Witch Blood (28 page)

More shouting at them in the strange language.

“We don't understand you!” bellowed Thomas. He flicked his hair away from his face and Isabelle glimpsed his eyes, snapping hot black with ire.

A demon with short brown hair and a handsome face angrily pushed his way through the throng and shoved the redhead, barking something at him. The redhead barked back. The handsome demon gestured at her and Thomas, growing louder in his protestations.

Chaos ensued.

Demon turned on demon, shouting and shoving. They gesticulated at her and Thomas constantly. One of them tried to rush them, but was held back by his peers. Obviously, this was a serious disagreement.

Obviously, it was over their fate.

Thomas took her hand and squeezed it a moment before the redhead raised his hand and sent a blast of demon magick toward them.

The scent of it burned along her nose and throat, making her choke—triple stronger than on Earth—and blackness enveloped her.

 

I
SABELLE AWOKE WITH A JOLT AND GRIMACED.
T
HE
redhead pulled a capsule away from her face and she saw he'd waved something that smelled bitter under her nose. She tried to move her hands, but quickly learned they, like her ankles, were bound.

They'd dressed her, at least. That was good because being clothed in just her bra around a bunch of male demons hadn't made her feel very warm and fuzzy. She now wore a dark blue tuniclike shirt in a soft weave of fabric that seemed a cross between silk and cotton.

The redhead said something unintelligible to her. She ignored him, too busy glancing around the room to locate Thomas. The room was surprisingly luxurious—soft dark green couches with tasseled pillows, granite tables, and plush throw rugs covering a polished stone floor. Gleaming swords decorated the walls. The décor appeared medieval and posh all at once.

It was a nice room, except for the fact Thomas wasn't in it.

“Where's Thomas? Where's my friend?” she asked, interrupting his fruitless attempts to communicate with her. She knew he couldn't understand her, but the question was involuntary.

“Pah,
aeamon
.” The redhead waved a hand at her in a gesture that needed no translation, turned, and walked out of the room.

Isabelle fell back against the cushions in defeat. Damn it, she had to find Thomas. If they hadn't seen to his wound—and what was the chance of that?—he'd bleed out.

He'd die.

Her wrists were tied in front of her. She raised her hands and worried the rope with her teeth as fast as she could. Hell, she'd gnaw through them if she had to.

She'd managed to get the knots around her wrists undone and was busy laboring on the ones around her ankles when the door opened. Isabelle pressed herself back into the cushions, wishing she'd been able to work a little faster, and watched the new demon enter the room.

He stood close to seven feet tall and looked like a Viking on steroids—long blond hair, icy blue eyes, and a square, chiseled chin. Threat seemed to linger on the brutal curve of his mouth and sit all too comfortably in his eyes.

Viking demon didn't seem to notice, or care, that her hands were untied. Why should he? There was no way she could best this guy in a fight. She was completely vulnerable to him, locked in this room with him alone. It didn't matter if she were bound or not.

The demon stopped in the center of the room and studied her. She braced herself for another barrage of the foreign language. “Where's Thomas?” she repeated. She would ask until her throat was raw or he learned English, whichever came first.

“Safe.” He paused ominously. “For now.”

Relief flooded her, though she didn't like the
for now
he added on. She jolted as the second most important bit of information registered. “You speak English?”

He inclined his head a degree. “I speak many of the languages of your people. It is part of my job.” His tone wasn't particularly hostile—more matter-of-fact—but the expression on his face remained icy. “My name is Rue. I am an ambassador to the
aeamon
.”

She took a moment to reply, her mind wiped momentarily clean of thought. “Ambassador to the
aeamon?
”

His eyes glowed red for a moment and Isabelle lost her breath. “Why did you follow Ashe through the doorway?”

“Ashe? Do you mean the demon who called himself Boyle?”

The demon named Rue stalked toward her, shoulders hunched. Isabelle shrank back against the couch. “You know who I mean,” he bellowed. “The
Atrika daaeman
we killed in the field.”

Atrika demon?
“Whoa! Hold on!” She held up a hand, as if that would ward him off. “We knew him as Erasmus Boyle, and we did
not
follow him voluntarily through the doorway.”

The demon's massive hands came down on the couch at either side of her head, pinning her in place. The scent of demon magick came off him in cloying waves.

“You lie!” he snarled.

She startled backward, her head hitting the soft cushion. If she could get any farther back, she'd be inside the couch.

His teeth had started to lengthen and become pointed. “You came through the doorway to organize with the
Atrika
.”

Terror exploded through her body at the sight of his eyes, which now glowed a steady red. Isabelle knew with a vast amount of experience that glowing red eyes on a demon was never a good sign.

Isabelle sat forward, coming nose to nose with him, every muscle in her body vibrating with fear. “Look, I don't know what the hell an
Atrika
is, but if they're anything like Boyle, I want no part of them. An
Atrika
killed my sister. We were doing our best to return the favor. During Boyle's death throes, the doorway he was trying to open appropriated his magick, went wonky, and sucked us through.” She drew a breath. “
We are not here by choice!
” She spat the last sentence and felt her face grow hot with anger.

He stared at her for a long moment, then turned, and stalked away. He crossed the room to a window that looked out over clear blue sky and stared out of it. Apparently, they were on a very high floor. She wondered which of the jagged gray skyscrapers that she'd seen before was the one she now found herself in.

“Tell me what an
Atrika
is,” she said, finally. She needed some answers. Any answers.

Not turning toward her, he clasped his hands at the small of his back and glanced down as he answered. The gesture was so much like Thomas that a lump formed in her throat. “You know this already.”

“
I do not
.” Her voice sounded low, cold and commanding. It was pure, unadulterated rage that made it that way. It filled the room like a general's might.

He turned to face her, anger on his face. “
Etaryi!
” He snapped out the word like a curse. “They are one breed of
daaeman
!”

She rubbed her wrists, where the skin had been bruised from the rope. Her hands were shaking. “There are different breeds?”

“There are four. Each have different characteristics. The
Atrika
are the most bloodthirsty, the most violent. They are illegal here. We hunt them down and imprison or kill them.”

She looked up. “Demons so bad you had to exterminate an entire breed? Is that why you locked out Ashe?”

He stared stormily at her and she thought he wouldn't reply. Then he paced away and said, “Since the wars have ended and their services as soldiers are no longer needed, the
Atrika
have organized into a mercenary group. He was their leader until we caught him and put him in prison for his atrocities.” He lifted his chin and sneered. “Then you foolhardy
aeamon
pulled him through.”

“Hey, we weren't the foolhardy ones. The people who pulled Boyle through are like the
Atrika
in our world.”

Rue's lips compressed into a firm line. His eyes glowed red, giving Isabelle momentary heart palpitations. “
If
that is true, there could be an explanation. You know that
aeamon
are bred from us?”

“Yes.” She swallowed the
unfortunately
. It wasn't a good idea to insult a seven-foot demon to his face.

He nodded. “It is possible there are
aeamon
who have inherited the
Atrika
genetic traits. They can be like children, always grasping and wanting. They care nothing for the suffering of others and are slaves to their own selfish whims.”

Inherited the
Atrika
genetic traits
. Her mind reeled from that bit of information.

“What breed of demon are you?” she asked.

“
Ytrayi
. Leader class. We have strong magick to call and overdeveloped aggression, like the
Atrika
. Unlike the
Atrika
, we have the restraint and control to manage it. We have…honor.”

This was all very interesting, but Isabelle had a far more pressing matter at the forefront of her mind. “So you understand that Thomas and I are not these people, right? We don't want to ever deal with an
Atrika
again. We're sorry we were pulled through the doorway, and, really, we just want to go home.”

“This cannot be allowed.” He turned once more, placidly hooking his hands at the small of his back and staring out the window.

Darn, and she thought they'd been making friends.

While his back was turned, Isabelle worked the rest of the knots around her ankles. Just as she was about to ease from the couch and pick up a long piece of jagged scarlet-colored crystal from a nearby table—a bit of artwork, she assumed—and bash him over his head, he turned to face her. “I should kill you now, but we may have need of you.”

“Wait a minute!” Her mouth went dry. “We don't want to conspire against you or harm you in any way.”
Like they could
. “My friend and I just want to go home. Please.”

Talking to the piece of artwork she'd fantasized about whacking him over the head with would have had more impact. He strode past her and out the door. The lock turned on the other side, seeming to echo through the room.

Isabelle sagged against the couch in defeat, fighting a swell of nausea from being in a locked room. She drew a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Now was no time for a panic attack. She pictured Thomas here in the room with her and her anxiety eased. Isabelle opened her eyes, steadier now.

But where was Thomas really? Had they left him to bleed out somewhere in this building? Had they decapitated him like they had Boyle? Nausea threatened once more.

She took slow, deep breaths in through her nose and out her mouth. The demon had said they might need her. Logic said the same would be true for Thomas. Likely they hadn't killed him…yet.

With short, jerky movements, she pulled the rest of the rope around her ankles free and hurled it across the room with a bellow of pure frustration. That task accomplished, she slid from the couch and grabbed the heavy crystal sculpture from the table near her. Hugging it to her chest, she prowled the room, looking for a way out.

T
HOMAS WOKE WITH THE STENCH OF DEMON MAG
ick in his nostrils and his cheek against something hard and cold. He pushed up, grit digging into his palms, and groaned at the pain shooting through his thigh.

When his eyes flickered open he glimpsed the interior of what seemed to be a cell in the dim light. An iron door with bars at the top. Concrete floor and walls. Ratty, folded-up blanket to serve as a bed.

He raised magick, power flickering over his tattoo and down his arms, tingling the base of his skull. It came weak and sluggish because of his injuries, even in this place where his magick was more powerful. All the same, the pavement near his head pulsed as he manipulated it.

Good. This place wasn't like Gribben.

A footstep sounded to his left. That's all the warning he got. A booted foot struck his injured side and Thomas's world went white hot with pain. He grunted, nearly tossed his cookies, and held onto consciousness with every last shred of willpower he possessed. Unconsciousness now could very well mean his death.

“We have your female,” came a heavily accented voice. “If you cooperate, we will not hurt her.”

Isabelle
.
Shit
.

Thomas forced himself to turn over onto his stomach, agony spearing down his thigh and through his middle. At least that pain wasn't a quarter as bad as when the speaker had kicked him. He forced himself to focus upward, seeing a blond man staring down at him. “What do you want from us?”

“Why have you come to ally with the
Atrika
?”

He frowned. “The what?”

“Your female tried also to feign ignorance, but we know that's why you've come. That's the only reason any
aeamon
comes here.”

His mind whirled at the influx of information. Did that mean witches had come here before? No, warlocks, most likely. Not witches. Had they achieved it?

Thomas's vision blurred. He blinked and the demon came back into focus. “We came here accidentally. When we fought Boyle with copper, the spell he was cooking to open a doorway became unstable. We were caught in the maelstrom.” He drew an unsteady breath, feeling lightheaded. “There is no attempt on our part to ally with any
Atrika
.”
Whatever the hell that was.

The demon took three menacing steps forward, his boots crunching on the grit of the floor. “Do you think we don't understand your goals? You forced the demon to open the doorway and then tried to kill him once you had no more need of him.”

If Thomas had not been bleeding to death and at the mercy of a seven foot demon in an alien world, he would have laughed. “You think we forced Erasmus Boyle to bring us here? You actually think us capable of that? We just spent the last three weeks trying to
stop
Boyle from doing whatever he wanted.”

“Ashe, this demon you know as Boyle, would never have returned willingly. He knew we would track and kill him as soon as he set foot on our soil again.”

Thomas touched his thigh and winced. His hand came away red, warm and sticky with his blood. The wound had reopened. “He was…homesick,” Thomas replied on a tired sigh. Speaking cost him. All he wanted was to slip into unconsciousness.

“Homesick?”

“He would've risked anything to get back here, even death.” Thomas paused to drag some ragged gulps of air into his lungs. “Boyle was killing witches to get home. The only way to stop him was to poison him with copper, but it only did the job three-quarters of the way. We were pulled through the doorway and you finished him off in the field. That's what happened. Why would we do our best to kill the demon before coming through the portal?”

Silence.

Desperation edged into Thomas's body, more painful than his wound. Isabelle was alone somewhere with these creatures. What was happening to her?

“So you could weaken him,” the blond demon replied. “Weaken him long enough to come through and then kill him. So you could prove to the
Atrika
that you are powerful enough to kill their former leader and gain their respect. But something must have happened to prevent you from killing Ashe on this side of the doorway.”

Thomas closed his eyes. The demon didn't believe him.

“We will get the information from you, believe me,
aeamon.
We will obtain the truth. From you or from your woman.” He toed the wound on Thomas's thigh, making him gasp and see stars. “It will not be pleasant…
for you or the female
.”

“Let Isabelle go. Keep me. She's an innocent in this.” So was he, but they didn't want to believe that.

“You have no bargaining chip here. We have you both. We will keep you both.”

Thomas raised his head and snarled, “
Fuck you, demon
. If you have any sense of honor, you'll let her go free.”

The demon stiffened at the word
honor
and his eyes narrowed. “Do not insult my people,” he growled.

He'd touched a nerve purely by accident. Not one to waste opportunities, Thomas played it up, trying to appeal to him as best he could. He knew nothing about their culture, but he'd use whatever was at hand in his goal to see Isabelle safe. He raised his head a little to hold the demon's gaze. “In
our
world,
we
protect those we care about. It's a code of honor we have…a code between warriors. Keep me and let the innocent female go. She knows nothing and you have no need of her.”

“
Aeamon,
do you know the deal you strike? You will never see your world again.”

He closed his eyes, on the verge of passing out. He nodded, his focus centered in one and only one direction. “Just make sure Isabelle does.”

 

T
HE DOOR OPENED AND
I
SABELLE SWUNG HER WEAPON,
only to find her wrist caught painfully. The sculpture was torn from her grasp, dropped to the floor, and shattered. Rue growled low at her and tugged her forward, through the doorway and into the corridor.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, fighting him and allowing her gaze to eat up her surroundings at the same time. Polished dark green floor and smooth black walls. Many doors. Lights embedded in the ceiling. No other demons in sight.

“Home.”

She stilled, in shock at the sudden turn of events. Earlier it had sounded as though they might torture her for information she did not possess. Failing that, they would kill her. “What about Thomas?”

“We have need of him. He stays.” He dragged her forward, down the corridor.

Isabelle exploded into motion, pulling her arm back where he grasped her wrist, punching him with her free hand, kicking and screaming. She flailed against him, hurling every swear word and insult she could think of. Lady, she felt so tiny and insignificant in the face of his bulk. A gnat going toe-to-toe with an elephant.

The demon turned, his eyes glowing red. “The head mage will not return. He has agreed to stay willingly if we set you free. Forget him and count yourself lucky. You will go back to your people and know we have been merciful with you.”

He turned and pulled her once more down the corridor. Against his superior strength, she had no option but to be dragged along.

All she desired was Thomas, to touch him and know he was okay, to fit her face into the curve of his neck and inhale the scent of him.

Isabelle now understood the meaning of the word
despair
.

Emotion swelled within her, hot and hard. In the center of her chest, her magick pulsed in response, stronger here than it would have on Earth. Impulse made her act, to reach out for the only strength available to her. Tendrils of magick shot from her in all directions, seeking any moisture in her immediate area.

The pipes in the walls, under the floor, above their head in the ceiling all began to bang. The small amount of moisture in the air coalesced on her demand, creating a mist around their heads.

Her captor slowed, staring around him. Water erupted and sprayed down from a light fixture above their heads as it found any tiny crack or throughway to obey her call. To their left a pipe burst, sending liquid running down the wall.

Somewhere in the building she found a large pool of water. Its calm depths purred at her for a moment before she yanked it toward them. Her magick was amazingly strong here. What would have zapped her energy on Earth only made her feel energized on Eudae.

The roar of water approaching down the corridor behind them caused the demon to turn and scowl at her. “I have given your mage my word I would return you,” he yelled at her over the roar of the oncoming rush. “But he remains.”

The wave of water turned the corner at the end of the corridor and rocketed toward them. Isabelle focused all her will on directing it past her, straight at the demon. She would escape him and find Thomas. “If he stays, I stay!”

The demon stared at her grimly, his gaze holding hers. Then, right before the wave hit, he raised his hand and parted the sea. The water rushed past them both, barely wetting them.

Isabelle closed her eyes against the swell of disappointment and grief rising from the center of her. Her knees went weak and she had to catch herself before she collapsed.

Rue reached out, snared her wrist, and dragged her forward.

Her feet slid on the wet floor as she resisted, but nothing could halt her relentless progress until the demon stopped in front of a large carved wood door. A monster with horns cavorted there, chiseled by a demon hand. It looked like a cross between a ram and a huge man. Rue waved his hand and the door opened. He pushed her through.

The circular room had no decorations to speak of and seemed wholly utilitarian. The walls were of polished dark stone and the floor was also stone—dark green, marbled black, and marked with strange symbols in a circular pattern. Cabinets stood along the edges of the room and she wondered what filled them, what purpose they served.

The chamber stank of demon magick.

She could not only smell the demon magick, but feel it along her skin. It pulsed with a subtle light all along her body. Like walking into sunshine without the glow.

Under the stink of demon magick lingered the lighter scent of herbs. Immediately it made her think of earth magick. She glanced more closely at the room and glimpsed bowls set in what seemed to be strategic locations. Very possibly the smell emanated from them in a sort of magickal potpourri of dried plants.

Symbols marked strategic places on the floor at her feet. Cold inched up her spine at how closely it resembled a warlock's demon circle. In the center, Isabelle could feel the subtle pulse and pull of a doorway.

“
Aptry domini
,” he uttered.

Light shimmered in the gateway, growing brighter.

Thomas
. Oh, Lady, she couldn't leave him here.

The demon placed a hand on her shoulder, as if to guide her to it. “I'm not leaving without him!” Isabelle shrugged him off, turned, and used every ounce of physical strength she possessed, going completely berserk. Still, he wrestled her kicking, screaming, and biting, as though she were a mosquito, into the circle, and pushed her through the doorway with not even a fare thee well.

Isabelle fell.

 

“T
HOMAS
!” I
SABELLE LUNGED INTO A SITTING POSITION
and immediately doubled over and dry heaved.

“Whoa! Whoa! Calm down, Isabelle.”

Adam's voice. That had to be Adam's broad, warm hand on her back, too.

She opened her eyes and saw shoes all around her, the toes pointed in her direction. Isabelle lifted her head, palms and knees biting into the concrete floor, and looked up at the witches who'd apparently been in the warehouse when she'd reentered.

She remembered nothing from the time the demon had pushed her through until she'd dry heaved. Her body seemed to remember, though. She shivered and bitterness crept up the back of her throat, like she had the flu.

“Damn it, Isabelle, you're scaring me.” Without preamble, Adam scooped her into his arms and lifted her like a doll. Isabelle was too out of it to protest.

Micah's concerned face entered her view, but she couldn't focus on it. Nor could she stop shivering. He put his palm to her cheek and grunted. “We need to get her warm and hydrated. I think she's going into shock.”

“My SUV is outside. Let's get her back to the Coven. Jack and the others can wait here in case that thing spits Thomas out.” Adam walked toward the door.

Thomas. They still had Thomas!

Isabelle moved, struggling against him. “Wait! I can't leave. Let me down—”