Anya Bast - Witch Blood

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.