Page 87 of Isabelle’s Forbidden Love

Isabelle looked over her shoulder. “To the cells.”

“You shouldn’t—”

“Let her go,” Delilah interrupted. “He saved her life. He won’t hurt her now.”

When Samson didn’t say anything else, Isabelle opened the door and left the room.

45

Orlando lay on the concrete bench in one of the underground cells in Scanguards’ headquarters. They’d brought him bottled human blood to drink so he could heal. But he hadn’t touched it. The wound LaRuson had inflicted with the silver throwing star was barely more than a scratch, and the beating Samson had dealt him before they’d gone to rescue Isabelle had left only minor bruises. He’d realigned his broken nose, knowing it would heal crooked if he didn’t, although it mattered little to him. He knew the council would send agents from their enforcement division soon to pick him up.

His sensitive hearing picked up the sound of footsteps outside his cell. In anticipation of the arrival of his new prison guards, he sat up and took a breath. This was it. Maybe it was for the best. He’d lived a long life, cheated death many times, and loved two very different women with all his heart.

Orlando heard the beep, indicating that somebody was using the scanner outside to unlock the door with an access card. He rose. The door opened. With it, a familiar scent drifted into the room. He snapped his gaze to the person who entered the cell and let the door fall shut behind her.

“Isabelle.” He suddenly felt just as tongue-tied as he’d been before they’d kissed for the first time.

He ran his eyes over her. Isabelle was wearing clean clothes, and some of her injuries had already healed, though the deeper ones that LaRuson had inflicted with his claws and silver chains were still visible. The skin looked angry, but it would heal soon, and leave no scars.

A determined look on her face, Isabelle lashed a glare at him, before she slammed her flat hand on his chest and pushed him back against the wall.

“What the fuck were you thinking, leaving out the most important detail about what happened in Montreal?” she asked, her voice loud and angry.

Her tone made him automatically go on the defensive. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Margarite. She and LaRuson were planning to kill you. In my book that’s self-defense.”

His chin dropped. “How do you—”

She took a step closer, her face only inches from his. “How do I know? Ines told me.”

“It wasn’t her story to tell.” But something inside him was relieved that she’d told the story.

“No, it was yours, but since you’re too much of a stubborn, bone-headed oaf, I’m glad she did. You killed Margarite in self-defense! This changes everything. You’re a loyal and honorable man. You’re not a murderer.”

“But I killed her. She was my blood-bonded mate. I promised to protect her, and I failed.”

“You did everything you could. She didn’t deserve you. She wanted to see you dead. Is that how a blood-bonded mate should act?” Isabelle shook her head. Then she had the audacity to knock her fist against his forehead. “Why does that not go into your fucking head, you stupid oaf?”

Orlando raised an eyebrow. She was right about everything. He knew that, but it was hard to let go of the guilt he’d carried around with him for decades. He felt almost naked without it. “Did you just call me an oaf again? And stupid on top of that?”

“Yes, and I’ll continue calling you an oaf until you stop behaving like one! I’ll be damned if the man I love offers himself as a sacrificial lamb to the vampire council to take the blame for something that wasn’t his fault!”

She braced her hands at her hips, looking like a veritable fury.

“Have I ever told you that you look irresistible when you’re angry?” Orlando said with a smirk.

“Are you changing the subject?”

He snaked his arm around her and pulled her flush to his body. A tiny gasp rolled over Isabelle’s lips.

“Are you done with your tirade?”

“That wasn’t a tirade!” she protested.

“Could have fooled me. But then, what do I know? I’m just a stupid oaf.”

She rose on her tiptoes and brought her mouth to his. “Yes, but you’re my oaf.”