Anya Bast - Witch Blood

She stared into his eyes for a moment and her lips parted. Her head dipped a little closer to his and her gaze dropped to his mouth. For one wild moment he thought she might kiss him.

For the next wild moment he thought he might kiss her.

Where that impulse came from, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the water-earth attraction affecting him. Earth and water had a natural sexual attraction sometimes, as did fire and air. It lasted until the magicks found a balance. He’d felt that artificial pull toward Isabelle ever since the limo.

Or maybe it had simply been too long since he’d been with a woman.

She straightened and backed away, breaking the strange, momentary spell. “Did you even notice I was nearly naked in the limo?”

He cleared his throat. “There were other concerns.” He paused. “But, yes, I noticed. It would have been impossible not to notice.” Those long legs, that flawless pale skin and the fullness of her breasts swelling from her silky demi bra. Thomas might be head of the Coven, but he was a man first.

A satisfied little smile flickered across her lips. “Good.” She turned toward the door.

What a strange woman. “Stay,” he said simply before she could leave.

She turned back around slowly, wearing a questioning expression.

“Stay here at the Coven for a while. Work with us. Help us deal with Stefan. Help us find the demon.”

Isabelle Novak possessed abilities uncommon to most water witches. Not only could she manipulate the water in a man’s body — a deadly skill she’d demonstrated readily on Stefan — she could access moisture memory, tapping into the water of a given area and replaying recent events. She could be valuable to them.

She pursed her lips and thought about it for a moment. “You’ll make me play nice.”

He smiled. “I’ll make you play effectively, not necessarily nicely.”

“I want to be in on any official Coven communication with Stefan. Any contact you have with him in Gribben, I want to be present.”

Thomas rubbed a hand over his chin for a moment, thinking over the issue. “I don’t see why not.”

She considered him, worrying at her lower lip between her white teeth. “Give me time to tie up a few loose ends and I’ll come in.”

Absurdly, he wondered what kind of “ends” she meant. He knew she wasn’t married, but did she have a boyfriend?

Damn it, why did he care?

He nodded. “Just tell them who you are at the front gate and Douglas will meet you. He manages the house. When you return there will be a room ready for you.”

“And a prisoner to torture.” She clapped her hands together and rubbed them with glee. “If we play good cop, bad cop, can I be the bad cop?”

“After what you did to his dick, Stefan probably thinks you’re the baddest thing around.”

She smiled broadly. “Now I can die happy.”

Lady, what had he just done?

ISABELLE ENTERED HER SISTER’S POSH CONDO IN LINCOLNPark, the rich scent of vanilla and roses enveloping her as soon as she stepped within. She’d been staying there since Angela had died and still burned her sister’s favorite candles every morning in a vigil of sorts.

She set her keys down on the bar that separated the gourmet kitchen and large living room and glanced around at the homey furnishings. The place was decorated in calming blues and silvers, filled to bursting with overstuffed couches and chairs, soft throw blankets and plush area rugs covering the shining hardwood floors. Soothing modern artwork adorned the walls, pastel colors swooping and arcing across the canvases.

This place was Angela. It embodied her very spirit — cool, composed, emotionally centered, and sensitive. It didn’t really suit Isabelle’s personality, but she wished it did. She wished she had a few more of her sister’s qualities, rather than their mother’s. Angela must have inherited her easygoing calmness from her father, whoever he’d been. Angela’s father hadn’t been the same as Isabelle’s. Their mother, Catalina, got around.

Isabelle slipped her shoes off and unstrapped the small, pretty knife with the copper blade she wore sheathed to her wrist. Laying it on the counter, she ran her finger over the swoops and whorls engraved in the handle. Angela had given Isabelle the knife after a trip she’d taken to Peru. Isabelle had been wearing it to demon-hunt ever since Angela’s murder. Not built for anything more than looks, it was really just a symbolic gesture. A nod to her sister.

After fishing a pint of Chunky Monkey out of the recesses of the freezer and grabbing a spoon, she padded across the area rug in the living room to the window that overlooked the heavily tree-lined street below. There she stood and contentedly picked out the chocolate chunks from the banana ice cream while she watched a woman with a stroller walk by, men in business suits arriving home after a day at the office, and kids coming home from school.

Normal people with normal lives.

Angela hadn’t been killed in her condo. Rather, the demon had followed her to her work, a law office, no less. Angela had been a defense attorney, specializing in the magickally inclined. Witchdom had such professionals across all aspects of society, helping hide their existence from non-magickals — the normal people with normal lives.

Knowledge of their existence only brought fear and burnings, history had shown that amply enough. There weren’t enough witches in the world to fight against what might happen if their existence was discovered. Elemental witches were woefully outnumbered so they did all they could to hide.

Since both bodies murdered by the demon so far had been found by witches, the Coven was handling the crimes internally, within witchdom, and would do so for as long as possible. There was no need to involve non-magickal authorities, who would have no way to pursue the killer or investigate the paranormal crimes. The non-magickal police force would only end up hindering things.

Earth magick cleaned up the site and the victim was reported missing to the non-magickal authorities. Rites and burials were performed by the victim’s magickal kindred. Most witches made out special wills with the Coven that were handled within witchdom as well. So when a witch died as violently as Angela had….

Isabelle closed her eyes, unable to make her mind go there. She still couldn’t bring herself to remember what she’d found when she’d entered the law office to pick her sister up for a late dinner. Her mind went white when she ventured anywhere close to those horrible memories.

Hungry no longer, Isabelle set the ice cream container on the windowsill in front of her.

Angela had been her only relative of consequence. Not only that, she’d really been Isabelle’s only friend. Their mother was still alive, but she didn’t know where Catalina was or how to get into direct contact with her.

Catalina wasn’t the warmest of mothers. She flitted around the world, hopping from one meaningless relationship to the next. She didn’t even know her eldest daughter had died yet. Isabelle had left messages with some of her mother’s male friends in Europe, but who knew when she’d contact any of them?

No, there was not much mother-daughter affection between herself and Catalina. The only way their mother knew how to express her love was through money. Catalina had set her daughters up nicely in that way, but true motherly guidance, compassion, or caring lay beyond her grasp. Isabelle had heard her mother express sentiments of love for them a few times in her life, but she wasn’t sure Catalina really meant it. As they’d been growing up, her older sister had filled the place for Isabelle where their mother had been absent. Most called Catalina a charming free spirit ; Isabelle called her detached and selfish.