Reborn As The Beastmen's Wicked Wife

Brennan's fingers tightened on her collar, his knuckles turning white. His eyes were like blades, scraping over her blood-stained face, searching for any crack in her mask.

Isolde choked, a painful cough tearing from her restricted throat. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, sliding down her grimy cheek, and dropped onto the back of Brennan's hand.

He recoiled as if burned. He dropped her instantly, wiping his hand on his pants with a look of utter disgust. "What kind of sick game are you playing now?" he spat, taking a step back.

Isolde crashed back onto the stone floor. The impact wrenched the wound on the back of her head, sending a fresh wave of agony through her skull. She curled into a ball, clutching her head, whimpering softly. The pain was real, and so was the cold. She didn't need to fake the trembling.

Cameron stepped forward. He crouched down, his long, cold fingers gripping her chin, forcing her face up to meet his gaze.

Isolde had no choice but to look into those deep, scrutinizing eyes. She buried her fear deep down, letting only bewilderment show on her face.

Cameron's thumb pressed against the side of her neck, right over her carotid artery. He could feel her pulse racing like a trapped bird. One hard squeeze, and he could crush her windpipe.

Feeling that lethal pressure, Isolde's body trembled uncontrollably. "Why..." she stammered, her voice shaking. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Cameron stared into her eyes for ten long seconds. He was looking for the malice, the cruelty that always lived there. He found nothing. Just emptiness.

A faint sound came from outside-the soft rustle of scales sliding against stone. A damp, chilling presence crept into the room.

Dangelo Oconnor stood in the doorway, his tall, lean frame blocking out the gray light. He cast a lazy, indifferent glance at Isolde crumpled on the floor, a smirk playing on his lips.

He walked in slowly, his voice dripping with venomous mockery. "I can't believe you two are falling for this pathetic act."

Isolde's mind raced. Dangelo. The snake beastman. The one who hated the original the most, and the most unpredictable of them all.

Dangelo stopped in front of her. He looked down at her like she was dirt. Then, without warning, he lifted his heavy military boot and slammed it down onto the back of her hand, the one she was using to prop herself up.

Pain exploded up her arm. Isolde screamed, tears instantly blurring her vision. She tried to pull her hand back, but Dangelo ground his heel down, crushing her fingers against the rough stone.

He leaned down, his eyes cold and predatory. "If you've really lost your memory," he whispered, "I'd be happy to help squeeze the water out of your brain."

If this were the original Isolde, she would have cursed him out and activated the mate contract to burn him from the inside out. But Isolde bit her lower lip until she tasted blood. She only cried. She didn't fight back.

She used her other hand to weakly push against his boot, a futile gesture. She looked like a girl who had never thrown a punch in her life.

Dangelo frowned. The expected hysterical cursing didn't come. The woman under his foot was as fragile as a dried leaf, crumbling under the slightest pressure.

Cameron spoke up, his voice flat. "Let her go, Dangelo. If she dies now, we're all suspects."

Dangelo scoffed. He lifted his foot, stepping away as if he had just stepped in something filthy.

Isolde immediately cradled her injured hand to her chest. The skin was broken, red and swelling. She scrambled back into the corner, watching the three men with wide, terrified eyes.

[Trust levels remain negative. Lethal intent slightly decreased. ] The system chimed in her head.

Cameron stood up. He pulled a ragged piece of rough cloth from his coat and threw it at Isolde's face. "Wipe your face," he ordered coldly. "Stop trying to look pathetic."

Isolde grabbed the cloth. She scrubbed at her face, the rough fabric stinging her cuts, but she didn't make a sound.

Brennan ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "What now, Cameron? Are we really keeping this psycho? She's probably faking the whole thing."

Cameron didn't answer right away. He stared at Isolde, huddled in the corner. "If she's lost her memory," he said slowly, "we call the village healer. We get it verified."

Dangelo's eyes narrowed. He understood immediately. If the healer confirmed her brain was mush, they could legally apply for an annulment of the marriage contract.

Isolde kept her head down. Under the cover of her bloody, tangled hair, a cold smile touched her lips. Delay. That was all she needed.

Cameron turned and walked out into the snow to fetch the healer, leaving Isolde alone with the other two, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.