by Anya Bast
“The thing is…who knows how close we’ll get? I’ve already been way closer to Boyle than I wanted to be twice. If we had syringes, maybe it could be a backup plan. A little something for just in case.”
Thomas rubbed his chin. “I’ll see what I can do. I don’t think we’ll be able to make enough for everyone, but I might be able to make enough just for you. I still want you to carry a gun, but the syringe you can carry in case of an emergency.”
“Thank you.”
He held her gaze. “Anything to keep you safe.”
A smile spread across her mouth.
Micah made a gagging sound. “I’m leaving before I puke. Anyway, I need to brief Adam, Jack, and the others about the new weapons.”
Thomas tore his gaze from hers to glance at his cousin. “We troll again tonight. Meet at the front doors at twilight.”
“I’m going.” There wasn’t any liquid copper in Isabelle’s voice when she said those words. It was all solid steel.
Thomas’s big body stiffened. “Isabelle.” Her name sounded like the snap of a whip.
“Uh, oh. I’m outta here.” Micah gathered a few things from the table and left the room.
“Please, Thomas, I don’t want to fight. You know you’re going to have to tie me up to keep me from going and as much as I think you’d like to do that — and I might like it, too — I don’t think you will. Just admit defeat now.”
Sighing, Thomas pushed a hand through his hair. “The fact is I want to keep you safe. The problem is I don’t know where safe is anymore, not with Boyle being able to enter and leave the Coven at will.”
Ah, ha! Victory! She made sure her voice was soft when she replied, “Exactly, so there’s no reason to fight with me in order to force me to stay here. All it does is sow discord between us.”
Thomas’s jaw locked and he closed his eyes briefly. “I’m going to make more liquid copper…if I can.” He turned and stalked away, still limping.
Isabelle watched him go, the smile fading from her lips. The man really did care about her. For the first time in her life she had the beginnings of an actual relationship with someone other than her sister…and it was wonderful.
Too bad it couldn’t last.
THOMAS VELCROED HIMSELF TO HER SIDE ALL NIGHT.
She rounded on him as they entered their fifth stop, The Black Cauldron, a popular nightclub for witches. It was somewhere they thought Boyle might be apt to frequent. “Look, if we meet up with the demon tonight, it will be me protecting you. You’re the one with the injury. Please back off and give me some space.”
Jack, Adam, Theo, Micah, and the other witches in their particular traveling party — Thomas had sent out several to search — had entered the recesses of the club, disappearing into the crush of the mostly witch crowd. The press of emotion and magick made Isabelle edgy because of the circumstances and she instantly regretted the harsh way she’d spoken to him.
Thomas turned and loomed over her, his face shadowed in the dim, pulsing light of the place. Suddenly that face she knew so well looked dangerous. He grasped her wrists and pushed her backward, making the other patrons move out of their way until she felt the press of a railing against her back. The man liked to trap her against things.
He lowered his mouth to hers and his breath teased her lips, warming her skin. His hand moved to the small of her back, pushing under the fabric of her V-neck black T-shirt. “No.” His lips moved on hers as he growled the word. “Simple enough for you?”
His scent filled her nose, blocking out the slightly smoky, unwashed body smell of the club and replacing it with Thomas—clean soap, citrusy aftershave, and the inherent, indescribable scent of man.
Irritation flashed through her, hard and hot, but it was quickly followed by total desire. She’d never in her life had such a strong sexual reaction to a man the way she had to Thomas. It was pheromones, or something. Maybe it was just flat-out lust.
She pushed up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, parting his lips and pushing her tongue within to swipe. Isabelle felt more than heard the rumble that went through his body. He pulled her up against his chest and she gripped his shoulders as he plunged his tongue into her mouth like he wanted to consume her.
The people around them ceased to matter. They disappeared as far as she was concerned. Thomas pissed her off, it was true. He was protective to a fault. Yet it was nice to be cared about.
He moved, unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans and then sliding his hand down to stroke his finger over her clit through the material of her panties. She gasped into his mouth and her eyes rolled back into her head at the pleasure that rippled through her body. Isabelle moved her hips, grinding down against his hand for more of the exquisite sensation. Her sex warmed.
Lord and Lady, it was like she’d entered some kind of animalistic heat. All she wanted was for her jeans and panties to be off, for his thick cock to be moving deep inside her. The bathroom, maybe…anywhere would do…
“I need you,” she whispered shakily against his lips. In so many ways. She wished like hell she could tell him how much.
“You need me to what? You need me to fuck you?”
She bit her lower lip at his base words. They excited her almost as much as the slow glide of his finger over the bundle of nerves between her thighs. Her underwear was wet from it and her clit pulsed, aroused and plumped.
She couldn’t reply. I need you to make love to me. I need you to tell me you care about me. I just need you, Thomas.
“I need to feel you come, Isabelle,” he groaned. “Right here. Right now.” He moved the elastic of her panties to the side and dragged his fingers over her bared sex.
Her eyelids fluttered open to see a man nearby staring at her hungrily. Did he see what Thomas was doing to her right now? How could he in this dim light, in this great crush of people that made everything anonymous? Then Thomas pushed his fingers inside her and all those concerns ceased to matter.
He buried his face in the curve of her throat, licking, kissing, and nipping at her with his teeth. Her mind flashed back to the way he’d made love to her the morning before — how he’d pushed her facedown on the bed and taken her from behind like some feral animal. How he’d sunk his teeth into the nape of her neck just hard enough to force her to climax.
Thomas ground his palm against her clit and dragged his finger over her G-spot deep inside her. “Come on, baby,” he growled into her ear a moment before he pulled her lobe between his teeth.
Her orgasm washed over her so fast and so strong all she could do was let out a sob of release. She felt a rush of moisture between her thighs as the pleasure slammed into her, wiping away every last coherent thought in her brain and making her knees go weak.
Thomas held her up and she splayed a hand behind her, fingers gaining purchase around one of the railings he’d pressed her up against. The fact that they poked in her back uncomfortably barely registered.
Once the ripples of her climax had eased and she hung there, breathing heavy, all dazed and confused, he zipped and buttoned her jeans once more. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “I hope that addressed your concern fully. You know, that one about me keeping my distance? Not happening.”
He stared at her a moment longer, then turned and melted into the crowd.
Isabelle stood there stunned, too passion-slackened to think clearly. Then his arrogance hit her full force and annoyance bloomed. Pissed off once again, she peeled herself from the railing and headed after him, but someone yanked her back…hard.
Isabelle turned, half expecting to see the man who’d been staring at her before…but it was Boyle. Adrenaline spiked, sending a jolt of shock and primal fear shooting through her veins. How the hell had he appeared right there all of a sudden?
She heard Thomas call her name in the crush of people up ahead. Through the crowd, she saw the top of his head as he headed back for her. Ironically, he’d kept his distance after all, for about two seconds.
; Apparently, that’s all the demon had needed.
She opened her mouth to scream Thomas’s name out of pure involuntary reaction, but Boyle clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her to the left, toward the door.
TWENTY
ISABELLE BIT HIS PALM AND BROUGHT HER BOOTED heel back hard into his shin. Boyle reacted as expected — hardly at all. He just jerked a little.
“She’s had too much to drink,” he said to the curious onlookers with an unnatural lopsided grin pasted on his face. “She always gets rowdy when we go out.” His accent when he said this was almost nonexistent and his speech was in the vernacular. No scent of demon magick clung to him either. Boyle was acting human this evening.
The people around them just stared, clearly not sure what to think. Obviously the club was short on heroic types tonight.
Instead of taking her out the door, as she’d expected him to do, he picked her up and carried her to the back, where he found another door that led out into the alley behind the building.
The demon pushed her through the doorway. She stumbled face forward into a dank smelling puddle. Water splashed and the pavement bit into her palms and scraped her knees. Behind them the metallic chunk of the door closing muffled the pounding music of the club. Not wasting any time, she glanced up at the mouth of the alley, looking for an escape. Finding one, she launched herself up like a track runner. It was reflex. Every molecule in her body screamed flee.
Boyle had her in an instant, wrapping his huge arms around her waist and whirling her around to land in the puddle on her hands and knees once more. The position was too much like begging for her taste, but this time she stayed there, motionless and breathing in the trashy, damp air of the alley in big gulpfuls. Her whole body hurt from being hurled to the pavement. Her hands and knees were scraped raw.
“So this is it, then?” She didn’t look up when she asked the question. She stared at a piece of soaked, crumpled newspaper on the ground in front her. Her voice sounded bland and wooden to her own ears — resigned — but she still had one ace up her sleeve. She rocked back on her heels and incrementally moved her hand toward the back of her waistband, where the gun was tucked. “Time’s up?”
The demon took three steps toward her and planted his massive booted feet on the pavement in front of her. “The head witch, I can feel his emotion for you. Behind the factory I mentioned you and his pulse raced, anger and fear flared. He does not like that I am even aware of your existence.”
She shook her head and glanced up at him. “What?”
“When I fought with the leader of the witches, the one with the angel tattoo on his back, I saw that he has much emotion for you.” He tipped his head to the side. “And I feel that you care for him, yet I feel reticence in you. I am fascinated by this.”
This was beyond bizarre. What strange turn her life had taken that she should find herself discussing her love life in a back alley with her demon executioner.
Isabelle sat on her haunches in the puddle, enduring the sensation of the cold alley water seeping into her jeans, and placed her hands high on her hips, closer to her gun. “Why do you care?”
His blue eyes narrowed. “I’m interested in human behavior, even the behavior of the half-human, the aeamon. I followed you tonight to ask why you hold yourself in reserve.”
Her mind fumbled. “You followed us tonight to…You followed us.” Fuck.
The demon smiled and Isabelle shivered. A demon’s smile wasn’t a warm and fuzzy thing. Pointed teeth peeked from his peeled-back lips. “Did you think you were tracking me? No, aeamon. Your witches were lucky the other night, but you should know by now that you’re outmatched. You can try to stop me, but you won’t. Now answer my question.”
“So you didn’t come here tonight to put me in your stew pot? You just came to ask me this.”
“I’m not ready to add your magick to the blend I need yet.”
“So you’re just playing with your food, then?” The question, spoken in a lighthearted tone, made her wince. It was good to keep him talking, though. She just needed a break in his concentration so she could pull the gun, aim it and fire. Isabelle wasn’t sure exactly how to get that break, however. She doubted Boyle would fall for the classic Hey! Look over there! ploy. She had her syringe, too, tucked safely in a tiny holster inside her bra.
He grinned. “You are entertaining. It will be a pity to kill you.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, why not tell you? I hold myself back from him because I know that soon you’ll come for me. Giving into my emotions where he is concerned would only be cruel to both of us. He and I suffer from a horrendous case of bad timing. There. Happy now? Just tell your future meal one thing. Thomas isn’t on your menu, right?”
“He doesn’t possess what I need. Only you and a few others have that.”
“Lucky us. Listen, you promise not to kill Thomas and I’ll come with you willingly when you need me.” Of course that doesn’t mean I won’t try and kill you before you kill me.
“You love him that much?”
“I care about him that much.”
“I agree. I have no specific quarrel with the head witch. I have no reason to kill him if he doesn’t get in my way where you are concerned. However, you would come with me willingly anyway because your alternate is your mother.”
Shock rippled through her. “My mother?”
“Genetically, your magick is very strong. You and your mother have the same kind of magick, same level, same consistency. Both are exactly what I need for that particular component of this spell. Your sister had a similar level and consistency and was perfect for the earlier portion of the spell.”
Rage rocketed through her. Her body shook from it. “You cannot have my whole family, you bastard!” she yelled.
She might have plenty of issues with her mother, but no way in hell would she allow her to become a victim to this monster the way her sister had. In the end, Catalina was her mother, dysfunctionality, selfishness, warts, and all. No matter what Isabelle may have said before about her, in this one moment that became crystal clear to her.
Isabelle couldn’t wait for a distraction. She couldn’t wait for anything.
Pulling the gun from the back of her waistband in one smooth move, she aimed and shot at Boyle. The sound ripped through her eardrums and echoed down the alley. With preter-natural speed and reflexes, the demon twisted to the side and the bullet nicked him in the thigh, making him howl in pain and rage.
So close. She’d been so close. And, damn it, she had been close. Point-blank range, in fact, and he’d still dodged the bullet.
Boyle was on her in a flash. His weight pressed her into the pavement, compressing her lungs until she gasped. His big hand closed around her wrist and squeezed, trying to make her relinquish the weapon. She gripped it until she lost feeling in her hand, her arm.
Fighting as hard as she could under the demon’s massive body, she kicked and clawed with her free hand like a feral cat. Boyle grunted and took the brutal treatment, pinning her to the ground with his tree-trunk-like legs.
A drop of Boyle’s acidic blood from where her bullet had nicked him dropped onto her leg, burned a hole through her jeans and touched her skin. White hot pain seared through her.
Isabelle screamed.
Boyle recoiled in surprise and she managed to push up and aim the gun at him. She squeezed off a shot, but the demon pushed her hand at the last second and it went wide, ricocheting off a nearby wall.
“You have new weapons,” Boyle hissed.
One hand pinned her wrist and the other came down over her throat as he straddled her. Her windpipe closed and her eyes bugged. The primal terror of having her breath cut off shut down her brain for a moment and made her thrash as hard as she could…to no avail.
Her hand went to his wrist, her fingernails digging in. The syringe was so close, but she couldn’t reach down and pull it free, couldn’t take her hand from Boyle’s wrists in a desperate and futile attempt to grasp it.
>
But why wasn’t he killing her?
Distantly, in the back of her mind, rationality flickered. He couldn’t kill her. Not now. Not yet. Not this way.
From the mouth of the alley came the sound of pounding footsteps and yelling. It was about time. Granted, it was the dead of morning, but two shots fired and a woman’s scream should have roused someone.
“I’m coming for you soon,” he growled low. “This information I give you is a gift. Take advantage of the time you have left and make yourself ready to die.”
A figure rose up behind Boyle and struck the demon over the back. Boyle grunted and backed away from her, rising and whirling around to roar at his attacker, still shadowed from Isabelle’s view. Men yelled and shots rang through the air.
Boyle’s charge on the witches was short-lived. Rolling to her side, she watched the demon scramble backward under the assault of copper-filled bullets. Likely, Boyle understood that the guns the attacking witches wielded were not ordinary. Boyle spared one last look at her, his expression intent, and then, instead of poofing through a doorway, he took off down the alley.
Isabelle lay on the ground taking in gulpfuls of bad air and watched Adam, Theo, Micah, and Jack run past her in pursuit of Boyle.
Thomas came down at her side. “Isabelle, are you all right?” All the blood had drained from his face and he looked exceptionally pissed off. Not at her, she presumed.
She coughed and snaked her hand into his lap. “I thought you said you weren’t going to give me space?” she gasped, her voice raspy. It was a joke, but he didn’t take it that way. A look of profound guilt passed over his face. She felt the pinch of it through her empathy.
She squeezed his hand and let a smile flicker over her lips. “Go, I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
Isabelle struggled into a sitting position and pointed down the alley after the others. “Go! Go help them, Thomas. If you want to protect me, don’t let that son of a bitch get away.”
