"I thought I was dreaming. I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me," Isolde whispered, her voice trembling. "Of all people, me—Isolde. Bottom of everything, mated to the King of Blood City. Do you know what this rejection would do to me?...It would reduce me even further into nothingness."
Her desperation was real, carved into the slope of her shoulders and the quiver in her breath. He knew that pain. Not long ago, it had lived inside him too. When Luna first rejected their bond—when she had walked away.
He swallowed hard, chest tightening as the thread between him and Isolde pulsed again. He didn't want this. He didn't ask for it. He hadn't chosen her.
But he couldn't deny the magic.
Isolde saw the hesitation in his eyes and mistook it for surrender. She stepped closer, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. Slowly, she rose on her toes. Her eyes searched his, and then fluttered closed as she tilted her head and leaned in, her lips parting, reaching for his.
