Anya Bast - Witch Blood

“What the hell are you smiling about? You just got your ass kicked by a demon.”

She looked up to see Adam standing near her, doubled over and breathing hard, his palms braced on his thighs, and a quizzical look on his face.

Had she been smiling? Isabelle dropped her hand from her throat, swallowed and winced. “I guess I’m getting used to it.” Her gaze locked on the mouth of the alley to see the others returning. “You didn’t get him, did you?”

Adam straightened and gave a short, brutal laugh. “Hell, no. He was like a ghost. There one minute then, poof , gone. I think he made us chase him just for fun. Bastard.”

“I think we injured him before he disappeared though,” said Thomas, limping toward her. This little fracas probably hadn’t helped his knee to heal any, though with the aid of Doc Oliver and some of the fire witches, it was rapidly improving.

He held out a hand and helped her to stand. “I got off one shot that hit him in the upper arm.” He paused and frowned. “I think.”

Jack wiped a hand across his brow and spoke around his labored breathing. “I saw it. You hit him. That’s when he poofed out of here. We chased him for a few blocks down these alleys. He dodged and weaved, hid behind stuff. None of us could get a clear shot, but Thomas managed to get him once.”

Isabelle pushed to her feet, examined the damage done to her clothes, and grimaced. “That’s something at least.” She pursed her lips. “It sounds like he was just taunting us, like he enjoyed the chase.”

“Yeah,” Theo interjected. He had joined them a moment before, coming up the alley from the direction they’d chased Boyle. “He’s not taking us seriously. That was hide-and-seek, demon style.”

If they only knew how true that was. They were a game to Boyle, nothing more. Isabelle, in particular. Otherwise the demon wouldn’t be following her around, asking her silly questions about her love life.

“ What happened? ” Thomas touched the hole in her jeans where Boyle’s blood had burned through the cloth. Being choked had made her forget the low, throbbing pain of her leg, but now that it had been pointed out, it started to hurt.

“Boyle’s blood isn’t much fun,” she said, fingering the eaten-away material around the hole.

Micah leaned in for a closer look. “Ow. That’ll leave a scar.”

“It will match the others he’s given me.”

Thomas took her arm and helped her to walk. Micah, Adam, and Jack followed. “Come on. I want you back at the Coven to see the doctor.”

She tried not to lean against him because of his knee, but he pulled her against his body anyway and she stayed there because it felt good. The heat and scent of him calmed her frazzled nerves. Isabelle closed her eyes and melted against him.

Just for this moment she would pretend everything would be okay, because pretty soon these moments would be coming to an end.

ISABELLE STOOD IN THE CONSERVATORY, FACE TIPPEDto the glass ceiling above her so she could watch the rain pound down and the lightning flash. Every time thunder boomed, it shook the entire Coven.

It had been a week and there hadn’t been a sign of Boyle anywhere. Had the copper bullet Thomas nailed him with done its job? Was Boyle dead? Or was Boyle still out there somewhere, biding his time before his next kill?

Tension dominated the overall mood of the Coven these days. The house vibrated with it. Micah spent his days monitoring the newspapers and morgues for some sign that Boyle’s body had been found. They continued to patrol at night, but it had been fruitless.

Yet Isabelle knew Boyle was alive.

Being here in the Conservatory, sandwiched between the water in the stream running below her and the water cascading down on the glass above her, calmed her nerves. A chill had entered her bones and she couldn’t shake herself free of it. It had lingered in the center of her for days — death with his hand on her shoulder. Isabelle wrapped her arms over her chest.

Soon Boyle would come for her.

He’d told her to get her affairs in order. Isabelle supposed that wasn’t a bad idea. Just in case. She planned to go down kicking and screaming, but odds were…she was going down.

Someone touched her back and she jolted.

“ Shhh , I’m sorry,” murmured Thomas, his arms coming around her. “I thought you heard me coming. I knew I’d find you here.”

She snuggled back against him. Above them, thunder pealed. “I was thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

She licked her lips and decided she didn’t want to lie to him. “Death.”

“Cheery.”

“Do you think it’s a blessing or a curse to know that death is coming for you?”

He took a moment to answer. “I would say it’s neither, just a fact of life. Death is coming for all of us eventually.”

“I mean, what if you were given a certain amount of time to live. If someone told you, ‘Get your affairs in order because you’ll be dead within the week.’ Would that be a blessing or a curse?”

“Where is this coming from, Isabelle?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Thomas turned her to face him. She stared up into his face and studied the shadows that shifted on it. Even in the darkness she could see concern in his expression. With Thomas she never needed her talent for empathy. His emotions were almost always clear to her. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

“Did you mean what you said in the alley? You know, when you said you loved me?”

Lady, why had she mentioned that? The words had just tumbled from her lips like she’d been asking him the time. It proved how badly she needed to know, even though this was a place she shouldn’t want to go, not now.

He stilled and stared down at her. No sound but the storm crashing through the heavens reached their ears. Finally, he moved, brushing the hair away from her face and hooking it behind her ear. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“Say it again, then.”

A long, heavy moment passed in which Isabelle kicked herself a thousand times. Finally, Thomas drew her close, wrapping his arms around her and enveloping her in his warmth, driving the chill of death from her bones.

“I love you, Isabelle.” He whispered it near her ear. A hot rush of emotion flowed over her. “Don’t leave when this is over, Isabelle.” Whisper . “I want to keep you forever…Isabelle.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She leaned into him, burying her face in his shoulder and inhaling the scent of him — the light woody note of his cologne, the clean aroma of his soap, the essential scent of Thomas.

Isabelle wanted to tell him that she loved him back, but her throat had closed up. Anyway, all her words were gone. They’d all been stolen by Boyle who was coming to steal her life soon as well.

They stood wrapped together in the Conservatory with the storm battering the glass ceiling and walls until Thomas tipped her chin up and stared into her face.

“I want to spend the night with you,” she murmured.

Wordlessly, he took her by the hand and led her out of the shadowed Conservatory and through the sleeping corridors of the Coven.

Once in his apartment, he guided her into his bedroom and undressed her slowly in front of the window. Outside, the rage of the lashing storm provided a volatile backdrop. Isabelle soaked in his love as much as she absorbed the energy of the rain pounding down on the Coven. Her passion built with the fury of the storm.

Every inch of skin revealed by the removed clothing, he kissed, licked, and worshiped. Once he had her naked, Isabelle’s whole world was only Thomas — his hands moving on her skin, the rough brush of his clothing against her flesh, the warmth of his breath, and the nip of his teeth on her shoulder, waist, and lips.