Chapter 70: Why do you look at me like that?

Chapter 70

The words felt like a physical slap, cold and sharp enough to make Isabella flinch. Never in a million years. She watched him as he turned away, his back a rigid line of defiance.

He picked up cup from the table. The air between them, which had been humming with a strange, tragic intimacy just moments ago, was now brittle.

He had retreated behind the throne, hiding the man she had glimpsed beneath the crown.

“Then why did you look at me like that?” Isabella’s voice was soft, but it stopped him at the door.

Lucian’s hand gripped the doorframe. His knuckles were still stained with the crimson evidence of his “offering.”

He didn’t turn around. Through the bond, Isabella felt a sudden spike of unease—not her own, but his.

It was a raw, bleeding emotion that he immediately tried to smother with a wave of icy indifference.

“I look at you as an investment, Isabella,” investment,

he said, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

“Nothing more. Do not mistake my necessity for affection. The Moon Goddess may be your mother, but she is my enemy. We are a paradox, you and I. A curse that should never have been woven together.”

He stepped out into the hallway, his silhouette momentarily blocking the light from the torches.

“Rest. Marco will bring your evening meal. Midnight, we find out if your ’anchor’ is a man or a memory.”

The door slammed shut, and Isabella collapsed onto the edge of the bed, her legs folding beneath her like water.

She lifted trembling fingers to her lips. The taste of his blood still lingered—metallic, salt-heavy… and hauntingly sweet.

A few days ago, she had nearly gagged on it.

Now?

Now she could drown in it with a smile.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered.

She looked toward the mirror.

When had the taste of blood become comforting? His blood. When had the thought of him being her mate stopped terrifying her… and started aching?

Her red-ringed eyes stared back from the glass. The gold in her hair was spreading.

It was no longer confined to the tips; it was bleeding upward, reclaiming the white strands in a slow, relentless tide. The transformation was patient. Inevitable.

She wanted this to be over. She wanted a mate to appear at midnight and pull her out of this nightmare. But would any man want her? The thought made her shut her eyes.

She would never wish her cursed existence on someone innocent….But a girl could dream, couldn’t she?Her thoughts drifted to her twin.

Selena.

They would turn eighteen together. No doubt the pack was already preparing a grand celebration. Flowers. Music. Silver banners. Everyone already believed Selena and Arleic were fated mates. It would be perfect. Clean. Blessed.

Everything Isabella’s life had never been.

The lock turned once more, the sound rasping against Isabella’s raw nerves. She expected Marco, or perhaps another cold visitation from the King, but it was Clara who slipped inside.

The witch looked worse than she had seen her a few days ago. Her skin was the color of curdled milk, and deep, charcoal shadows hung beneath her eyes.

It seemed her stay young magic is failing her too as she carried a heavy tray laden with roasted meat, bread, and a glass of water—solid, human food that looked utterly alien next to the blood Isabella had been consuming.

Clara moved with a strange stiffness. She walked to the small table, set the tray down with a clatter, and immediately turned to leave without so much as a glance toward the bed.

“Are you really not going to talk to me?” Isabella’s voice was small, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.

Clara didn’t stop. She reached for the door handle, her shoulders hunched as if she were carrying the weight of the mansion itself.

“I turn eighteen in a few hours,” Isabella pressed, standing up from the bed. The gold in her hair shimmered, catching the candlelight.

“Everything changes tonight. Hopefully, the universe corrects itself. Hopefully, I find my fated mate and he takes me far away from this place. Then Lucian will be yours again. You can go back to being whatever it is you want to be to him. Isn’t that what you’ve been waiting for?”

Clara’s hand froze on the latch. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the wind howling against the windowpane.

Then, the witch turned. Her expression wasn’t one of jealousy or anger; it was pure, unadulterated exhaustion. “You think this is about him?” Clara’s voice was a ragged whisper.

She took a step toward Isabella, her white eyes wide and bloodshot. “Do you honestly think I’m avoiding you because you ’got’ Lucian? Because you’re the one he bleeds for?”

She let out a harsh, bitter laugh that sounded like dry leaves skittering on stone. “I am avoiding you, Isabella, because you are a parasite,” Clara hissed, her fingers trembling as she pointed them at the girl.

“Every minute I spend in this room, every second I stand within your reach, you are drawing from me. You aren’t just taking Lucian’s blood; you are dragging every bit of my magic out of my marrow just to keep that ’Void’ of yours from collapsing.”

Isabella stepped back, stunned. She looked down at her hands, then back at the witch. Isabella didn’t expect Clara to lash out like that, she just needed someone to talk to. Someone who wasn’t a brooding kind and a silent servant. Someone that’s her gander and might understand her.

Clara breath came in short, shallow gasps. “You’re a black hole wrapped in silk and white hair. So no, Isabella. I don’t care about your ’dear Lucian’ anymore. I don’t care about who you belong to at midnight. I just want to survive your birthday with enough soul left to stand on my own two feet.”

Clara turned back to the door, her movements frantic now. “Eat your food. Drink your water. And pray to your Moon Goddess that whoever comes for you tonight has enough power to satisfy you, because if he doesn’t, you’ll drain him dry before the sun rises.”

The door slammed shut, harder than Lucian had ever thrown it. Isabella stood frozen next to her bed, the scent of the roasted meat making her stomach churn.

She wasn’t just a prisoner or a bonded. According to Clara, she was a parasite. She walked slowly to the window, her mind racing with what’s to come at midnight.

Isabella pulled the curtains out of her way, watching as the morning sun shimmer at the driveway. Her eyes wonder to the woods, thinking about her pack. To the place that had once been a cursed home.

A flicker of movement caught her eye.Deep between the trees and she stilled.

There—at the darkest edge of the forest—stood a figure, not really a figure. It was flowing, watching.

And when it lifted its head, Isabella felt the world tilt beneath her feet.

Two red eyes locked onto hers.

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