Witch Blood (15 page)

She hurled herself at the thing in front of her and plunged the letter opener straight into where she assumed the demon's heart would be, if he had a heart.

Blood dripped from Boyle's wound, but he didn't move, didn't react. It was like stabbing a living statue. She backed away, the letter opener still embedded to the hilt in his chest. Blinking away the sting of tears, she fought to comprehend that she hadn't hurt him, not even a little.

She wanted so much to hurt him.

“I need you, too, Isabelle Novak.”

She blinked. Why wasn't he fighting her, trying to kill her then? “What does that mean?”

“You have the right combination I need for my spell. You are perfect in your magickcal balances and fit the puzzle I am trying to piece together.”

“You mean you want to chop me up and stir me into your magickal stew?”

Boyle thought about that for a moment. “Yes.”

“You know what, Boyle? Fuck you.”

She lunged to the right and caught up the sword. By the time she'd unsheathed it, he was on her.

He grabbed her around the throat and squeezed. Isabelle felt her eyes bulge and her larynx begin to crush. He lifted her and the sword dangled impotently at her side. The handle of the letter opener still embedded in him poked her chest.

Even though it was a violent action and it made panic race through her veins like drinking ice water on a hot summer's day, the demon was being gentle with her. He could crush her throat as easily as she could break an egg in her fist. He wasn't killing her because he needed her alive for some reason…at least for now.

Isabelle brought her knee up hard and fast, right between his legs. The demon yowled and dropped her. Isabelle crashed to the floor and landed on her ass, still holding tight to the sword and gasping for air. Well, that was one part of the demon's anatomy he had in common with a human.

When she could, she looked up to see Boyle doubled over. She took the opportunity to bolt to her feet and swing the sword at him. With lightning fast reflexes, he blocked her stroke and grabbed the blade with his bare hand.

He pushed it away and she yanked it from him, demon blood dripping from his palm and sizzling to the floor where the sword had bit into flesh.

Isabelle went into a half-crouching position and circled him, waiting for a better opportunity.

He opened his hand and showed the cut made by the copper sword. It wasn't smoking, not peeling away. Nothing. Why hadn't it worked? Why wasn't he screaming and writhing in agony like he had before?

“I can see the questions on your face, little witch. You're wondering why the copper isn't making me sick. I have treated myself since we last met. I've given myself allergy shots, so to speak. Such a superficial exposure to copper will not harm me now, though the swords are clever.”

Then she'd have to make sure the exposure wasn't
superficial
then. “Whatever. Swords still maim. They're still capable of hacking off limbs. I guess you can't grow limbs back, right? No allergy shot for that.” She feinted to the left, then turned and brought the blade down toward him.

Boyle moved at the last moment, but he wasn't quick enough to avoid the satisfying bite of the blade into demon meat. He bellowed, grabbed the blade with both of his massive hands and threw it across the room. It shattered the window at the far end.

Isabelle cringed at the sound of breaking glass and the noises of an animal in pain. She'd wounded him with the blade, but he still hadn't had the allergic reaction he'd had in the parking lot, damn it.

Blood coursed from the demon's side, soaking his jeans and the black T-shirt and leather jacket he wore. With one mighty sweep of his arm, he smashed the liquor cart near him, sending the bottles and glasses crashing to the polished wood floor.

“You have the blend I need, Isabelle Novak, but there are others. You have time to think on my proposal. I'm doing this only because I felt how distraught you were over the most recent deaths. Ah. I see your face. Yes, little witch, I'm empathic. I will come for you when I am ready. I have work to do before you. Sacrifice yourself and you save another witch, or save yourself and doom another to death. The choice is yours.”

She stared up at him. Boy, she didn't like the options.

“The head mage has grown fond of you,” Boyle added. “The one ridden by the angel. Do not let him know of my offer. His interference will mean his death. You have been warned.” Boyle turned, threw open a doorway, and exited.
Poof
and he was gone.

Shock numbing her body and stealing her thought, Isabelle sank to the floor amid the jagged edges of broken bottle and glass. Amber-colored liquid mixed with clear on the dark wood floor. From the opening of the shattered window at the far end of the room, early morning air drifted in and made her shiver.

Lady…

Soon the numbness let go and pain registered. Her throat ached and burned at the same time. Now that the demon was gone the adrenaline slowly leaked from her system, leaving her feeling like she'd just been hit by a freight train.

Her life for another witch's.

Would she have traded her life for Brandon's or Mary's? Her mind balked at the choice, riffled through scenarios. Selfishness screamed
no
. How could she sacrifice her life for a stranger's? She liked life. She liked
her
life. Dying wasn't on her agenda for a good sixty or more years. Isabelle was no martyr and she'd never been particularly self-sacrificing.

But would she have traded her life for her sister's? Nausea roiled through her stomach. The answer, of course, was
yes
. Would she have given her life to protect that little girl from the demon? She'd done her level best, hadn't she?

Mary had been a mother, a grandmother, a sister, and a freaking retired kindergarten teacher, for the sake of the Lady. Brandon had been a son, a brother, and a devoted uncle. They each had had strong familial ties. Many people now grieved them. They each had left large holes in the world.

Isabelle closed her eyes. If she died few people would even notice. She wouldn't leave a large hole, just a pinprick. These thoughts didn't come from a place of self-loathing; they were simple facts.

In the face of that realization, her choice became sickeningly, stomach-lurchingly clear.

She closed her eyes for a moment and just concentrated on breathing—in through her nose and out her mouth. Breath by breath, moment by moment, that's how she had to take this.

How long did she have until Boyle came for her?

Once her heartbeat returned to something resembling normal, she opened her eyes and surveyed the damage to Thomas's office. The breeze that shouldn't be there buffeted the papers that had been knocked off his desk. Alcohol soaked through files and made ink run. She hoped it was nothing too important.

She doubted anyone would have heard the ruckus. The library was far from the residential portion of the Coven and it was the middle of the night. The wards were set to register magickal disturbances, not swords thrown through windows.

Isabelle wondered how Boyle had gotten into the Coven, though she suspected she knew. Witch magick didn't work on demons, so it went to follow that neither did wardings. The reason was moot; obviously, he'd gotten through. She would have the bruises on her throat to show for it, not to mention a lovely decision to make.

Not that it was much of a decision.

She wouldn't go out without a fight, though. Already her mind worked through the possibilities. Maybe there was a way she could defeat Boyle, keep her life and that of the witch of the equivalent magickal consistency who would serve in her place. Maybe she could.

Or maybe not.

T
HOMAS STOOD ON HIS SCATTERED, SOAKED PAPERWORK
in the middle of his office, morning light shining through his shattered window, wondering what the hell had happened. It looked like a bomb had hit.

“Thomas?”

Isabelle appeared in the doorway, looking somehow pale and fragile. What the hell could make
Isabelle
look pale and fragile?

Alarmed, he walked toward her. “Are you all right? What happened in here? Fuck,” he breathed as he got closer and glimpsed the bruising around her throat. He took her by the shoulders. “Isabelle, what's going on?”

“I'm fine.” Her voice, gravelly and tired-sounding, revealed the lie. “But we have a problem.”

“Just one?”

She smiled faintly. “I found out last night the demon can breach the Coven's wards.”

Everything became clear. A cold jolt of terror for Isabelle's safety replaced the blood in his veins for a moment. “You fought the demon here, in the library?”

“Yes, and another thing, he's not allergic to copper anymore.”

He considered her words. “You're telling me that the demon has no weaknesses and you still defeated it?”

She nodded. “He almost choked me to death, but I managed to beat him off. Then I wounded him with your sword. It didn't cause the reaction in him, but it did injure him enough to cause him to retreat and leave me alive.”

The coldness in his veins transformed to hot rage at the thought of Boyle putting his hands around her throat. He had to force his vocal cords into action and his hands to unclench. “Why did he come after you?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. All I know is I went for a walk last night and decided to come to the library. When I flipped on the light, there he was.”

“Did he say anything? Did he give you any kind of a clue about why he came here?”

She shook her head.

His intuition niggled. “Are you sure?”

She stared straight up into his eyes. Isabelle had such pretty eyes, too bad there was a lie in them. “I'm sure.”

“What are you hiding from me, Isabelle?” he pressed. “Tell me.”

She blinked and licked her lips. “I think he's taken a liking to me.”

Fear fisted cold in his stomach. His hands on her shoulders tightened. “What makes you think that?”

“His way with me, asking me personal questions. Didn't Micah say demons could become infatuated with their prey?”

“Yes.” He compressed his lips into a thin line. “Do you think you're prey to him?” His desire to protect Isabelle was overwhelming. All he wanted at this moment was to lock her away in some steel room and put fifty guards on her, then go out and kill the demon with his own bare hands.

“Aren't we all? Why do you think Boyle was able to get into the Coven?”

“I'm not surprised he could penetrate our wards,” he replied. “I always suspected he could since his magick isn't anything we can tool our security system for.”

“Alien magick. So he can just come and go as he pleases.”

“It appears that way.”

“Lovely.”

“That means, first, you go see Doctor Oliver and, second, you stay in my room with me every night.” He felt his expression harden. “I don't want you out alone in the Coven after hours when there's no one around.”

Indignation overtook her face in a millisecond. Her shoulders and spine straightened. “I'm not hiding from Boyle under your covers every night.”

“The hell you're not. You just lied to me. That demon came gunning
for you
for some reason and you're not telling me why. I'm not leaving you alone so he can pick you off. This is not a discussion. You're staying with me, Isabelle. I want you protected.”

Cold fury lit her eyes and set her mouth into a thin, dangerous line. Her voice shook when she replied. “I won't do it. You're going to have to drag me in there and lock the door.”

“I'll do what I have to do.”

She turned on her heel and walked away from him.

“Go find Doctor Oliver!” he called after her as he followed her out the door.

“Go to hell, Thomas!” she called back.

Thomas watched her climb the stairs to the second floor and disappear from view without looking back at him. He didn't care how she felt about it, didn't care at this point how she felt about him. His only goal was to keep her safe. If that meant pissing her off, so be it. He really would throw her over his shoulder and lock her in his room if it was necessary. The tattoo on his back tingled. He knew just the spell to keep her from leaving.

Some primitive male portion of his psyche had declared Isabelle
his.
Some leftover caveman part of his brain had decided he needed to protect her, destroy anyone—or any demon—who wanted to hurt her, challenge any other man who dared try to take her away from him.

He wasn't sure when that possessive tendency over Isabelle had kicked in; maybe it had happened when he realized his feelings for her went further than just the physical. Maybe it was the maddening vulnerability that Isabelle possessed underneath all her bravado. In any case, knowing Isabelle had battled the demon alone made the part of him that had marked her as
his
go crazy.

The thought of finding Isabelle like her sister had been found was incomprehensible. His mind couldn't even go there. So Isabelle would be spending her nights with him from now on. He would protect her. If she hated him for it, so be it.

 

“S
O…YOU AND THE BOSS MAN, HUH
?”

Isabelle glanced at Adam. “It's just sex.”
It wasn't. Not anymore.
But that wasn't Adam's business.

They were headed back to the Coven after another day of fruitless searching for Boyle. Every day they checked and rechecked all the places where they knew he hung out and had the warehouse under constant surveillance, but they kept coming up empty.

“That's cool. I'm not judging. I think it's pretty healthy, actually. Monahan is one guy who could really benefit from a little no-strings-attached shagging.”

“Yeah, he seems a little…immersed in his job.”

“Immersed, yeah. Try: That man's ass is so tight if you shoved a lump of coal up there you'd have a diamond in no time.”

She grinned. “Kinky.”

“He's chilled out some since you came along. Thank you for that.”

“Anything I can do to help.” She paused. “Or anyone, in this case.”

“If that's the truth, I've been a little tense lately, too—”

She punched him in the shoulder and laughed. “That's your current flavor-of-the-month's responsibility, you man-whore.”

“Man-whore?” He cast her a look of mock indignation. “I am not a
man-whore
. How can I help it if I'm beloved by all the ladies? I would be doing them a disservice if I didn't oblige.”

“Yes, I shudder to think.” She laughed. “The world without your willing body in it would definitely be less bright for womankind.”

Adam turned his SUV past the security gates of the Coven and guided it down the winding road toward the house.

“So what's Micah's story anyway?” she asked him when the conversation had lulled. “I heard he's got some serious issues with the Duskoff?”

“Don't we all?” he muttered.

She stared out the window at the dark, winding road and tried not to think of Angela. “Yes.”

Adam's hands tightened noticeably on the steering wheel. “Micah's mom was killed by a warlock when he was just a kid. Ever since then he's been jonesing for some revenge. But Micah's skills are more in the realm of the brain than the body. Guy graduated top in his class at MIT and he's got major mojo, too. Serious ass amounts of magick. Anyway, after he got his degree he could have done anything, made lots of cash working in the non-magickal world. Instead, he came to work for the Coven and he's been here ever since, doing research and fetching and carrying for Monahan.”

“Sounds like he's hiding,” she commented.

Adam laughed. “Micah? Nah. Micah is deceptive as all hell. He's just looking for the right opportunity to kick their collective asses, you'll see.”

She nodded. All of them had really been touched in some way by the Duskoff. “So what's Theo's story?”

“Theodosius? Oh, man, he's got a story all right. The Duskoff got him for a while when he was a teenager, tried to break him because he has all this earth magick to call. The warlocks thought they could get him young and twist him for their own purposes. They tortured him and nearly killed him in the process, but the Coven broke him out. Got scars all over his body to show for his little stay with the warlocks. The second he could, Theo joined the Coven. He's one of our top hunters.”

She chewed her lower lip. That's why she'd felt a strange sort of kindredness with Theo. Their histories were dissimilar, but they shared one past incident—abuse, though it sounded like Theo's had been far more traumatic than hers.

“And your story?” she asked him.

Adam went silent for several heartbeats, then laughed harshly. “Sorry, baby girl. That one's not up for discussion.”

“Sorry, Adam. Didn't mean to touch a nerve.”

“No sweat, but it's just not something I want to talk about.”

He parked the SUV in front of the house and put it into park. She climbed out and looked up into the night sky to admire the scattering of bright stars.

Where was Boyle tonight?

She hadn't told Thomas about the demon's ultimatum…and she never would.
His interference will mean his death.
That's what Boyle had said.

Her life wasn't worth Thomas's life. It just wasn't.

Thomas strode from the front door of the Coven, drawing her eye. He wore a pair of close-fitting jeans, a black sweater, and black boots. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes hooded, and his jaw locked, and his long, loose hair streamed around him as he walked toward her with purpose.

“Thomas—” She only had time to get the one word out before he grabbed her around the waist and hefted her over his shoulder. “Thomas!” she yelled at him as he turned without a word and walked back up the stairs and into the Coven.

Lady
, she never thought he'd literally do this!

Adam's laughter rang behind her as Thomas carried her off.

Despite her outrage and despite the looks they got from the Coven's inhabitants, he carried her through the building. Thomas was single-minded in his focus and nothing she said or did stopped his slow, purposeful stalk to his room.

Once inside, he slammed the door closed with his foot and Isabelle felt the
hiss snap
along her nerve endings as a warding spell seal his apartment.

Her throat closed and the familiar panic tingled through her limbs. Her breath came quick, her heart started to pound, and she felt her eyes grow wide. She dragged in a harsh, ragged-sounding lungful of air.

Thomas sat her on the couch. Looking down at her, he frowned. “What's wrong?”

She raised a hand and shook her head, trying to ease her panic enough to speak. Closing her eyes, she fought to regulate her breathing and talk to herself rationally. Thomas didn't know about her problem with locked rooms and small places. She was safe here, safe. She was always safe with Thomas.

His hands closed over her shoulders. “Isabelle?”

She opened her mouth to tell him she was okay, then shook her head again. Even though she knew she was safe here with him, she couldn't tamp down her primal reaction to being locked in a room. Isabelle bolted from the couch, pushed past Thomas and ran to the door.

The warding spell felt heavy, viscous, as she slid her hand into it to try the knob. Thomas's magick was strong. She could taste it on the back of her tongue like dark, fertile soil.

The door knob wouldn't budge, of course. Thomas had keyed the spell to prevent her from turning or manipulating the door in any way. Her mind sought ways her water magick could counter it and came up empty.

“Thomas, don't do this.” Her voice sounded shaky.

“Already done.”

She couldn't spend the night locked in this room. She couldn't. “What if”—her mind cast about for arguments—“what if Boyle shows up tonight and I'm locked in here with no escape? This could be dangerous.”

“The warding is set to register your emotions. If you're fleeing for your life in absolute terror, the magick will know and allow you through.”

A key to the warding. Maybe she could turn it.

Isabelle opened the floodgate to her fears, allowing all her terror to come pouring forth. She remembered…a tiny, dark closet.