Isolde
Isolde stood frozen as the faceless male circled her. Her eyes were fixed on the flickering candle.
“You weren’t killed in the Viper’s Mouth even when it was filled with Duskthorn, a substance known to be harmful to your kind,” she felt him roaming around.
His presence sent chills down her spine, yet she couldn’t resist it. The magical tea had turned her into a statue that could not move.
“It made me wonder, breeder, if you’re really human,” his voice turned lower, conspiratorial. “Or if you’re like him, a wraithling.”
Isolde gasped for breath. The male moved back in front of her and hummed. “I am sorry, but I have to do this. It’s the only way I can know Dracolian isn’t alone. That he isn’t a monster.”
He released a burdened breath and reached for Isolde’s hand, pressing his
