Page 15 of Isabel and the Werewolf Beast

Was that a spike of fear skittering in my veins? Or was it the warmth of the woman’s blood?

“No reason.”

None except for the fact one was in the library. In this castle. Stuck in the curse with us. A curse she knew nothing about.

“Stinky creatures.” She wrinkled her dainty nose.

Except Dante didn’t stink. He smelled of the fresh woods. We twirled a circuit of the dance floor, then I excused myself. Dancing with Renee didn’t appeal to me right now. I’d come in here to feed. To remind myself I was a vampire, and he was the enemy, but it hadn’t worked. All my thoughts kept wandering back to Dante. Was the werewolf looking for me?

Chapter eight

Dante

Of course I followed Isabel down the stairs. She’d glanced back as though she sensed me stalking her, but I’d learned one thing about being a werewolf. We were good at stalking our prey. I might not be the blood thirsty killer I should be, but I had those killer instincts inside me now.

I placed my hand on the carved wooden door where Isabel had disappeared. What room was she in? She told me to not go inside the ballroom, but how was I to recognize which room that was unless I opened the doors? She should have been more specific. I flattened my ear against the timber, but not one soundemanated from inside. If Isabel was in the room, then she either had to be sitting quietly, or else she’d disappeared. Plausible considering what else I’d seen in the castle. My palm itched to open the door and find out, but I didn’t want to die, especially now I had access to all the answers I’d ever wanted about this new version of myself.

Decisions. Decisions.

My gaze dropped to the floor. Dammit, my feet had left footprints in the dust. She’d realize I’d followed her. Stood on the other side of the door like a creep too. Why didn’t I remember the dust first? I glanced around desperately trying to come up with a solution, but none arose to me. There were two choices, clean all the dust and the evidence of my stalking, and where would I even find cleaning supplies in a castle? Or I’d walk up and down the entire castle and leave tracks everywhere. That seemed the easiest option.

I snorted. The castle was vast. There was nothing easy about snooping around the entire cavernous place. I strode off before I talked myself out of anything, but not before kicking the dust in front of the door so there was no solid evidence I’d stopped at the door. Pathetic. I walked up and down the hallway disturbing as much dust as possible. A door creaked open on my left. Eerie. Yet I stepped inside.

A sumptuous sitting room decorated with fine furnishings, and floor rugs so intricate they were a piece of artwork. Speaking of art… I walked toward the lone painting hanging in the room. Watercolors swirled across the canvas in a well-known display of talent.

“I see you found the Monet,” Isabel said.

I spun with a start, not having heard her enter the room. Seemed she stalked me too.

“I grew tired of the laws and wandered downstairs, but you never said which room was the ballroom, so I can avoid it. Luckily, this door opened by itself.”

She appeared a tad less translucent than when she’d disappeared through those doors. What had happened to her behind them? She was as beautiful as ever. Every time I glanced at her, her beauty stunned me, and here she was talking to me in my hideous werewolf form.

“The ballroom is the first room on the right with the big double doors.”

“Good to know.” I’d been right not to open the door, but what was inside that I couldn’t see? That would kill me.

Her gaze sharpened like she recognized I was lying. I’d never been good at lying and I didn’t want to lie to her. I had a sense she wouldn’t take too kindly to lies and deceit. Plus, what would I gain from deceiving her when she was more knowledgeable than me?

“This painting is special.” I faced the artwork again, taking in the brush strokes across the canvas.

“It is.” Her lips tugged up on the right side in a lopsided smile. A smile I hadn’t seen from her before. It was almost whimsical.

On the canvas was a woman in white. The white dress flowed from her body as though lovingly painted into life. She was gorgeous. I’d always thought of landscape paintings associated with Monet, but he must also have painted people. The woman was standing on a grassy hill holding a white parasol in her dainty hands. I inched closer. She had dark, lustrous hair. Her face was blurred so I couldn’t make out the features, but…

“Is that you?”

She laughed delightedly and placed her hands on her chest. “I wondered if you’d notice.”

“How old are you?”

She tapped her dainty fingers on her chest. “Old enough to be painted by Monet.”

“He was around in the eighteen hundreds, wasn’t he?” My memory recalled the details I’d read about in one of the many books I’d read. Any book I’d get my hands on I’d read no matter what the contents were.

“Late eighteen hundreds and early nineteen hundred.”

“So even if he painted you say early nineteen hundred that’d make you over a hundred years old.” My eyebrows rose as my eyes widened at the realization this woman had more knowledge than I’d grasp from reading books.

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