I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon.com/emperordragon
________________________________________
Chapter 139: The Lodge
Isaac woke to the bite of cold metal against his skin. His wrists ached, the cuffs digging deep enough to bruise. Every small movement sent a sting through the tender flesh beneath the iron. The air was thick with the sharp, acrid scent of wolfsbane — a smell that burned the back of his throat and made his lungs feel too small for his chest. Moisture clung to the walls and the floor, the whole room breathing dampness like an old lung that had forgotten how to work.
Across from him, Malia stirred. A low growl caught in her throat, not loud enough to be a threat, but enough to remind the world she wasn't helpless. Her hair clung to her temples, her eyes half-open, flicking from the shadows to Isaac and back again. Beneath them, the floorboards moaned as if protesting their presence, the weight of the building's age pressing down. It was less a room than a grave dressed in wood and dust.
The place must have been a hunter's lodge once — years, maybe decades ago. The walls still bore its history: cracked photographs, warped plaques, and hunting trophies mounted like ghosts. The glass eyes of deer, bears, and wolves stared down from the rotting beams, watching them as though bearing witness to one more cruel ritual. Cobwebs framed the windows where weak light struggled to enter, barely cutting through the gloom.
Edward stood a few feet away, his silhouette carved out by the dying amber light leaking through the window behind him. His figure looked sharper in the dim — a soldier's outline, not a hunter's. Shoulders squared, jaw locked, his every movement seemed measured, deliberate. The weight of command clung to him even here, surrounded by decay.
He spoke with the precision of someone who'd already rehearsed every word. "Isaac Lahey," he began, his tone clipped and cold. "You killed two of my people. Why?"
The words struck like the crack of a rifle.
Isaac's throat was dry, his voice rasping when he tried to speak. "I didn't—"
The interruption came like lightning. Edward's hand slammed down on the table between them, the impact ringing through the hollow room. "Don't insult me," he snapped. "We found proof all over the scene. Your blood. Your claw marks. You want to tell me that wasn't you?"
Isaac forced himself to meet Edward's gaze. His eyes didn't flinch, though the truth felt useless on his tongue.
"It wasn't me," he said quietly. "Something was— messing with me. Some kind of parasite, an organism. It got inside my head. Took control. I wasn't myself."
Edward's expression barely shifted. Only the faintest curl of his lip betrayed what he was thinking — a mixture of scorn and weary pity. "Parasite," he repeated, like the word itself tasted bad. "That's the story the Hales fed you, isn't it? Convenient. The killer always finds a new monster to blame."
Before Isaac could defend himself, Malia's voice cut through the tension — sharp, cold, and burning with defiance.
"You sound just like Gerard," she said. "Same arrogance. Same obsession. You think killing us makes you a hero?"
Edward turned his head slowly toward her. His expression tightened, a small flicker of anger breaking through the discipline. But he didn't rise to the bait. When he finally spoke, his tone was quieter — too controlled.
"Gerard was a visionary. He understood what your cursed family is capable of. I'm just finishing what he started."
"Then you're his shadow," Malia said, eyes hard as glass. "Nothing more than his echo."
For the briefest heartbeat, something human crossed Edward's face — a momentary crack in the armor. Doubt, maybe. Regret. But just as quickly, it vanished, sealed under the familiar weight of conviction. He turned his gaze back to Isaac.
"You can make this easy," Edward said. "Admit it. Say the words. Tell me you killed them on the Hales' orders."
Isaac lowered his eyes, studying the worn grooves in the table between them. His voice came out tired, almost detached. "If I say it… will you believe me?"
Edward hesitated — only for a moment, but it was enough. The silence that followed answered for him.
Isaac leaned back against the chair, the cuffs biting deeper into his wrists. "Then it doesn't matter what I say."
The air thickened between them, heavy with something unspoken. Edward stood there, watching them both for a long moment — long enough for the faint creak of the lodge to fill the gap where words failed. At last, he stepped back, the tension in his body shifting toward cold resolution.
"You'll talk eventually," he said quietly. "You always do."
Then he turned and walked out. The door slammed behind him with a finality that made the whole lodge tremble, the echo beating through the walls like a fading pulse.
Malia exhaled through her nose, testing the strength of the chains that bound her. The metal didn't give. "He's not going to listen," she muttered.
Isaac nodded faintly, eyes still on the door. "I know."
For the first time since waking, Malia's sarcasm slipped. Her voice came out lower, almost human. "Then we need another way out."
Silence settled again, thicker this time — not just the absence of sound, but the weight of realization. Somewhere in the distance, a floorboard creaked. A drop of water fell from the ceiling. They both went still, listening.
Not to Edward's footsteps anymore, but to the building itself — to its breathing, its secrets. Waiting for the one sound that meant their captors had let their guard down.
Waiting for their chance.