Isabelle Mesias was going to die. On what was supposed to have been the happiest day of her life, she was going to die. The thought occurred to her like a lightning strike, igniting her fear and sending her already galloping heart into a mad panic in her chest.
She was absolutely certain of her impending demise as she lay there on her back, motionless, gaping at the impossible sight spread out before her eyes
A vast blanket of darkness stretched above her, embroidered with stars and stained in shades of violet and blue. In that glittering night sky, entire galaxies winked back at her, but what floored her most were the pale, twin crescents that graced it's center. They shone down upon her like Cheshire Cat smiles, one half the size of the other.
Two moons, she thought numbly. I must be dreaming. Please, please, let this be a dream!
Distantly, she could hear the shouts of men and baying hounds. Those sounds coupled with the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth were enough to snap her out of her momentary daze.
Isabelle rolled to her knees and spat. She gingerly touched her split lip - a token given to her by a behemoth of a man with pointed ears and a gleam of death in his eyes.
They're so close! I need to keep moving, she thought, desperately. I need to find help and get out of here!
The fact that she had absolutely no idea where 'here' was did not escape her. She'd have to figure that part out along the way some how.
"Come out now, my lady," an impatient voice thundered from just beyond the treeline. "You cannot escape the fates and you most certainly shall not escape me. You're only prolonging your own suffering."
Isabelle quickly swallowed her terror and lifted the heavy mass of ivory fabric tangled about her legs.
The dress had been a dazzling sight to behold that morning. Custom tailored for her months ago, it perfectly accentuated the shapely curves of her body. A strapless sweetheart neckline and a bodice bejeweled with Swarovski crystals tapered to a waspish waist, ending in yards and yards of billowing silk and lace. It was a perfectly gorgeous design, chosen for her by her soon-to-be mother-in-law—whose opinions she respected, if not shared.
At that moment, however, Isabelle could not have despised the design of the gown more. It snagged and tore in multiple directions as she dashed through the heavy brush and bramble, threatening to trip her with every step.
Damn it, damn it!
A mournful howl pealed from somewhere far off, sending the hounds into an excited frenzy of barking.
She was hopelessly lost in what seemed to be a fantasy, frantically running for her life from a dozen mad men in black armor. They hunted her with swords drawn and mastiffs leading their way. She'd assumed her situation could not possibly get any worse, but as another spine-chilling howl rent the night's air, she realized she'd clearly assumed wrong.
Wolves!
She wasn't sure which would be a crueler way to die- being assaulted, possibly tortured and ultimately murdered by the psychopaths trailing her, or being torn apart and devoured alive by a pack of hungry wolves.
She continued hurtling through the forrest away from the men, easily making her choice without pause. She'd take her chances with the wolves, obviously.
Suddenly, the veil in her hair caught on a branch, causing her head to snap back and abruptly halting her.
"No! No, no, no- come on! Dammit!" she swore furiously, her voice a ragged hush as she struggled like an insect caught in a spider's web.
After a few crucial, undetermined moments, she managed to break free from the trap of her veil and spun quickly, intending to bolt like a freed hare.
Thwack!
Isabelle crashed into a broad, unyielding wall of muscle and was immediately sent flying backwards until she lay sprawled upon the forest floor. The fall knocked the breath from her lungs and she gasped as she struggled to right herself. She managed to lift herself onto her elbows and looked up at the obstacle before her.
Isabelle's jaw slackened as she beheld the face of her assailant. In all her twenty-three years, she had never dreamed that beauty could wear so dark a mask. His features were carved with an almost unholy grace — a cruel angel draped in shadows and moonlight. It seemed odd to think of a man as beautiful — and yet no other word could suit him better.
"Ah, there you are, my dear," he purred, his voice a lovely sound, yet as foreboding as a piano chord struck in C minor. "We've been searching all over for you," he tsked. "You have no idea how much grief you've caused us all. Mother is in a foul mood. You've gone and spoiled all the night's festivities."
He lifted an elegant hand and ran long fingers through his moonlit hair. In this light, his rich golden locks looked haloed in silver.
Heaving a rather dramatic sigh, he rolled his eyes heavenward as if to seek divine guidance.