Isabella Frost Novels & Stories

He tried to get on to his feet, wincing in pain as he did so. Isabelle did not appear to be fazed by this new turn of events. Her face twisted into a sneer. “So, Oswald, do you want to show me what you’re made of?” David stepped inside. “What have you done to her?” “Isabelle has become a member of the Brethren!” Belinda was aware of movement behind her and she twisted round to see the bar emptying through the back door with the entrance of David Oswald. Isabelle seemed to notice this too and she laughed. “They might be scared of you, Oswald, but I’m not!”

Isabella's moonlight monitor beeped steadily. "I'm dying," Isabella said. "We both know it." I stayed silent. Even weakened, she still had that calculating look. "Before I join the eternal hunt, I have confessions," she continued. She struggled to sit up. "I'm not Vivian Stone's daughter." I kept my face blank. But my mind raced. "I'm the illegitimate pup of Theresa Rivers and Richard Stone," Isabella said. Her voice grew stronger. "Theresa switched us as pups. She gave Vivian her real daughter while keeping me hidden."

“Because I know where she hides.” That silenced even the restless shuffling. Magnus’s wolves leaned forward, listening hard now. “I’ve tracked Lucian’s desperation,” she continued. “I’ve followed Kael’s movements. And I’ve pulled whispers from rogues too stupid to hide their trails. Isabella Hart breathes in the human world, wearing another name, serving coffee to men who have no idea what sits in front of them.” Magnus’s jaw flexed, his teeth bared in something between a grin and a snarl. “You expect me to believe Stormfang’s Luna sells bread to merchants?”

The Message Camillas POV I got a message from the person who works with me at FrosTech's public relations company. I read the message two times before I allowed myself to feel happy. Isabelle Frost wants to meet with me. She wants to meet tomorrow. She has seen the picture. It is no surprise that she has seen it. Isabelle Frost always finds out about the things that might hurt her son's business. She usually knows about these things before Sebastian does.

"Thank you, Clara. It's been hard, but we're really excited to host again. The pack needed this." Elise offered a sympathetic smile, handing Reagan a small bundle of dried sweetgrass. "We're just glad to see the Frost family healing. We saw Zyan up at the front gates—he's looking every bit the strong Alpha." "He is," Reagan agreed, her eyes sparkling with sisterly pride. She smoothly seized the opening. "He was actually just greeting Alpha Cobb when I walked up. It looked like the Silver Paw pack brought quite a few people this year. I saw a girl with them I didn't recognize—Emerald, I think her name was?"

She stepped even closer, close enough that I could smell the sickly-sweet scent of frosting still clinging to her hair and clothes. "The question is," she whispered, "are you brave enough to find out the answer?" Before I could respond, before I could even fully process the implications of what she was suggesting, Isabella's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist with surprising strength. "What are you doing?" I tried to pull away, but her grip was like iron. "Testing a theory," she said, her voice now completely devoid of the false warmth she'd been using. This was Isabella's true face - cold, calculating, and absolutely ruthless.

It was Maria. She had abandoned her professional black suit for a simple, high-collared gray dress. She looked smaller than she had in the medical wing, more fragile, but her eyes, the eyes that had watched me from the shadows of the Blackwood kitchen were wide with a frantic, uncharacteristic desperation. "Isabella," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Valencia," I corrected, my tone as cold as the marble floors beneath us. "Isabella is currently rotting in a box of dead roses on the floor of the Rossi foyer. Did you miss the feed, Maria? Or were you too busy filing intelligence reports for your boss?"

She was trapped in a gilded cage, wearing a dead woman's name, and the man who owned her was slowly becoming the only thing that made her feel alive. But beneath the exhaustion, beneath the shameful satisfaction still pulsing between her thighs, a colder thought surfaced. Viktor. The name from Isabella's journal. Trust no one but Viktor. The one person her dead sister had trusted in a house full of enemies. She didn't know who he was. She didn't know how to find him. And right now, wrapped in silk sheets with the scent of Alexander still on her skin, she wasn't sure she wanted to. I have food. I have warmth. I have a bed that doesn't smell like mold and someone else's cigarettes.

"If your father finds out his 'porcelain doll' is plotting a coup with a fed, he won’t just erase my existence. He’ll make sure yours is a slow, agonizing descent." Isabella didn't flinch. Instead, she leaned against the stone railing, the moonlight catching the crimson of her dress, making her look like a fresh wound against the night. "My life has been a slow descent since the day he put that rose in your father’s mouth, Dante. I’ve been dead for years. I’m just looking for a way to take the devil down with me."

They were in the Observation Hall, watching the ritual like vultures waiting for a carcass to cool. As she ascended the main staircase, a figure stepped from the shadows. It was Isabella Vance. She looked different. Her skin was a sickly, translucent white, and her eyes were a flat, matte black. She was wearing a gown made of silver-thread that seemed to be pulsing with a dark energy. "You should have stayed in the forest, Lyra," Isabella said, her voice a multi-layered hiss that echoed from the stones. "The Blood-Moon King has given me what Silas never could. He gave me eternity. He gave me the power to erase you."