls gave me time to heal from the miscarriage that nearly destroyed me. Five years of carrying that particular brand of hell, and I still feel its echo in moments like these.
"Isabel-"
"Don't you dare speak to me!" Her voice cracks with pain and fury. "Just don't fucking say another word."
"How exactly is any of this my responsibility?" His tone drips with mockery.
