Anya Bast - Witch Blood

Carefully, she pushed up and slid onto the seat. Ripples of pain shot through her back and down her legs. She blew out a careful breath as nausea swamped her.

Jack sat behind her and placed his palms along her spine, one above the other. His hands, completely businesslike on her back, grew warm. Her twisted back improved immediately. “I don’t remember your hair being this dark a shade of red or your eyes being green, Isabelle.”

“I colored my hair and I’m wearing contacts.”

“All the better to stalk your prey, hmm?”

“I guess. Stefan prefers redheads.”

“Good disguise. None of us recognized you in the tabloids. We didn’t know who you were, or that you were even a witch. It wasn’t until tonight, when we saw you up close, that we realized your identity. All we knew was that this evening Stefan’s flavor-of-the-month had finally convinced him to shed his bodyguards for sex.”

She let out a small laugh. “You guys were piggybacking my seduction as a way to take Stefan hostage?”

“Yep. We were watching, waiting for an opportunity. You gave us a surprise when we opened the limo door. Never saw that one coming.” He paused. “I’m sorry about your sister. I understand why you went after Stefan.”

She had a million questions, but they all caught in her throat. They were questions for the head of the Coven, anyway, not Jack McAllister, Thomas’s right-hand man. “I hunted the demon for a month and couldn’t find it.”

“We’ve been hunting it, too, without any luck.”

“I went after the cause for the demon’s existence instead.” She swallowed hard. “I just…needed to do something, and Stefan can’t be allowed to bring any more of those creatures into our world.”

Jack slid away and she turned toward him on the seat. Her back still ached, but the worst of the pain had faded.

“Isabelle, I get that. I do. But you should have come to us instead of playing vigilante. We’d always planned to take down Stefan and we’re going after the demon.” Jack shook his head and tch tched . “Bad, bad girl.”

“So what’s new?” she muttered in response. Angela had always been the good one. Isabelle had always been the one getting into trouble.

He must’ve known she wasn’t asking what was new with him , but he answered that way all the same. “I’m going to be a father.” The words were spoken with such pride that she smiled.

She fussed with the hem of her skirt, happy to change the subject. “I heard that. Knocked up that little air witch of yours.”

“Mira.”

Lady, the look in his eyes when he said her name. Such love. Such devotion. A man had never looked that way while speaking her name, at least not that she knew of, and Isabelle had to admit that a part of her regretted it.

“That’s right, her name is Mira,” Isabelle answered. “Everyone’s hoping she’ll turn up with a baby air witch of her own.” Of all the elemental witches, air was by far the rarest and most powerful. “What do you think, air or fire?”

“I think she’ll take after her mom and be an air witch. We’re going to name her Eva, for Mira’s mom if it’s a girl. David, for her dad if it’s a boy.”

Eva Hoskins, maiden name Monahan. She had been the air witch who’d been sacrificed in the circle that had brought the demon into existence over twenty-five years ago. Four witches — one for each of the elements — had been killed to bring in the demon who had murdered Angela. How poetic one of their names should be spoken on this night.

She patted him on his shoulder. “Good luck to you both.” She scooped up her purse from the floor of the limo and exited the vehicle.

Isabelle found herself on a darkened side street in a commercial part of town. The front of the limo had been rammed in by a Hummer. Behind the limo was another car crash, a tangle of metal where sedan had met heavy SUV. The sedan had been the vehicle carrying Stefan’s muscle.

She cast a glance at Stefan, whom they were lifting into the back of Thomas’s car. Thomas stood nearby. He stared at her across the distance, his black-as-sin hair spread over his shoulders, his expression intent. Then he crooked a finger.

Oh, no. Hell would freeze over first.

Isabelle gave him a little wave and walked away.

“Isabelle,” he called after her. “I need to talk to you.”

Ignoring him, she turned a corner and pulled on her remaining magickal reserves, scraping the very bottom of her capacity. Isabelle gathered water molecules from the air, condensing them around dust particles and cloaking herself in the resulting thick fog. By the time she heard his footsteps behind her, she’d disappeared, leaving him standing in zero visibility.

Thomas swore loudly and Isabelle smiled. She needed to talk to him, but she wasn’t about to do it on his terms.

SHE LOOKED BETTER AS A BLONDE.

Thomas stepped into the Coven library, a room that also served as his office and took stock of the woman sitting on his desk, one of her long legs swinging. He’d been expecting Isabelle Novak to show up sometime.

In order to figure out how no one had recognized her while she’d been beguiling Stefan, he’d had Jack show him pictures of her when she wasn’t all glossy and polished for Stefan’s liking. Now she looked more like herself. She’d changed her hair back to its natural color, a strawberry blond, and wore a pair of faded jeans, a black knit top and a pair of scuffed black boots.

Normally she wasn’t this gaunt. Thomas suspected she’d purposely lost weight in order to insinuate herself into Stefan’s world. Or perhaps grief had shaved some pounds off her. In his opinion, she looked better with a little more weight on her.

Her hair was long and glossy, framing an oval face with porcelain skin and large brown eyes. Her mouth was full, expressive. She wore nearly no makeup and did little to her hair beyond brush it. She had a natural type of beauty that required little embellishment and seemed to care nothing for fashion. Yet she possessed a manner that screamed self-confidence.

Not only was she gorgeous, she looked innocent. Yet Thomas knew better. Miss Isabelle Novak had a reputation for trouble. The research he’d done on her had revealed that right away. From even her earliest days in grade school, Isabelle had left a trail of trouble behind her — getting into fights, talking back to teachers. Her older years revealed a passionate, impulsive woman who couldn’t stay in one place, couldn’t hold a steady job, couldn’t form relationships.

She was also a strong water witch. Thomas could sense the strength in her from across the room. Ripples of volatile emotion, the ebb and flow of psychic power — they were the hallmarks of the water witch and they were impressively palpable in Isabelle Novak.

He closed the door and spoke as he turned toward her. “Violence is an easy way to mourn someone you’ve lost. Don’t you think it’s better to save a life in order to honor a life lost?”

She stood, pressed her hands together, and bowed. “Buddha, I’m pleasured to make your acquaintance.” She straightened and put a hand to her hip. “I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

She was pretty. Too bad she was such a pain in the ass.

Thomas squelched his annoyance and walked toward her. “You need to look at the big picture. He can help us—”

“Help us? When does that man start helping anyone but himself? When does he do anything that’s not in his own best interests? And when does he pay for his crimes, Mr. Monahan? When? ”

“Call me Thomas.”

“Mr. Monahan, Thomas, whatever.” She waved her hand, dismissing his overture. “Are we going to wait for Stefan to die of old age, then? Should we let him get away with everything he’s done?”