by Anya Bast
She dug her heels into the mattress and curled her fingers around his wrists as he held her captive. Pleasure skittered through her sex and up her spine, signaling her oncoming climax.
Thomas rotated his hips a little, driving into her by another angle, one that brushed the head of his cock against her G-spot with every thrust. Isabelle sank her teeth into her bottom lip and came. It slammed into her body with the force of a train, stealing all her thought and her breath momentarily along with it. She felt the muscles of her sex pulse and ripple along Thomas’s thrusting length.
“Isabelle,” he breathed a moment before he released himself inside her with a long, rumbling groan of pleasure.
They lay tangled together, breathing hard. She’d thrown one leg around his waist and the other now hung off the side of the bed. Thomas released her wrists after a moment and she rotated them. He’d held her firmly, but he hadn’t hurt her. Oddly, she felt a bit sad that their contact was now broken.
“Isabelle,” he murmured again as he moved to her left with a groan of exhausted satisfaction. “You kill me, woman.” He crawled onto the mattress and collapsed. After a moment she followed him.
Thomas rolled onto his side, tucking up against her body and propping himself up on one elbow, and stared down at her with an unsettling intensity. He said nothing. He didn’t need to say anything; his emotions lay in his gaze.
Thomas cared for her a great deal.
That knowledge made a wisp of fear curl through her stomach, brought images of long, dark winding roads and airport terminals flickering through her mind. Instead of giving in to her fears, she reached up and cupped his face, feeling the rough stubble that he hadn’t shaved since that morning.
She’d meant what she’d said about trying. For the first time in her life, she’d found a place and a person she just might want to hang around for. Maybe. Thomas Monahan was worth a closer look, at least. There was no doubt about that.
Idly, he stroked her breast, playing with the nipple until it hardened and she squirmed on the bed from the heat it kindled in her sex. “Never thought I’d fall for a high-maintenance woman.”
Her eyes widened. “First of all, who’s falling for anyone? This is all about the sex, bub. Second of all, who’s high-maintenance?”
He chuckled. “Funny.” Then he lowered his head, closed his lips around her nipple and she forgot the flare of panic she’d felt when he used the words falling, as in falling in love, in reference to her.
His hand slipped between her thighs to stroke as he paid careful and thorough attention to each of her nipples in turn. Her breath came sharper and her body tingled. He could play her like an instrument, make the sounds of pleading fall from her lips like music.
Dangerous was the man who could make her beg for him….
“Thomas.” One word. His name. But it was spoken like a prayer and an entreaty all at once.
He kneed her thighs apart and slid between them, slipping his cock into her body as though it were a part of her. His hand followed the curve of her waist and hip until it slid under her buttocks to cup her against him as he rode her so slowly the pleasure made tears sting her eyes.
Yes. This was a man she could stay for. Here was a man who could be her home. The thoughts came into her mind like leaves falling from a tree, so naturally. In a haze of pleasure, she felt warmed by them.
Her climax rose slowly this time, teasing her with the edge for many moments until it stole over her and then exploded. It rolled up her spine and through her body, thieving everything in her world for a moment that wasn’t directly related to the sensation.
Thomas responded to her climax only a moment after hers had ended. He groaned her name low, while she scattered kisses along his throat and gently dragged his skin between her teeth.
After it was over, he pulled her to the side with him, burying his face in the curve of her throat and breathing heavily.
“Orgasm blindness,” she murmured.
His breathing paused for a moment and he lifted his head. “What?”
“Orgasm blindness. When I climax, for those few moments, I can’t think at all. Can’t focus on anything but the pleasure. It’s like I’m blind and deaf to everything else.” She adjusted so she lay on her side and propped her chin in her palm. “Is it like that with men?”
“Yes.” He pursed his lips. “Although you seem to have that effect on me all the time.”
She buried her face in the curve of his neck, breathing in the scent of him and hiding the pleasure his words gave her.
Eventually Thomas’s breathing evened out and relaxed into that of deep slumber. Her thoughts were heavy tonight, and complex, just as complex as the emotions that Thomas engendered in her.
She might be falling in love with him.
That realization came with equal parts terror and joy. Joy that she might actually be capable of a deeper relationship, a tie with another human being. The terror came from the same thought.
Unable to sleep, she slipped from under the blankets, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a light white sweater, and left the room. Wandering the halls of the Coven in the dark was actually relaxing. The gentle magickal hum of the building’s wards warmed through her, soothing her. Just the very leading edge of morning filtered in through the windows. The world outside was still hours from truly stirring.
Finally, she reached the library and slipped inside. She knew why she’d been drawn there; within, it smelled like Thomas. This was his favorite room in the Coven, the one that doubled as his office. The place was steeped in the energy of Thomas and she felt comforted here.
She hesitated at the doorway, suddenly torn between wanting to enter and wanting to go back to Thomas. The desire jarred her. She’d never wanted to return to a man’s bed before. Moving by only the light that filtered through the big window, she felt her way to Thomas’s desk and flipped on the lamp.
Then she turned around and came face-to-face with Boyle.
Isabelle stared into the demon’s eyes for a moment, unblinking. Adrenaline zinged through her body. His eyes were flat gunmetal gray. She’d expected them to be empty, but they weren’t. The demon’s eyes were full of emotion, of personality. Like a human’s.
One would have to have emotion to want to chew on the bones of a child, wouldn’t one? One would have to have a force of personality to lie in wait within an attorney’s office for an innocent witch and then suck the life from her body and the magick from her soul.
Isabelle lunged backward, skidding over the top of Thomas’s desk, knocking everything off and grabbing a letter opener she’d seen as she went. The demon didn’t move as she put the heavy piece of furniture between them and brandished the weapon in her hand.
“You killed my sister.” She didn’t even realize the words had come from her throat until they were out. They didn’t even sound like they’d come from her, so low, so sinister, so gravelly. “You killed those four innocent witches. You tried to kill that little girl!”
The demon remained disconcertingly motionless, his eyes unblinking as his gaze bored into her. “It was necessary. I needed them.”
The answer was far from satisfactory. Pure rage blossomed in her chest. She moved from behind the desk. Taking her eyes from the demon fleetingly, she glanced to note Thomas’s sheathed sword lying against one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. That would be so much nicer to have between herself and the demon than a tiny letter opener. As it was…
She hurled herself at the thing in front of her and plunged the letter opener straight into where she assumed the demon’s heart would be, if he had a heart.
Blood dripped from Boyle’s wound, but he didn’t move, didn’t react. It was like stabbing a living statue. She backed away, the letter opener still embedded to the hilt in his chest. Blinking away the sting of tears, she fought to comprehend that she hadn’t hurt him, not even a little.
She wanted so much to hurt him.
“I need you, too, Isabelle Novak.”
/> She blinked. Why wasn’t he fighting her, trying to kill her then? “What does that mean?”
“You have the right combination I need for my spell. You are perfect in your magickcal balances and fit the puzzle I am trying to piece together.”
“You mean you want to chop me up and stir me into your magickal stew?”
Boyle thought about that for a moment. “Yes.”
“You know what, Boyle? Fuck you.”
She lunged to the right and caught up the sword. By the time she’d unsheathed it, he was on her.
He grabbed her around the throat and squeezed. Isabelle felt her eyes bulge and her larynx begin to crush. He lifted her and the sword dangled impotently at her side. The handle of the letter opener still embedded in him poked her chest.
Even though it was a violent action and it made panic race through her veins like drinking ice water on a hot summer’s day, the demon was being gentle with her. He could crush her throat as easily as she could break an egg in her fist. He wasn’t killing her because he needed her alive for some reason…at least for now.
Isabelle brought her knee up hard and fast, right between his legs. The demon yowled and dropped her. Isabelle crashed to the floor and landed on her ass, still holding tight to the sword and gasping for air. Well, that was one part of the demon’s anatomy he had in common with a human.
When she could, she looked up to see Boyle doubled over. She took the opportunity to bolt to her feet and swing the sword at him. With lightning fast reflexes, he blocked her stroke and grabbed the blade with his bare hand.
He pushed it away and she yanked it from him, demon blood dripping from his palm and sizzling to the floor where the sword had bit into flesh.
Isabelle went into a half-crouching position and circled him, waiting for a better opportunity.
He opened his hand and showed the cut made by the copper sword. It wasn’t smoking, not peeling away. Nothing. Why hadn’t it worked? Why wasn’t he screaming and writhing in agony like he had before?
“I can see the questions on your face, little witch. You’re wondering why the copper isn’t making me sick. I have treated myself since we last met. I’ve given myself allergy shots, so to speak. Such a superficial exposure to copper will not harm me now, though the swords are clever.”
Then she’d have to make sure the exposure wasn’t superficial then. “Whatever. Swords still maim. They’re still capable of hacking off limbs. I guess you can’t grow limbs back, right? No allergy shot for that.” She feinted to the left, then turned and brought the blade down toward him.
Boyle moved at the last moment, but he wasn’t quick enough to avoid the satisfying bite of the blade into demon meat. He bellowed, grabbed the blade with both of his massive hands and threw it across the room. It shattered the window at the far end.
Isabelle cringed at the sound of breaking glass and the noises of an animal in pain. She’d wounded him with the blade, but he still hadn’t had the allergic reaction he’d had in the parking lot, damn it.
Blood coursed from the demon’s side, soaking his jeans and the black T-shirt and leather jacket he wore. With one mighty sweep of his arm, he smashed the liquor cart near him, sending the bottles and glasses crashing to the polished wood floor.
“You have the blend I need, Isabelle Novak, but there are others. You have time to think on my proposal. I’m doing this only because I felt how distraught you were over the most recent deaths. Ah. I see your face. Yes, little witch, I’m empathic. I will come for you when I am ready. I have work to do before you. Sacrifice yourself and you save another witch, or save yourself and doom another to death. The choice is yours.”
She stared up at him. Boy, she didn’t like the options.
“The head mage has grown fond of you,” Boyle added. “The one ridden by the angel. Do not let him know of my offer. His interference will mean his death. You have been warned.” Boyle turned, threw open a doorway, and exited. Poof and he was gone.
Shock numbing her body and stealing her thought, Isabelle sank to the floor amid the jagged edges of broken bottle and glass. Amber-colored liquid mixed with clear on the dark wood floor. From the opening of the shattered window at the far end of the room, early morning air drifted in and made her shiver.
Lady…
Soon the numbness let go and pain registered. Her throat ached and burned at the same time. Now that the demon was gone the adrenaline slowly leaked from her system, leaving her feeling like she’d just been hit by a freight train.
Her life for another witch’s.
Would she have traded her life for Brandon’s or Mary’s? Her mind balked at the choice, riffled through scenarios. Selfishness screamed no. How could she sacrifice her life for a stranger’s? She liked life. She liked her life. Dying wasn’t on her agenda for a good sixty or more years. Isabelle was no martyr and she’d never been particularly self-sacrificing.
But would she have traded her life for her sister’s? Nausea roiled through her stomach. The answer, of course, was yes. Would she have given her life to protect that little girl from the demon? She’d done her level best, hadn’t she?
Mary had been a mother, a grandmother, a sister, and a freaking retired kindergarten teacher, for the sake of the Lady. Brandon had been a son, a brother, and a devoted uncle. They each had had strong familial ties. Many people now grieved them. They each had left large holes in the world.
Isabelle closed her eyes. If she died few people would even notice. She wouldn’t leave a large hole, just a pinprick. These thoughts didn’t come from a place of self-loathing; they were simple facts.
In the face of that realization, her choice became sickeningly, stomach-lurchingly clear.
She closed her eyes for a moment and just concentrated on breathing — in through her nose and out her mouth. Breath by breath, moment by moment, that’s how she had to take this.
How long did she have until Boyle came for her?
Once her heartbeat returned to something resembling normal, she opened her eyes and surveyed the damage to Thomas’s office. The breeze that shouldn’t be there buffeted the papers that had been knocked off his desk. Alcohol soaked through files and made ink run. She hoped it was nothing too important.
She doubted anyone would have heard the ruckus. The library was far from the residential portion of the Coven and it was the middle of the night. The wards were set to register magickal disturbances, not swords thrown through windows.
Isabelle wondered how Boyle had gotten into the Coven, though she suspected she knew. Witch magick didn’t work on demons, so it went to follow that neither did wardings. The reason was moot; obviously, he’d gotten through. She would have the bruises on her throat to show for it, not to mention a lovely decision to make.
Not that it was much of a decision.
She wouldn’t go out without a fight, though. Already her mind worked through the possibilities. Maybe there was a way she could defeat Boyle, keep her life and that of the witch of the equivalent magickal consistency who would serve in her place. Maybe she could.
Or maybe not.
FIFTEEN
THOMAS STOOD ON HIS SCATTERED, SOAKED PAPERWORK in the middle of his office, morning light shining through his shattered window, wondering what the hell had happened. It looked like a bomb had hit.
“Thomas?”
Isabelle appeared in the doorway, looking somehow pale and fragile. What the hell could make Isabelle look pale and fragile?
Alarmed, he walked toward her. “Are you all right? What happened in here? Fuck,” he breathed as he got closer and glimpsed the bruising around her throat. He took her by the shoulders. “Isabelle, what’s going on?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice, gravelly and tired-sounding, revealed the lie. “But we have a problem.”
“Just one?”
She smiled faintly. “I found out last night the demon can breach the Coven’s wards.”
Everything became clear. A cold jolt of terror for Isabelle’s safety r
eplaced the blood in his veins for a moment. “You fought the demon here, in the library?”
“Yes, and another thing, he’s not allergic to copper anymore.”
He considered her words. “You’re telling me that the demon has no weaknesses and you still defeated it?”
She nodded. “He almost choked me to death, but I managed to beat him off. Then I wounded him with your sword. It didn’t cause the reaction in him, but it did injure him enough to cause him to retreat and leave me alive.”
The coldness in his veins transformed to hot rage at the thought of Boyle putting his hands around her throat. He had to force his vocal cords into action and his hands to unclench. “Why did he come after you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is I went for a walk last night and decided to come to the library. When I flipped on the light, there he was.”
“Did he say anything? Did he give you any kind of a clue about why he came here?”
She shook her head.
His intuition niggled. “Are you sure?”
She stared straight up into his eyes. Isabelle had such pretty eyes, too bad there was a lie in them. “I’m sure.”
“What are you hiding from me, Isabelle?” he pressed. “Tell me.”
She blinked and licked her lips. “I think he’s taken a liking to me.”
Fear fisted cold in his stomach. His hands on her shoulders tightened. “What makes you think that?”
“His way with me, asking me personal questions. Didn’t Micah say demons could become infatuated with their prey?”
“Yes.” He compressed his lips into a thin line. “Do you think you’re prey to him?” His desire to protect Isabelle was overwhelming. All he wanted at this moment was to lock her away in some steel room and put fifty guards on her, then go out and kill the demon with his own bare hands.
“Aren’t we all? Why do you think Boyle was able to get into the Coven?”
“I’m not surprised he could penetrate our wards,” he replied. “I always suspected he could since his magick isn’t anything we can tool our security system for.”
