Page 13 of Breaking Isolde
Her breath hitches again, chest expanding rapidly, her ribs straining against the cotton. The color surges in her face, a line of red slashing from the corner of her mouth to her cheekbone.
She shoves at me, hard. I let her move, just enough to keep her believing it’s possible.
“My secrets don’t involve murder,” she hisses.
I smile, close-mouthed. “You sure about that?”
She bares her teeth, baring every weapon she owns, but her body is trembling. Not with fear. With something a shade more complicated.
I ease the pressure on her throat, but don’t step back. She stays where she is, pressed to the wall, hands caught between us. Her nails draw a thin line on my skin, breaking the surface.
“Why are you doing this?” she demands.
I consider. “Why are you here?”
She flinches, as if I’ve struck her. “I told you. To take back what you stole.”
“No,” I say, soft but certain. “You’re here to see if you can beat me. To see if you’re capable of the same things I am.”
She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. “I’m nothing like you.”
“Liar.”
I move my face closer, close enough that her eyelashes brush my cheek. Her eyes flutter closed for a fraction of a second. When they open, they’re full of hate. And hunger.
She tries to knee me in the groin, but I block it, shift my weight, and bring her tighter to my chest. For a second, our hips are aligned, and I feel the jolt of awareness in her when she feels what’s in my pants.
She’s breathing in gasps now, fast and shallow, heart hammering so hard I can feel it through both our shirts.
I lower my mouth to her ear again, this time letting my lips graze the skin. “Don’t panic. Your time hasn’t come yet.”
Her hands fist in my shirt, as if she’s going to rip it, and then she pushes me away.
I let her go. She stumbles, catches herself, straightens.
She’s shaking, but she covers it with rage.
She turns on her heel and storms away, hair flying, shoulders squared. Every head in the hallway pivots to watch her go.
I lean against the wall and wipe the blood from my wrist, then lick it off, slow and deliberate.
She’s better than I thought.
Maybe even better than Casey.
Chapter 3: Isolde
Ittakeslessthana week for Charlie and Lucy to start ignoring me. They don’t do it all at once—at first, it’s just a missing “good morning” or a coffee pot emptied without refilling. Then it’s conversations that close the second I step into the room, or a sudden fascination with their own phones whenever I try to talk.
I want to believe it’s normal transfer drama, but no one at Westpoint does anything by accident. They’re not shunning me out of boredom or spite; they’re shunning me because I’m a hazard. Radioactive. The new mutation that needs to be isolated and monitored for signs of aggression.
So, I let them ghost me. It’s a relief, honestly. The less I have to pretend to be invested in their fake roommate bonding, the more I can focus on the reason I came here: the war.
Still, hunger is hunger and I can’t stand the awkward silence while I cook so I make another plan. By day four, my stomach’s gnawing itself raw and the snack shelf is empty, and Charlie’s grocery order has mysteriously left off all the protein bars I wrote on the list. Along with everything else.
I’d been living off vending machine chips and energy drinks because conveniently the app we use to order had my ID locked out. My only choice was to rely on Charlie to put my items on the list and then e-transfer her… which she had no problem doing until that incident with Rhett and the coffee spill.
Word travels fast, I guess.
