Chapter Thirteen
Isabelle lay on the floor of her room, her mind reeling with the happenings of the evening. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she recalled how she had stood up to Cassandra, She smiled as she realized that even though she had been nervous and angry, she felt happy. Happy that for the first time in her life, she had managed to stand up for herself.
Isabelle sighed and looked at her window, at the moonlight that streamed into her room, illuminating it in its brightness. Try as hard as she might, she could not sleep. She couldn’t get Khalil’s reaction out of her head. She couldn't understand the way he had looked at her outside her door after staying silent throughout Cassandra’s charade. What did he mean? Why had he followed her all the way from the dining hall, not to chastise her but to praise her? What did he want her to do often?
It felt as though someone else had impersonated her husband last night, or maybe it was the drinks? Perhaps he was growing tired of Cassandra and her shenanigans and wanted to truly be a husband to her? Perhaps he wanted to love her and cherish her, and make her feel all the love that she had been deprived of her whole life? The same love that he was also withholding from her while giving generously to his mistress?
Isabelle scoffed at the thought and rolled over to her side, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, her eyes feasting on the beauty of the moon as she cast her light over the pack.
What was she thinking? Of course, he was not tired of his little concubine, that much had been made clear to her, and for her to think otherwise would be nothing short of wishful thinking. She scoffed again, somewhat amazed by her own stupidity.
Isabelle rolled onto her back and closed her eyes tightly shut in an attempt to force sleep, an endeavor that proved to be fruitless. She sighed in frustration and pushed herself to her feet, her mind bored and thinking of what to do.
She made her way out of her room, and made her way down the hallway, unsure of where she was going. In that moment, she realized that since becoming a part of the household, she had never been anywhere else except her room, the kitchen, and lately, the dining room. Her lips turned down in disappointment as she realized that she had not even been given a tour of the very large mansion.
But then again, that much was to be expected from a man such as her husband.
Isabelle walked down the halls leisurely, allowing her feet to lead her wherever they wanted. She had always known that the mansion was huge, but she was witnessing just how large it was for herself.
Her mouth opened in awe and wonder as she looked up at the large paintings she walked past, and the antiques that were placed on stone stands, the light from the chandelier above illuminating her path. She continued to follow the paintings, amazed at how each one of the men seemed to look like different versions of her husband.
Finally, at the end of the terribly long hallway, Isabelle encountered a door. It was closed, this door, and she knew that this was one place she should not be in. Isabelle stood before it, The logical thing to do was to turn around and return to her room, but she could not do that. She needed to know what was on the other side of the door. Her heart beat heavily in her chest and a cold sweat broke out on her forehead and neck.
It felt as though there was an entity on the other side of the door, one that was calling out to her, begging her to open the door, asking her to come in. Isabelle clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to decide whether to open the door or not. She lifted her hand slowly and rested it on the knob of the door, thoughts of Khalil finding her running through her mind. Images began to pop up in her head. Images of all the anger and humiliation he had poured into her, the images of all the suffering she had had to endure. Images of how she had always served others first.
Images of how he would do it all again just for the fuck of it. Why can she not be the one doing whatever she likes for the fun of it?
She took a deep breath and twisted the knob, her heart beating harder in her chest as the door creaked open. Isabelle slowly walked into the room, leaving the door open behind her. She looked around the large space, her hand over her nose protecting her against the smell that surrounded the place. She absently wondered when it had last been cleaned and made a mental note to tell Martha about the room.
Isabelle could not quite tell what the room was. As it was with everything in the house, it was insanely large. In the corner, a large bed stood against the wall, covered in a plain white cotton cloth, the same as all the furniture in the room. The large mahogany desk and chair that sat in front of the window, and the coffee tables. The only thing not covered was the large shelves of books.
She made her way towards it, smiling to herself as she ran her finger lovingly against the spines of the books. The entire shelf was covered in dust and was lined with books on werewolf history, legends and myths, Lunas and Alphas of old, legacies, alliances, politics of the ages, and even some texts that were considered to be lost or destroyed. Isabelle felt like a child who had just snuck into a candy store.
Oh, how she loved to read. As she stood there, she remembered how she would sometimes sneak into her father’s library and treat herself to the mysteries that lined his shelves. She liked to think about how that made her her father’s daughter, how that gave her something in common with her father other than sharing love for the same woman. Made her feel close to him...made her feel like her father’s daughter.
Isabelle stopped abruptly as he finger hovered above a book. She felt a chill go down her spine, and her breathing suddenly began to feel hollow. Isabelle’s heart beat loudly in her chest, every fiber of her being warned her to leave the book, to turn around and go back to the comfort of her room, but another part of her – the curious George – could not help but pull the strange book out of the shelf.
She took a deep breath as she held the heavy book in both hands, the weight forcing her to lower herself to the floor and sit cross-legged with the book in front of her. The air in the room suddenly stilled, almost suffocating, and Isabelle suddenly began to feel that she was no longer alone. She could feel a somewhat strange presence.
Isabelle wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and with all the courage she could muster, turned around and did a quick survey of the room, confirming to herself that she was in fact alone.
She looked down at the book and brushed the dust off of it, staring at the inscriptions and drawings on it that she could not make sense of. She placed her hand on the book and the presence grew, it was almost suffocating.
Isabelle decided that she would ignore it.
She ran her finger across the cover, a tiny text at the bottom catching her attention. She lifted the book to her face, her eyes squinting as she tried to make out the letters on the bottom. She gasped audibly and dropped the book unceremoniously when she did and blinked rapidly.
It was her mother’s name.
She sat before the book, wondering what her mother’s name would be doing there, did she author the book? What were the strange texts on the cover? What was it doing in Khalil’s house? How had it gotten there? Who exactly was her mother? What kind of life did she live? And most importantly, how did she die?
Her mother’s death had been a well-kept secret. So many speculations, and yet the only person who knew could not tell her how her mother had died.
Isabelle tried to open the book, her face contorting into a frown as she found that she was unable to flip the page. She swore under her breath and spent the next few minutes trying and failing, and by the time she finally gave up, sweat was pouring down her face and back. She stood to her feet and returned the strange book, determined to find out what it meant and why it was there.
In the meantime, she would amuse herself by reading the other books, and so she settled down on the dust-ridden floor with a history book. And even as she read, her mind still lingered on the ancient book with her mother’s name, one that no doubt contained truths that she so desperately needed.
Isabelle sighed heavily and closed the book shut, returned it to the shelf, and stood to her feet, With one last longing look at the strange room, she returned to her bed, her mind more befuddled than when she had left the solace of her room.