CHAPTER 8
Isabella's POV
The light above my bed buzzed and flickered, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow that made me look like a side character in a low-budget horror movie.
I'd been lying here since Aleric made his dramatic exit. My neck still burned, the mark pulsing every time my hand brushed over it.
It's like having a second heart, only this one is uninvited, creepy, and probably doesn't have health insurance.
Mrs. Sabrina had come back with a fresh set of clothes, including a hoodie… and crutches.
She'd been surprisingly kinder than before, leaving the hoodie with a quiet warning to keep it hidden.
As if I was planning to go out and start a trend for 'Demonic Mating Marks.' Trust me, Doc, I'm not exactly looking for the attention.
I glanced at the black hoodie. My new uniform. High-fashion 'Witness Protection' chic.
I had no real sense of time, but judging by the soul-crushing silence, it had to be close to midnight.
No phone, because according to Mother, 'a girl like me doesn't need one. Right. Because being able to call for help while trapped in a rusty-wolfsbane laced trap would just be 'entitled behavior.'
I hadn't even seen her shadow since I woke up. I shouldn't be surprised she hasn't visited, but it still stings to know your own mother couldn't even fake a 'get well soon' card.
The mark throbbed faintly again, dragging a hiss from my lips. My mind kept replaying that night. The way that monster's bones shifted, its body rebuilding while it treated me like a Capri Sun.
Those red eyes were burned into my retinas. A lifetime of night terrors to look forward to.
I dragged myself up with a groan. The hospital gown was drafty and uncomfortable, so I reached for the clothes.
Getting the hoodie on was easy. Pulling the trousers over my bandaged leg? That was a whole other war.
"Damn it!" I hissed as the fabric caught on the bandages. I tugged harder, my frustration bubbling over.
The mark on my neck flared hotter, perhaps reacting to my mood. I finally yanked the trousers on and grabbed the crutches.
They looked simple enough. Shouldn't be that hard, right? I'd seen people use them in movies.
Apparently, movies lie.
The moment I tried to stand, the right crutch staged a mutiny. It slid, my leg buckled, and I slammed against the edge of the bed with a thud that probably woke up the morgue.
"Fuck!" I gasped, clutching the sheets. My body trembled, and for a split second, I felt a flicker of emotion that wasn't mine.
Anger. Cold, sharp, and ancient. It vanished as fast as it came. "What the hell…" I whispered, pressing a hand to my neck.
The mark pulsed again, slower now, almost in rhythm with my heartbeat.
The hoodie's hood slipped forward as I adjusted the fabric, covering the spot completely.
I glanced at my reflection in the small metal panel across the room. Same pale skin. Same tired eyes. Same haunted look.
But deep down, something felt… wrong.
Like somewhere out there, someone else was just as restless as I was.
I shook the thought off and reached for the door handle, testing my balance on the crutches again.
If it were Selena who was hurt, everyone would've been falling over themselves to carry her—including Aleric.
I clenched my jaw, forcing the tears back.
"Get it together, Isa," I muttered, pushing the door open.
The hallway smelled like disinfectant and old stone. The sound of my crutches echoed too loud, practically announcing my escape to the entire compound.
Thump. Squeak. Thump. Squeak. Real stealthy, Isa.
Why was I leaving? Because if I didn't get home and start the chores, my 'birth giver' would likely finish what the bear trap started, hospital bill be damned.
The outside air hit me like a physical slap. I pulled the hood tighter, moving toward the main compound.
The pack house loomed in the distance, glowing with a warmth I knew better than to trust.
It should feel like home, but it's always felt more like a prison with better landscaping.
My leg burned, and that stupid mark burned deeper.
"Stop it," I hissed at my own skin. But the more I ignored it, the more it pressed against my consciousness.
"We shouldn't be doing this." I halted. Two voices behind a tree.
Who is out at this hour? Probably not the patrol watch.
"Oh please, we are mates aren't we?" My stomach did a slow, agonizing flip. I knew that voice.
Every instinct told me to turn around and 'thump-squeak' my way back to bed, but my body wasn't listening.
The mark on my neck pulsed—sharp and hot. It was practically vibrating.
Slowly, I turned my head toward the trees. The faintest light flickered between the trunks.
Maybe from a phone screen, or maybe just the moon catching on something metallic.
I shouldn't look. But, of course, I did.
Curiosity is going to be the death of me, but then again, I've already been claimed by a nightmare, so what's a little more trauma?
I leaned in.