Page 67 of Isabelle’s Forbidden Love

“Babe?”

Isabelle simply stared at him, and now he noticed that her eyes seemed to have a wet sheen on them. Instantly, he was on alert.

“What happened?” He crossed the distance between them with three long strides and noticed her back away from him as if she didn’t want him to get too close. “Isabelle, what’s wrong?”

Why was she staring at him like this, as if she didn’t know him? And why didn’t she say anything? No woman looked at her lover like this, not with this look of disappointment in her eyes.

“Isabelle, please, talk to me.”

She thrust her chin up as if he’d finally woken her from a dream. He noticed her swallow hard, before she shoved the papers in his direction. “Explain this.”

He cast her a quizzical look, before he took the papers and looked at them. The first thing he noticed was that the writing was in French, the second thing was that it was a newspaper article from Montreal.

He didn’t need to read the article, because he already knew what it said: that he was suspected of killing the entire Arnaud family including his wife, Margarite. With dread, he lifted his gaze to meet Isabelle’s. He’d known that this moment would come. What he hadn’t known was that it would come so early. LaRuson was still out there, representing a danger to Isabelle, and if she left him now, he wouldn’t be able to protect her anymore.

“Where did you find this?”

“Cooper. He came to warn me about you.”

Orlando directed his gaze to the door. “Is he still here?”

Isabelle nodded.

Orlando let the news sink in. He only had a few more moments before she would leave him, and the men from Scanguards would arrest him.

“Did you kill them? Your wife and her family?”

Isabelle’s voice sounded almost detached now, as if this wasn’t her, as if somebody else had taken over her body and spoke for her. He recognized it for what it was: she was building a wall around her heart so she wouldn’t feel any pain. He should lie to her, tell her that he’d done no such thing, but he couldn’t lie any longer. He couldn’t lie to the woman he loved, even if that meant that she would hate him.

“I killed Margarite, yes. And there is nothing that I can tell you that would make that fact go away.” He dropped his gaze to the floor where a pool of water was accumulating around his feet, his heart clenching in pain now.

“Tell me why.”

“The why doesn’t matter. I’m a killer, and no reason, no excuse will whitewash that. I’ll always have her blood on my hands.”

But even now he knew he hadn’t had a choice. But he was still guilty, and a guilty man didn’t deserve the love of a woman like Isabelle. It had been a beautiful dream. However, he couldn’t cheat destiny forever. It was time to pay for his sins. And perhaps that would be the easiest solution: let Samson drag him in front of the vampire council so he could be sentenced to death. And when he was gone, LaRuson’s reason for hurting Isabelle would be gone too. She would be safe again. All he had to do was to stop running.

“I’m sorry, Isabelle. I love you, but I always knew that I didn’t deserve you.” He glanced at her face and saw tears in her eyes. He wanted to wipe them away, to take the pain away that he’d caused, but he didn’t dare touch her. She wasn’t his, and she would never be his.

“I never meant to hurt you. I wish I’d never met you. Then you would be happy and safe now, because all I seem to bring with me is pain and danger. And you don’t deserve that.” He looked toward the door. “It’s all right. You can let them come in now. I’m ready. Promise me only one thing: make sure you’re always protected by a bodyguard, or better, two. Because LaRuson will try to hurt you because you mean something to me.”

She didn’t just mean something to him, she meant everything.

Isabelle stared at him as if she was searching for something in his eyes. He wished he could make this easier for her, but there was nothing he could say to wipe away the pain he was causing her. When she finally turned on her heel, he was almost glad for it. If she’d looked at him any longer, he would have fallen to his knees and tried to make her understand why he’d had to kill Margarite. And that would have made it even worse. He didn’t want Isabelle to be conflicted; it was best that she saw him in black and white: as a murderer.

At the door, Isabelle grabbed her handbag and took her shoes, then slipped outside and let the door fall shut behind her. All of a sudden, it was deadly silent in the flat. He could hear a clock in the living room ticking. In the hallway outside the condo, he heard footsteps—not approaching, but retreating. Then nothing, only his own heart beating.

When would Scanguards rush in here to take him into custody? Were they paying him the courtesy of giving him a few minutes to get dressed? He might as well use it. He walked into the bedroom and found his clothes. As he put them on, he noticed that Isabelle hadn’t bothered to take her belongings with her, too eager to leave so she didn’t have to spend another moment in his presence. He couldn’t even blame her. He’d kept something vital from her. Anybody would have felt betrayed.

35

Numb from the shocking revelation, Isabelle allowed Cooper to lead her downstairs. She felt as if somebody had hit her over the head with a hammer, making her unable to think straight. How could she have been so wrong about Orlando? How could she not have seen the killer in him? No wonder Dennis LaRuson was after him. Orlando had killed Margarite, the woman LaRuson had loved. She understood now all too well why Orlando had claimed from the start that she was in danger, that LaRuson would try to hurt him by hurting her. Because it was the same thing that Orlando had done. He’d killed Margarite. And now LaRuson wanted to do the same to her.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and began to run down her cheeks in hot streaks. So this was what it felt like to have one’s heart broken. She’d never thought that so much pain was possible, but now she was experiencing it for herself. Orlando was the man she’d wanted as her blood-bonded mate, and now? What would she do now without him? She couldn’t simply move on and forget that she loved him. Her love for him didn’t simply stop just because she’d found out he was a murderer. She wished it did, but she wasn’t that lucky.

She’d never understood why some women stayed with men who’d done terrible things, never believed that they could still love a man who’d committed horrendous crimes. But now she felt just like one of those women.

I killed Margarite, yes. And there is nothing that I can tell you that would make that fact go away.