Anya Bast - Witch Blood

It was three in the morning! Frowning, she fished it out and looked at the caller ID. It was Adam.

She flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Isabelle.” His breathing sounded exerted, like he was running while he spoke. “We need you. Boyle is in Gribben. He’s going after Stefan.” Click.

Isabelle dropped her bag and ran. Boyle was here. That meant she had another shot at killing him before her time was up. She would grab on to that chance with both hands.

Gribben sucked the magick out of her as soon as she crossed the threshold, making her lose a step and trip. She caught herself at the last moment and, dragging air into her suddenly starved lungs, righted herself and continued on. The guards recognized her and let her through without comment, telling her Thomas was in the bowels of the building.

They didn’t have to tell her; she could feel Boyle. His very presence raised the hair on her body, and some kind of strange mixture of dread, terror, apprehension, and hope twisted her stomach. Lady, she hoped Boyle was as magickally hamstrung as they were in this place.

She was about to find out.

Isabelle reached the floor Stefan’s cell was on, slammed the door open, and continued to run. She turned a corner and caught sight of Thomas and Adam. Thomas turned toward her. “What are you doing here?”

“Adam called me.”

He turned and skewered Adam with his gaze. “Fuck, Adam! What are you thinking? Boyle gets her alone twice and that’s not enough for you?” Thomas rounded on her and snarled, “Get out of here, Isabelle.”

“You asked me to help hunt Boyle, Thomas. Remember? That’s my job as defined by you at the beginning of this mess. I’m staying.” She walked toward him, voice and steps steady. “Where’s Boyle?” She noticed Stefan’s cell door was open. Alarmed, she gaped for a moment before exclaiming, “Hell, where’s Stefan?”

Thomas moved to the side and let her peer into the padded suicide cell. Stefan sat on the floor, head bowed. Blood pooled at his feet, dripping from a wound in his head. Rips in his gray prison-issued clothing exposed his leg and chest.

Why did Boyle want Stefan? Stefan hadn’t been on the potential victims list, unless they’d done their analysis wrong. But with her plugged in as the last victim, there was little chance of that.

“We fought the demon off,” answered Adam. “Boyle has disappeared and Jack, Ingrid, Theo, and the others went after him. We’re guarding Stefan against his return.”

Isabelle gave a short, bitter laugh. “We’re guarding Stefan?” Then she yelled, “The Duskoff are the reason Boyle is here!”

“We have an agreement.” Thomas’s words whipped like a lash and made her wince. “He stays alive until Boyle is dead.”

A roar from down the corridor behind her cut off Isabelle’s reply. It sent a shiver up her spine and reminded her of all those horror stories Angela used to tell her when they were kids. The monster in the basement was real and coming straight at her.

Thomas took a couple of steps toward her, terror for her safety clear on his face. Another roar erupted behind her, closer this time. Thomas reached for her, but she pulled away from him. Boyle couldn’t kill her. Not yet. She was the safest of all of them at the moment.

At the same time, Boyle appeared around the corner, radiating threat. Isabelle stared for a full moment, the stench of demon magick heavy in her nose. That answered whether or not he had magickical capabilities in Gribben.

She felt naked without her magick, stripped to the bone. Even though their power wasn’t effective on Boyle, not having access to it at all in this place made her feel like tinfoil, easily crumpled.

Blood coursed from the demon’s side, where someone had taken a sword to him. He looked at Thomas, but his gaze fixed on Isabelle, his massive chest heaving and his eyes red. “Stand aside. I have come for the warlock.”

“You can’t have him, Boyle,” Isabelle said, her hand going to her sleeve, where her knife was secreted. She couldn’t believe those words had just come out of her mouth.

He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t understand. I’m killing him for you. You tried to kill Stefan, ergo you want the warlock dead. This is a gift.”

Shock shot through her and her mind sputtered to a halt before revving into thought overdrive. A gift? He was trying to kill Stefan as a gift? For her?

“Where’s Jack?” Thomas demanded from his position beside and a little in front of her. “Where are the others?”

“I came for Stefan. Not the aeamon who chased me.”

“ Where are they? ”

Boyle didn’t answer; he only raised a blast of demon magick and centered it at Thomas.

Isabelle screamed as power rocketed through the air. Thomas flew backward into the wall behind him and hit with a sick sounding thump. Dread pulled an icy knot in her stomach as he crumpled to the floor.

Boyle raised his power again and Isabelle whirled, screaming Adam’s name. Surely Boyle meant to hit him next. But it was too late. Demon magick arced through the air, saturating her nostrils with the scent of old other-Earth. Adam went down, sprawled in an unnatural position on the concrete floor, while Isabelle watched.

“I do this for you, Isabelle Novak.” The demon almost sounded hurt. As if he’d given her a gift that she’d thrown back in his face.

Her eyes wide and her chest heaving — how much stress could one take before one broke? — she glanced at Adam and then at Thomas. They both still appeared to be breathing, thank the Lord and Lady.

She turned her attention back to Boyle. “I did want to kill Stefan, Boyle. I wanted to kill him at first because I couldn’t find you. I want to kill you , don’t you understand? You killed my sister! ” She screamed the last sentence.

The demon shook his head. “No, I don’t understand. I have lived in your home for all these years. I have lived among you, passed for one of you, but I still don’t understand you, aeamon .” He looked off into the distance and almost seemed…sad. “I want to go home.”

Isabelle remained unmoved. However, she did move .

Taking advantage of his distraction, she reached down, pulled the syringe free and rushed him. All she had to do was get the needle in him somewhere. Anywhere.

She’d taken him by surprise and managed to sink the needle through the fabric of his shirt and hit flesh, piercing his chest. Before she could press the plunger down and shoot the liquid in, Boyle roared, raised his arm and knocked her backward.

She went sprawling onto her ass. Her elbows hit hard. Pain exploded. She struggled to stare up at the demon, knowing that to take her gaze from him now meant lots of agony for her later.

The demon stared down at the syringe poking out of his chest, reached down and pulled it out. All of Isabelle’s hopes crashed as Boyle tossed it to the side, like a piece of refuse. Involuntarily, she lurched forward and reached out as if to catch it and then collapsed in a heap at Boyle’s feet.

Boyle stared down at her for a moment, his lips parted so she could see the tips of his double row of pointed teeth. His eyes blazed red. He raised his hand and magick pulsed through the air, coating the back of her throat with the dry, bitter flavor of it.

Staring up at Boyle, Isabelle could see her impending death. Inwardly, she groped for power and came up empty, all of it stripped away by Gribben. But these walls didn’t affect Boyle. His magick remained strong, vibrant. His desire to use it with killing force now stood clearly on his face.

Magick rippled and Isabelle felt something warm running over her upper lip — her nose had begun to bleed.