Witch Blood (24 page)

The demon stared down at the syringe poking out of his chest, reached down and pulled it out. All of Isabelle's hopes crashed as Boyle tossed it to the side, like a piece of refuse. Involuntarily, she lurched forward and reached out as if to catch it and then collapsed in a heap at Boyle's feet.

Boyle stared down at her for a moment, his lips parted so she could see the tips of his double row of pointed teeth. His eyes blazed red. He raised his hand and magick pulsed through the air, coating the back of her throat with the dry, bitter flavor of it.

Staring up at Boyle, Isabelle could see her impending death. Inwardly, she groped for power and came up empty, all of it stripped away by Gribben. But these walls didn't affect Boyle. His magick remained strong, vibrant. His desire to use it with killing force now stood clearly on his face.

Magick rippled and Isabelle felt something warm running over her upper lip—her nose had begun to bleed.

The demon moved his hand and she cringed, waiting for the blast that would end her life. Then he hesitated, lowered his hand. “I can't kill you now. Later. Soon.”

He stepped over her, leaving her sprawled on the ground, and headed into Stefan's cell.

Isabelle lay for a moment, overwhelmed with relief that she'd dodged Boyle's temper…for the moment. Then she pushed up, hardly believing what she was about to do. How the hell had she'd gone from trying to kill the head of the Duskoff to trying to save his miserable life? She lunged after Boyle.

Isabelle careened through the space the demon had just occupied and slammed into the doorjamb of Stefan's cell, breathing heavy. Raising her gaze, she stared into the empty room. Boyle was gone.

So was Stefan.

I
SABELLE WHIRLED TOWARD THE TWO FALLEN MEN,
but her thoughts whirled faster. Had Boyle pulled Stefan through a doorway to kill him at his leisure elsewhere? Or had Stefan taken the opportunity to flee while she'd feared for her life at Boyle's feet?

No matter now. Not while Thomas lay in a bloody crumple at the base of the wall, and Adam lay unconscious in the middle of the corridor.

Isabelle ran to Thomas and hauled him into her lap. Warm, sticky blood soaked through her jeans from the gash at the back of his head, but his breathing was deep and even. Fervently, she wished for her magick. By manipulating the water in his body, she perhaps could bring him to consciousness. Instead, she stroked her fingers down his cheek, silently willing him to come to.

After a minute, Thomas stirred and came awake. He groaned and his hand went to the back of his head, then he rolled to the side and looked up at her. “What happened?”

Relief rushed through her, making her lightheaded. She'd feared his head had been bashed in. Voice shaky, she told him.

Thomas pushed to his feet and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. As he dialed, he speared her with his gaze. “I want you out of here, Isabelle.
Now.
The demon might still be around, or he might return.” His voice shifted, grew tighter. “Since it has been proven I can't protect you from him, I want you as far away from here as possible.”

Of course, she'd expected as much. She shook her head, got to her feet, and went to Adam. “I'm not leaving until I've done all I can do to help.”

“Isabelle, your job here is through. Consider yourself fired.
Go
.” The force of his anger hit her like scalding water.

“No. Not yet.” Isabelle refused to meet his gaze. She knelt at Adam's side, who was already rousing. Until she'd made sure Adam was all right, she wasn't going anywhere. He'd have to throw her out with his bare hands.

 

T
HOMAS SUFFERED THE ATTENTIONS OF
D
OCTOR
Oliver for about a minute before pulling away from her.

“Thomas, you need to have this injury treated,” the doc said, using her
I'm not taking any of your bullshit
voice. Doctor Oliver used that voice with him often. “You hit the back of your head hard against the wall.”

“Thanks, doc, but later. Got other things to worry about now.”

He turned away from her and headed down the corridor to where a group of prison guards stood receiving orders from Jack. Gribben was in lockdown and the prison was being searched from top to bottom for Stefan.

By Isabelle's account, it was possible the warlock had taken the opportunity to flee his cell when Boyle had rendered Adam and Thomas unconscious prior to his confrontation with her. If that was true, Stefan should not have been able to get out of Gribben. Not with all the checkpoints from his cell to the exit. He was caught like a mouse in a trap.

“He could have gone into the ventilation,” Jack said as Thomas approached. “We've called in every available guard to search. Micah is studying the blueprints of the prison now and will brief you soon on how to proceed.”

Thomas hung back, allowing Jack to take the lead. He and Ingrid were the heir-apparents for head of the Coven. Thomas liked having control and had a tendency to micromanage, but he had to force himself to step back and allow them to take the lead sometimes.

When Jack had finished directing the guards, he turned to Thomas. “What if Boyle
poofed
Stefan through one of those doorways he can pull from thin air?”

Thomas gritted his teeth. “Then Stefan is free and this is a waste of our time. We can only hope the demon killed him somewhere beyond Gribben's walls.”

“But I don't get it. Boyle went after Stefan to kill him, as if for sport. He didn't want him for his ritual. Why would he come here, to the heart of the Coven, to try and kill a warlock whose death doesn't matter in the scope of his plan?”

Thomas glanced at Isabelle, who stood a distance away talking to Adam. “Boyle told Isabelle he was killing Stefan for her.”

“What?”

“Before the demon hit me and Adam, he said he was doing it because he thought she wanted Stefan dead. It was his gift to her.”

Jack shook his head and rubbed his chin. “I'm not following this.”

“Me, either. He's developed some kind of fixation on Isabelle, but Isabelle says she doesn't know why. She thinks it might be because Boyle killed her sister and now he feels some kind of morbid closeness with her. I think…” He trailed off, unable to say it aloud.

Jack said it for him. “A demon crush?”

“I don't know.” The thought of Boyle having any type of fascination with Isabelle made his blood run cold, but the demon's words had made it sound as if he did.

“So maybe it is plausible Boyle snatched Stefan and took him beyond Gribben's walls to kill him.”

“It's possible.” Thomas paused. “But we're going to operate on the assumption that Stefan tried to escape on his own for now and search every inch of Gribben.”

“You got it.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched Isabelle turn to look at him, her expression forlorn. The woman made him crazy. The thought of her being harmed made him crazier. Then, Isabelle turned and walked down the corridor. Thomas had to stop himself from following her.

He ripped his gaze from her retreating form. “Damn it all to hell.”

“We're already there, boss,” came Adam's flat voice from his left.

Thomas glanced at him, his jaw tight. “Anything new on your end?”

Adam shook his head. “But if Stefan's still in Gribben, he's not getting out.”

“Yeah.” He stared into the depths of the building. They'd been there for hours now and it wore on him, wore on all of them.

“What's up?” Adam asked. “You don't think he's here?”

“My gut is saying no.”

“Isabelle thinks Boyle got him out.”

“We'll know soon enough. No one can stay hidden for long in Gribben.” He debated asking and finally gave in. “Was Isabelle all right when you talked to her?”

Adam shrugged and glanced away. “She seemed kind of sad. Said you two weren't working out. Said she was headed back to her condo in the city, felt like she was safer there. Safer from the demon or safer from you, I wasn't quite sure which.”

Thomas went still, absorbing that information. “Did she say when she was leaving?”

“I had the impression she was leaving now. Too bad. You were a lot easier to deal with while you were getting laid.” On that note, Adam sauntered away.

So Isabelle had decided to leave the Coven in an effort to put some distance between them. Likely, she was afraid they were getting too close because he'd admitted he loved her.

The problem was he
knew
she loved him back. He sensed it every time she looked at him, spoke to him. He'd felt it downstairs in the corridor when she'd woken him up by running her fingers down his cheek over and over.

Isabelle was the best damn thing that had ever happened to him. She brought chaotic beauty into his existence. He brought stability and love to hers. No way was he going to let her run away from him. No way was he going to let her irrational fears ruin this for both of them.

Didn't she know by now that he wasn't giving her up without a fight?

 

W
AITING.

Isabelle waited for death to come. Every tick of the grandfather clock in the living room brought it closer.

She rested her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. She'd had about three hours of sleep in the last twenty-four, but dream time still eluded her. Though sleep was a thing she needed direly. She needed to be ready for Boyle. She curled her fingers around the syringe she'd plucked from the prison floor. With her other hand, she touched her knife in its wrist sheath.

They hadn't found Stefan inside Gribben. Adam had called to tell her. There was no sign—of course—of Boyle, either. Her chance to save herself had ended disastrously and now she was almost out of chances. She had one left and the odds were against her.

She pulled the comforter closer and inhaled the lingering scent of her sister's sweet perfume. The fear she'd felt before was almost gone. She would fight as hard as she could for as long as she could. She would protect as best she could those she loved. The rest lay in the hands of the Lord and the Lady.

Eventually, she dozed a little despite the ticking of the grandfather clock and the fact she'd left all the lights on. Pounding on the door brought her awake not long after, however. Bleary-eyed, she glanced up at the clock and saw she'd slept about a half an hour. Great. When the demon came she'd be in top physical condition.

She pushed off the couch and went to the door. At least she knew it wasn't Boyle. Demons didn't knock.

Isabelle checked the peephole, sighed, and rested her head against the wall. She'd wondered if he'd come. Of course it had been silly to think he wouldn't. Thomas Monahan wasn't a man to be put off easily. Yet she thought maybe she'd driven a hard enough wedge between them that he might stay away.

She had to get him out of here fast, but it was going to be hard to lie to Thomas. All her heart wanted was
him
—his presence, the scent of him, the circle of his strong arms, his husky voice in her ear. All her head wanted was to get him as far from her as possible.

Steeling herself, she unlocked the door and opened it.

He wore a pair of black pants and a white linen shirt. His hair hung long and loose over his shoulders and his dark eyes were hooded, but didn't look lazy; they snapped with fire. The normally sensual curve of his lips was set in a firm line. She recognized the body language; he was pissed.

Lady, he was sexy when he was pissed.

Her breath caught and her fingers curled a little, wanting nothing more than to slide under his shirt to touch the warm skin and hard muscle she knew lay there. Instead, she hid her reaction, kept a straight face, and simply walked back into the apartment.

The door slammed closed behind her and his hand came down on her shoulder. He whipped her around to face him. “You just leave? I don't even rate a good-bye?”

“You told me to go, Thomas,” she reminded him grimly.

“To get away from the prison, yes. I didn't mean for you to leave the Coven.”

“I don't want to do this again, Thomas. It hurt enough the first time.” She sighed. “We both knew this wasn't going to work out long-term. It was just about the sex. The sex was great, but now it's time to let go.” Such callous words, so easily uttered. Why did they feel like small blocks of ice in her throat?

And damn it, he didn't believe her anyway. She didn't even need her empathy, since doubt lay clear in his expression.

A muscle in his jaw worked. “You're not a good liar, Isabelle,” he ground out. “You're just running away from me like you run away from everyone that gets too close to you.”

She pulled away from him. “Thanks for the psychoanalysis, but you don't know the first thing about me.” Of course, he did. She'd run away her whole life from any attachment or emotional anchor. It was only now she'd met Thomas and fallen in love with him that she didn't want to run anywhere but straight into his arms.

Except now was the one time in her life when she
had
to run.

Sometimes fate sucked.

Her next words tore from the center of her, somewhere just left of the seat of her magick. She tried to keep her voice steady, but she had to turn her face away because she knew she couldn't master her expression. “Just get out, Thomas. Please, I don't want you here right now.” Finally, a bit of truth, even if it hurt to say it.

“Why are you so afraid?”

She pressed her palm to her eye. “It's not fear—exactly. Moving around, it's just what I know. I can't stay in one place, with one person. It's just not who I am.”

“Bullshit.”

She sighed, rounding on him. The words she spoke now came from somewhere deep inside. “I don't want to screw it up, all right! Every time I form a relationship, find a good place to stay…it disappears. Nothing ever lasts! Maybe it's better to just not have it to begin with. Then I never have to worry about when it's going to vanish. Then I never have to feel pain when it inevitably dissolves.”

“Isabelle—”

She cut him off, on a roll now. “When I travel, there's a fresh start at every arrival gate. New people. New places. Hotel rooms. Rented villas. Room service. All of it is…formless, nondescript, anonymous. Nothing to fuck up. Nothing to get attached to. Nothing to grieve for when I move on.”