Witch Blood - By Anya Bast Page 0,4

sob. “It’s because of him, because of the Duskoff, that my sister is dead.”

“He won’t get away with what he’s done, Isabelle,” came his low voice. “But his punishment can’t be like this.”

“How do you know my name?”

Behind them she could hear witches subduing Stefan. The limo rocked with the motion. “You said you’re Angela’s sister. I can only assume you mean Angela Novak, the water witch who was killed by a demon a couple of months ago. That makes you Isabelle. We’re on the same side. If I let you up, will you be good?”

Her mouth snapped shut and she nodded.

He moved away from her, Monahan’s face—set in handsome, brutal lines—finally coming into view. She glanced around the limo’s interior, seeing Adam Tyrell and Jack McAllister, both fire witches she was well acquainted with. The two men restrained the injured Stefan, who wasn’t fighting anymore. He knelt with his hands between his legs, looking like the only battle he could wage was against unconsciousness.

“We are not on the same side,” she growled at Thomas. “You are preventing me from—”

“Taking your revenge. I know.”

“I didn’t kill her sister,” spat Stefan.

Thomas cast a look at Stefan that reminded Isabelle of how a cat might regard a worm, beneath his bother but something interesting to play with. “In general I’d prefer Stefan dead,” he drawled, “but we need him.”

Cradling her injured hand, Isabelle only glowered at him through her hair in response. She sought Monahan’s emotions, but got nothing more than a flicker. Either she was too tired to sense them or he was hellishly repressed.

“Ah, Isabelle? Not that I mind the view, but…” Adam looked at her pointedly, helping her remember her state of undress.

She glanced down, registering her lack of clothing. In her rage, that little detail had been lost. Hell. Could anything more go wrong?

Making sure Jack had ahold of Stefan, Adam tossed her dress to her and she gingerly slid it over her head, wincing at the pain in her back.

Thomas jerked his head at Stefan. “Incapacitate him for transportation.”

Jack stared down at Stefan—his expression dangerously dark. For a moment Isabelle wondered what he’d do. The warlock had tried to kill Jack’s girlfriend last winter.

Jack glanced pointedly at Stefan’s privates. “You should see a doctor about that.” Then he punched him—hard. Stefan slumped to the floor of the limo, unconscious.

“You could’ve just drugged him,” said Thomas with a twist to his lips.

Jack glared down at Stefan. “That was one option.”

“You could’ve just let me kill him, too,” Isabelle added. “That would have been much less trouble for everyone. I know I would have been far happier.”

Thomas turned and regarded her with eyes that seemed blacker than obsidian. They were unsettling, yet beautiful, and they matched the hair that swirled around his shoulders. The man truly did look like a witch—a very, very wicked one. “Really? That would have made you happy, Isabelle? Tell the truth.”

She glanced away from him, suddenly feeling far more naked under his gaze than when she’d been undressed.

The head of the Coven was better looking in person than he was in his pictures, like some beautiful fallen angel, although the rough-hewn lines of his face saved him from the more perfect type of male prettiness. His sensual, lush mouth seemed at odds with the rest of him, set with deep lines on either side. He had a powerfully built body, long of leg and broad of shoulder. Every inch of that massive body had been pressed against her and it had hurt. Her back twinged with the memory and she grimaced.

“So how’s it going, Isabelle? Long time, no see,” said Adam as though they’d met up by chance at Starbucks or something.

Her lips turned up in a smile. Grinning at Adam Tyrell was something you had to do because of his charm, especially if you were female. Even under these circumstances, she couldn’t help it. “Not too great, Adam.”

“Get him out of here,” Thomas growled at Adam. He turned to Jack. “Can you heal her back and hand?”

“Isabelle’s hand and back, yes. Stefan’s dick, no. My hands aren’t going anywhere near that.”

“We’ll let Stefan heal on his own, I think. It’s the least he deserves.”

Adam heaved Stefan out of the limo and Thomas followed, casting one piercing look at her over his shoulder before he went. “I want to talk to you. Don’t disappear.”

She narrowed her eyes at his back. Asshole! He had no right to order her around. She’d left the Coven. Hell,