Witch Blood - By Anya Bast Page 0,86

worked up. Isabelle had slipped her own data into the analysis, tweaking it so that the pattern ended on her exact magickal characteristics. It had narrowed the pool of potential victims between herself and the last two witches Boyle had taken from 375 to 151.

Micah had discovered her tampering, as she’d been sure he would, and she’d been forced to reveal her secret. For his cousin’s protection, he had agreed to keep Boyle’s ultimatum between them, although she’d had to argue with him loudly and at length to get his promise. He’d also agreed to remove her name from the pool. She and her mother had both shown up on the victim’s list.

Thomas had made good on his vow to protect those on the roster. He’d brought all those into the Coven who would come, set guards on the rest. Isabelle imagined that Boyle was finding his pickings to be more challenging.

“But you have not stopped me,” Boyle continued. “Your head mage cannot protect all the possible keys.” His voice lowered ominously when he spoke next. “And he had better not try to protect you.”

The shadow darted away. Boyle was gone. A soft rustling sound came from the direction of the window. The curtains moved a little from the breeze that blew. Isabelle hadn’t left the window open before she’d gone to bed. It was Boyle’s little way of letting her know he’d been in the room, watching her sleep…manipulating her dreams.

“I knew you weren’t dead, you bastard!” she screamed toward the window. Her voice sounded harsh and filled with despair. A part of her had hoped so very hard that Thomas had killed him.

Isabelle pushed the blankets back, rose, and slammed the window closed, locking it. For a moment she stood, staring out into the early morning, across the front lawn of the Coven.

Soon.

Boyle would be coming for her any night now, any day. He would come and trap her, take away her freedom, render her mute, motionless, helpless. Put her in a small, dark place. All her biggest fears.

She closed her eyes. Lady, she didn’t want to die that way.

Nausea rose up. She put a hand to her mouth and ran to the bathroom. After she’d finished, she sat on the floor and leaned her cheek against the cool porcelain of the bathtub, breathing heavily.

All she wanted was Thomas. She wanted to leave right now and go to his room, crawl into his bed and let him comfort her. But what if tonight was the night? If Boyle came back, then she would be putting Thomas in harm’s way for her own selfish desires.

That was the problem.

The point was moot anyway. She’d burned that bridge. She’d done such a good job of putting distance between herself and Thomas, it was like an ice pick through her solar plexus every time he looked at her now. Sometimes her skills in empathy were not her friend.

It was time to return to her apartment in the city. If she left now, in the middle of the night, Thomas wouldn’t even know she was gone. When Boyle came for her, she wanted Thomas as far from her as possible. Even though it killed her to keep him at arm’s length, she did it for his protection.

Ironic, that.

Ironic that the man who wanted to protect everyone else was now the one she protected.

Isabelle dropped her hand to her thigh, where she kept the syringe filled with the spelled liquid copper sheathed at all times. At the very least, maybe she could take the demon with her.

She pushed up from the bathroom floor, brushed her teeth, and packed a bag. She’d been putting this off because, greedily, she didn’t want to put this much distance between herself and Thomas. This was the second irony of the night since just a couple of weeks ago the very idea of Thomas made her feel trapped. Now all she wanted was to stay with him. But the time had come. This little visit from Boyle made that fact clear.

Apparently, settling in one place with one man simply wasn’t in the cards for her. Maybe if she could defeat the demon. Maybe…

She shouldn’t consider maybes at this point. They were dangerous.

She closed the door of her room at the Coven behind her and stepped into the corridor, bag in hand and copper knife in place in her wrist sheath. She didn’t go anywhere without that or the syringe these days.

Just as soon as she’d heard the latch snick