Page 25 of Shadow Bound

The look I’m expecting to appear on his face never comes, instead he lifts my hands off of Sawyer and takes over applying pressure. “Don’t worry, I got it.”

Iamworried, and so should he be.

I hold my hands in my lap, but don’t look down at them. I know they’re covered in blood, instead I continue to watch Ransom tend to his friend. My eyes trail down his stubbled jaw and down to his jugular. His pulse point jumps with each steady beat of his heart.

Images of sinking my fangs into his neck and taking his rich blood into my mouth in greedy gulps fill my head. He’d fight me at first—they always do—but the venom coating my fangs would make him relax. It wouldn’t hurt him; the venom makes sure of that. It’d feel good to him—he’d enjoy it. I’d enjoy how his big, warm body would relax into me. While I take his blood, I’d also borrow his heat. I’m always so cold.

His voice floats through my thoughts, but it sounds so far away. Only just a whisper. The dampness on my fingers finally pulls my attention away from his neck and when I look down at my shaking hands, smeared with blood, the thin and frayed rope holding my control snaps. The monster I barely hold at bay roars to life. She’s in control and dying to play.

I lunge.

Iknew it was coming.

I could tell by how her chest heaved in labored breaths and her hands shook that she was struggling to remain in control. When she finally lifted her chin and looked at me, I prepared myself for it to happen. Her eyes changed, long gone were her arctic blues. Instead they were replaced with a deep crimson color. Her sharp as hell fangs pressed painfully into her plump bottom lip as she stared—captivated—by Sawyer’s blood.

Something indistinguishable passed over her face, her already haunting features darkening further. In that instant, I knew I wasn’t looking at Isabeau—that was the side of her she tries desperately to hide away.

When her body coiled and she launched herself at Sawyer, I was ready. As she flew forward, I did the same, tackling her smaller butstrongbody into the snow feet away from where Sawyer lay unconscious.

Isabeau thrashes and snarls under me, desperately trying to free herself. Her pale lips pull back in a snarl, her fangs bared. While I find myself morbidly fascinated by those sharp points, now isn’t the time to inspect them further. My friend needs to get the fuck off this mountain, Isabeau’s little outburst is already wasting time.

“Isabeau! Enough!” I roar, pressing the full weight of my body into hers, using it to keep her pinned to the snowy ground. My hands hold her wrist above her head, the scratch she delivered across my face the second I tackled her proving she also has claws—figurativelyof course.

If she hears me, nothing about her movements indicate it. She continues to try to jerk free. Her knee slams into my ribs, making me grunt. My hold on her loosens just enough for her to get free. On her hands and knees, she scrambles forward. Just as she’s about to climb back to her feet, my hand snakes around her ankle. I yank as hard as I can, causing her to come crashing back down in the snow.

She hisses angrily as I drag her back toward me on her belly. Her hands claw and the snow trying to grab something to hold on to, but there’s nothing but icy powder below her. I climb back over her, pinning her back down. Both of our bare chests are pressed together—hers freezing, mine warm despite the snow. The contrast between our body temperatures is staggering.

She fights again, but I feel her muscles weaken as her energy drains. Alarm bells go off in my head, because the Isabeau I met ten months ago could have easily escaped my hold by now. She probably would have snapped my neck while she did it. But as she finally stills beneath me and her chest heaves in pained breaths, I know something is wrong. I had an inkling of suspicion that something was off when I saw how hollow her cheeks were, but now I’m positive.

She’s weak.

Why?I have no fucking idea, but I intend to find out. Sawyer’s sudden pained moan reminds me that I can’t find out now, but later, I’m getting some answers.

One hand holds her wrists over her head before I drag my other one to the side of her face. Gripping it softly, I jerk her turned head—her eyes still pinned on the blood—back to look at me. I’m sure most people would fear the sight of her like this, but I’m not even fazed. I’m more surprised my wolf isn’t bothered by it, instead he seems… intrigued. Ever since I touched her the other night in the woods, his hatred for her has died but there is still a sense of lingering distrust coming from him. He’s curious about her, but he doesn’t trust her to not turn on him.

She did just save your life.

I saw the figures at the top of the mountain watching us just as the snow came stampeding toward us. She could have gone after them, instead she saved me from being crushed to death by a ton of snow.

Her red eyes finally collide with mine, and I find myself aching to see the arctic blue again. “Beau,” I don’t know where that nickname came from, but I’m rolling with it. “I’m going to need you to get your shit together. While I’m finding myself becoming very fond of you pinned underneath me, we don’t have time for this.” My eyes trail down her face to the side of her neck where the black ink starts. Starting from her hairline behind her ear, twisting and weaving lines trail down her shoulder, all the way to her nail beds. Thorns. She had a vine of thorns tattooed all the way down her arm. I had been caught dumbstruck when she first removed her shirt and I saw them. The sudden urge to trace each line with my finger was strong.

Her eyes narrow and she tries once more to jerk her hands free, but when my hold stays firm, she finally gives in. She goes slack, relaxing into the snow. Her chest shakes as she drags in a shaky breath. I can see the fight drain from her face as the skin around her eyes lightens and the crimson in her eyes fades.

After a minute, her glacier-like eyes are back.

“There you are.” I purposely use the same phrase as the other night.

Her dark brows pinch, a flicker of worry crossing her face. “Did I kill him?” she croaks. Not exactly the words I was expecting to come out of her mouth. I was more prepared for her to start growling at me to get the fuck off her.

I cock my head. “Did you want to?”

“No.” Isabeau shakes her head. “But that doesn’t mean I always get a say in the matter. I don’t—” Her tongue sneaks out, swiping at her bottom lip. My eyes track the movement greedily. “—when I’m like that, I have no control. It’s like I black out and my—hunger—takes over. I don’t even remember what happened after I lunged at him.”

I’m honestly shocked by her honesty, but I don’t show it, not wanting to spook her. She isn’t a forthcoming person—never offering information willingly. Instead, I just nod in understanding and lighten my grip on her wrists, but I don’t fully let go yet. “Are you in control? I can’t carry him down to my truck alone, I’m going to need help and you’re all I’ve got.”

“I’m fine,” she insists while pulling her wrists from my grip. This time I let her. “Get the hell off of me.”

And she’s back.

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