Witch Blood

by Anya Bast

  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.

  THOMAS SUFFERED THE ATTENTIONS OF DOCTOR 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?

  WAITING.

  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.”

  “Look at me.”

  “But the thing of it is…in the end, none of it matters. It’s all just bullshit. I think I’m avoiding being cornered by emotion, by commitment, and by potential loss, but really it’s just another trap. I know that because of my sister. She was the only person who ever really mattered in my life.” Before you. A tear drop rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away. “When she died, I grieved so hard my soul twisted. It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt, but I would never, ever have given up loving my sister to have saved myself that pain.”

  “Isabelle…”

  “So you see? It’s a catch twenty-two. You either have nothing and feel nothing, or you have something and eventually lose it, thus feeling everything…in a bad way. You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.” She laughed. It sounded harsh to her own ears. “And I’m really damned, Thomas. You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Isabelle, look at me.”

  Slowly, Isabelle turned to face him.

  Emotion moved over his face, breaking the anger into something like sorrow…or maybe love…for a moment. Her own emotions ran too high for her to get a read on his now. “I’m not leaving here and I’m not letting you leave me.”

  “Thomas—”

  He pulled her into his arms. When she pushed at him, he only held on tighter. “I love you.” He whispered it into her hair.

  Isabelle made fists, trying not to grab on to him with both hands and never let go. Her fingernails dug into her palms. “Thomas, please don’t do this.”

  “I love you, Isabelle,” he whispered again. “I’m not letting you go. I’m never letting you go.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. The words just spilled out, easy as a river flows into the ocean. Nothing in the world—not even a demon—could’ve stopped them. “I love you, too.”

  He stroked her hair. “I know.”

  Isabelle clung to him for a moment, trying to gather enough strength to push him away and say something cutting, something so horrible it would make him leave. Possibilities polluted her mind. Each one she disregarded. Thomas saw straight through to the heart of her; anything she told him he would know was a lie.

  Thomas tipped her chin up, forcing her gaze to his face, and kissed her. His lips slid over hers like silk at first, then the pressure grew harder and more demanding.

  Isabelle’s body reacted instantly. Her fingers closed around his upper arms, feeling the bunch and flex of his muscles as he dragged her up against his chest and slipped his tongue between her lips. She sparred with him, a low moan rising from her center.

  “Please, I want you to go,” she breathed against his mouth between kisses.

  His teeth captured her lower lip and dragged. Isabelle felt herself grow warm and wet between her thighs. “Not until after I make every inch of you mine, Isabelle.” His voice came out a low, needful growl.

  Alarm shot through her, dampening her arousal. “No—we can’t—” Her sentence ended in a yelp of surprise as Thomas swept her off her feet, literally.

  “No?” he asked as he carried her to the bedroom. “Let me try and change your mind about that.”

  He threw her down on the mattress. Isabelle tried to get up and he came down on top of her, pinning her wrists. “Give it up,” he breathed in her ear.

  His mouth captured her words of protest. Once he’d kissed her so thoroughly her mind could barely form a coherent thought, he worked his way down her body, removing articles of clothing as he went. He found the syringe she kept in her bra and the knife sheathed at her wrist and placed them on the nightstand.

  Lazily, he dragged her nipple between his lips until it popped out of his mouth. At the sa
me time, he slid his hand down her thigh and found her clit. He circled it through the cotton of her panties, around and around. “Does that feel good?” His voice brushed like satin against her skin.

  “Um.” Oh, yeah. It felt so good she couldn’t think. “We can’t do this, Thomas. Not right now.” The problem was that her voice came out all breathy and passion-soaked.

  “Why not?”

  She bit her lip, searching for a plausible reason why they couldn’t make love. It wasn’t like she could tell him the truth. And, Lady, she wanted this final good-bye with every fiber of her being. Couldn’t she be allowed this one last connection with Thomas? Didn’t she at least deserve that much?

  When she didn’t answer, he growled, “I thought so.” Then he bit the waistband of her panties and drew them down with his teeth. Soon there wasn’t one bit of fabric separating her flesh from his hands and mouth.

  “Thomas—”

  “I’m not leaving here until I fuck you senseless, Isabelle. I don’t care what you say. I don’t care if I have to tie you up to do it. Understand?” His finger stroked her clit as he spoke, sending ripples of pleasure through her body.

  “You’ve made that clear.” She sighed.

  “So tell me right now. Last chance. Do you want me to fuck you, Isabelle?”

  There was only one answer. “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to make love to you?”

  “Yes.”

  Holding her gaze, he hooked his hands under her knees and drew them up and apart, baring her most vulnerable body part to his gaze. Thomas looked his fill. “So sweet,” he murmured before he lowered his mouth and closed it over her swollen, aroused clit. His tongue flicked it and then found the sensitive side and rubbed.

  Isabelle bucked under his mouth and Thomas pinned her hips to the mattress, sealing his mouth over her sex. Her climax hit fast and hard. She gasped as it washed over her and then moaned out his name.

  Thomas rode her through the explosive arc of pleasure, groaning in the back of his throat like he enjoyed her climax every bit as much as she did. When the orgasm still clung to her body, still made her toss her head in pleasure and moan, he yanked his pants down just enough to get his cock out and mounted her.