Witch Blood

TWELVE

ON THE WAY BACK TO HER ROOM LATER, SHE COULDN’T get the scent and feel of Thomas out of her memory. After they’d finished eating and cleaned up, he’d pulled her against him and kissed her. She’d meant to leave the kitchen before that happened simply because of the power coursing between them in the entryway earlier. Resisting Thomas was nearly impossible.

And then, there, in the kitchen, he’d pulled her up against him, settled his mouth over hers and kissed her so long and hard she’d practically forgotten her own name.

Her body still tingled from it. Her lips were still swollen and marked by his.

Then, he’d said, “Good night, Isabelle,” with a little regret on his face…and had left her.

She’d slumped in relief back against the counter to catch her breath before she’d headed up to her room. If he’d taken her by the hand and led her upstairs, into his bed, she wouldn’t have raised a word in protest. Thomas made her weak. He was like kryptonite to her.

Isabelle stopped in the hallway a short distance from her room and breathed quickly in the semidarkness, just on the edge of a panic attack. As the familiar anxiety ratcheted her heart rate up, she turned and fled for the exit. She needed air, open spaces.

Her feet pounded on the stairs as she descended and went out the front door of the Coven. Once down the front steps, she leaned over and braced her hands on her knees, trying desperately to regulate her breathing.

For a moment she’d felt trapped, claustrophobic. Physically, she hadn’t been in a tight place. However, for a minute, in her mind, she’d been in the closest space she could imagine.

That’s the danger Thomas presented.

Dragging the moist early morning air into her lungs, she straightened and stared down the twisting, tree-lined road that led away from the Coven.

Coming here had been a mistake. Maybe thinking she could settle anywhere, even her sister’s apartment, had been a mistake. It just wasn’t in her blood the way it had been in her sister’s. Maybe Angela had been a changeling.

Even now she felt the pull of the busy airports and their crush of anonymous, self-concerned strangers, the embrace of foreign cities where no one knew her name, where fresh starts occurred every day.

No ties. No entanglements. No messy relationships for her to fuck up. Just nonjudgmental, impersonal hotel rooms and rented villas.

The thought comforted her and her breathing returned to normal as she stood in the darkness, staring down the road.

THOMAS STOOD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FOYER, EXAMINING the wicked copper blade of the sword he held. They’d ordered them forged as soon as Isabelle had discovered the demon’s weakness, enough for all the witches in the Coven. The metal was soft, not practical for a weapon meant to be used in serious combat.

The first thing they’d thought of had been bullets, which would have been far more useful, but copper bullets were proving difficult to have made. Micah was looking in to having various weapons made using copper, bullets included, but swords and knives had been the easiest to procure right away. Pretty, but not practical. Unfortunately, it was all they had.

Movement on the stairs drew his eye. Isabelle descended, barefoot, her hair long and loose. She wore a pair of worn blue jeans and an old burgundy T-shirt with the faded letters of some college across her breasts. The T-shirt was tight and the way she walked — all rolling hips and long-legged grace — made his mouth go dry.

She looked up, hesitated on a stair, then continued to descend. “Off to slay a dragon, milord?”

“Maybe a demon.”

“Ah.” She walked to him and he handed her the sword. She wrapped her fingers around the grip and examined it from tang to the tip. “Nice.”

“Know something about swords?”

She shrugged and handed it back to him. “Not a thing, other than the pointy end goes into people. Clever, though, thinking about this as a weapon to use against the demon. Only one thing, how the hell are we supposed to walk around on the streets with these unnoticed?”

“I figure they can be sheathed to our backs and hidden under our coats. We intentionally had them made short for that. It’s still spring, not that warm yet, so the jackets won’t seem odd. I ordered some regular knives, too, but I think most will prefer these.”

She nodded. “Gives you a little distance.”

“Exactly.”

“Would be better to have some copper bullets or something. That would give us even more distance.”

As she spoke, Theo and Ingrid entered the foyer from the direction of the conservatory, both talking to each other.

“We’re working on that,” added Thomas. “Isabelle, I’d like you to meet Ingrid. She’s Jack’s counterpart and shares a lot of responsibility here at the Coven.”

Ingrid was a short, thin, blonde. She always wore a suit, had her hair in a bun and glasses perched on her narrow nose. Ingrid was a fire witch with a temper to match, despite her innocuous appearance. She stuck out her hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Isabelle. I’m happy to meet you.”

Isabelle shook her hand. “Same thing here. It’s an honor.”

Theo, a severe-looking man with longish black hair, a goatee and dark olive skin, stood very close to Ingrid. Thomas got an intuitive hit they were sleeping together. Good. Theo needed a little sex to bleed off his natural intensity.

Tattoos peeked from under the tight blue shirt Theo wore. What few people knew was that the tattoos complemented a large amount of scarring on his body, inked to show off what Theo considered his battle scars. When Theo had been a teenager, the Duskoff had captured him, lured to him by the massive amounts of earth magick he could wield. The warlocks had tried to crush his will for their own uses and had tortured him mercilessly, breaking bones and scarring his body. He’d been with the Duskoff a hellish two months before the Coven had broken him out.

Thomas, just barely in college at the time, had been with those who’d gone in after him. He could remember finding Theo, bloody and beaten, but still defiant and pissed off. Ever since, Theo had channeled his energies toward hunting down warlocks and rogue witches.

“And this is Theodosius, otherwise known as Theo—”

Isabelle grabbed his hand in both of hers with enthusiasm. “The artist. You did Thomas’s tattoo.”

Theo nodded. “I do work for many of the earth witches in the Coven.”

“Ever do any for water witches?”

A flicker of unwelcome jealousy ran through Thomas at the thought of Theo putting his hands on intimate parts of Isabelle’s body…any part at all, actually. He frowned at their clasped hands. Gods. He shook it off. He felt possessive of Isabelle, but he had no right.

“Come see me sometime and we can talk about it,” answered Theo with a smile a little warmer than Thomas liked.

“Jack told me the swords came in,” said Ingrid. “We came by to take a look.” Thomas handed her the weapon and she looked it over. “Nice.”

“Metal’s too soft to use for a sword,” Theo put in, catching the blade and examining it.

“I know, but it’s all we’ve got,” answered Thomas. “This is our only known weapon in fighting the demon.”

“And training?” asked Isabelle. “I don’t know about you but I skipped fencing class in college. In fact, I skipped college.”

“You and I start as soon as you’re ready.” He glanced at Theo and Ingrid. “Theo, I know you’re familiar with swords. I thought you could take over training some of the others.”

Theo nodded. “Micah’s got the rest of the weapons?”

“Yes. He’s got training swords, too. I think Jack and Adam are with him now.”

Ingrid handed the sword back to him. They said their goodbyes and went in search of swords to practice with.

After they’d gone, Isabelle looked directly at him, something she hadn’t done yet that morning, and he saw shadows in her eyes — trouble. “Do you know something about sword fighting?”

“More than the average person.”

She grinned at him. “So you want to be the one to train me, huh? Don’t trust me to Theo?”

“Never.”

She shrugged. “Let me get a cup of coffee and let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later they went to the ballroom of the Coven, a place big enough for them to move. Mirrors lined one wall and an area of hardwood flooring lay like an island in the middle of the plush red carpeting. Thomas and Isabelle stood on the hardwood, each holding a sword and facing each other. They had traded the viciously sharp swords for blunted training blades.

“We’re not going to train like fencers,” said Thomas, “since the demon’s not going to have a sword and, if he did, he wouldn’t be playing by any kind of rules anyway. I just want everyone to get a good feel for the weapon, learn to move with it in the most effective way.”

“Makes sense.”

“So the first thing to remember is to breathe.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Breathe? I’m doing that already. I intend to keep doing it for many more years.”

“I mean breathe in a regulated, focused way.”

“Be one with the sword?”

“Exactly. Breathe like you’re meditating, deep and regular. It will keep you calm and give you enough oxygen to fight.”

She tried it, turning around a circle with the sword in hand and breathing deeply as she moved. Closing her eyes, she rotated on the balls of her bare feet with the natural grace of a dancer or a warrior. Just by looking at her Thomas could tell that he didn’t need to discuss the second basic with her — balance.

Isabelle finally came to a stop and opened her eyes. “That was a lot more relaxing than fighting the demon will be.”

“Undoubtedly. All right, now we spar in order to familiarize ourselves with the other basic concepts, as well as to get a feel for the weapon.”

She swung the blade experimentally. “And the other basic concepts are?”

“Tactics and timing.”

She jumped and pointed the blunted training sword in his general direction. “En guard! But take your shirt off first, champ. Because, you know”—she shot him a salacious grin that made him chuckle—“you’ll get warm dressed like that. Yeah, that’s it. I’m worried about your comfort.”

They sparred into the late afternoon. Isabelle was good with the weapon and he found himself on the defensive many times in the face of her surprising aggression.

The way she looked — her face and neck shining with perspiration, pupils wide and dark, lips pursed in absolute concentration — made it seem like the workout was therapy for her. Her movements were quick and self-possessed, too. What Isabelle lacked in terms of upper body strength, she made up for in speed and flexibility.

In the end, they were evenly matched, despite the fact that he was stronger physically.

Isabelle turned and brought her training blade down against his in a wide arc. He threw down his weapon, intercepted her and pulled her back against him. Thomas needed to touch her, just for a moment.

She thumped against his chest and went still, breathing heavy. Then she tossed her training sword to the floor and turned in his arms, rising onto her tiptoes to devour his mouth in a deep kiss.

He took a step back at the passion pouring through her, but she stepped with him, winding her arms around him and nipping at his lower lip. She tasted like hot magick and urgency, and acted like she might die if he didn’t return her ardor.

Not breaking contact with her mouth, Thomas scooped her into his arms, knelt, and laid her on the floor. Isabelle wrapped her legs around his waist. He balanced over her, covering her body and slanting his mouth over hers to take control of the wild kiss.

Thomas’s body tingled with the awareness of her, as if every molecule had been tuned to the frequency of Isabelle.

That’s how he knew, despite the hardness of his body and his intense desire to strip her clothes off and take her right on the floor, despite the passion with which she tangled both tongue and lips with his…something was wrong.

It had been in her eyes that morning, in the way she’d thrown herself body and soul into the sparring, and the way she threw herself at him now.

Escape. Distraction.

That’s what it seemed like to him. Like she tried to drown herself in stimulus to order to avoid thinking about whatever was bothering her. That’s what she’d wanted him for the first time, too. Make it all go away for a while. That’s what she’d said to him in the library.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured against her lips.

“Nothing.” She renewed the assault on his lips and grazed his bare back with her fingernails. He shuddered against her, desire flaring in his groin and swamping his mind.

“Isabelle,” he whispered between kisses, “I know something’s bothering you.”

“You’re wrong.” She ground up against him. The delicious heat of her sex rubbed the length of his cock through the fabric of their clothing.

Thomas lost his train of thought.

It took a monumental act of strength to catch her wrists and pin them to the floor on either side of her. She stilled instantly, staring up into his eyes. It wasn’t lust that colored them dark now, but the edge of panic.

Why panic?

“Isabelle, don’t lie.”

The glimmer of panic receded and her expression relaxed. “You worry way too much, Thomas.”

“I can tell there’s something bothering you.”

She sighed. “Maybe. So what if there is?”

He released her wrists and collapsed on his back, breathing heavily. His rapid heart rate had nothing to do with their sparring. Neither did his rock hard cock. The absolute male of him wanted to just take her, curse the reason she was willing to throw herself into gritty, urgent sex here on the floor.

He wanted her, wanted her so much his cock had gone rigid at the first touch of her body against his. The thought of yanking off her clothes and rolling her beneath him now, spreading her thighs and sinking his cock into all that soft, warm, and willing heat was hard to resist.

But his yearning for Isabelle went past the physical.

Isabelle rolled away and sat up, pulling her knees to her chest in one lithe movement. “Maybe something is bothering me, but I’d prefer to keep it to myself if you don’t mind.”

He sat up, his hair trailing over his shoulder. “You want to use sex with me as a way to escape. Fine. But you have to level with me about it first.” His voice came out harsh and cold.

“Thomas, I—”

The ballroom doors burst open and Mira rushed into the room, her face pale and drawn. Jack and Micah followed her.

Thomas leapt to his feet. Coldness curled through his stomach at the expression on their faces and at the psychic hit he got off Mira. It was something really bad. The demon had killed again.

Mira didn’t bother with the preliminaries, probably reading in Thomas’s expression that he already knew. “It’s worse than you’re imagining. I know because I heard it all.”

Jack stepped up behind her and encircled her in his arms, his hands coming to rest on the small bulge of her belly.

Isabelle got to her feet, her gaze fixed on Mira’s face. She hugged herself. “Boyle murdered another witch, didn’t he?”

Mira shook her head and licked her lips. “He murdered two.”

For a long moment the room was completely silent. Mira’s mouth opened and closed. Perhaps she was stalling before she expressed her thought, hoping it would somehow disappear.

Thomas tried to make his voice as gentle and warm as possible. “Please just say it, Mira.”

Silence dominated for another moment before Isabelle pushed out the words, “Who were they?”

The sentence exploded from Mira in a rush, “A twenty-one-year-old water witch named Brandon Michaels and an elderly fire witch named Mary Hatt.”

Mira turned in Jack’s arms for comfort and showed them her back while she continued, her words muffled against Jack’s chest. “I was so tuned in to anything having to do with Boyle that I heard the entire murder. I became locked in it, mired down in a kind of psychic quicksand. It was…” Her voice broke and she trailed off.

Mira didn’t have to explain. He understood what she’d just vicariously lived through. Her words punched him in the solar plexus. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. Beside him, Isabelle took a shuddering breath.

Focus. He had to focus on what they could do.

“What else do we know?” Thomas’s voice sounded forced to his own ears.

For the first time, Jack spoke. “Since Mira was able to glean their full names, I took the liberty of having Ingrid organize the witches in the area of the killing to go to the scene immediately. I understand Adam and Theo are on their way there now. She’s going to start the process of notifying next of kin, too.”

“How long ago did you learn of this?”

“Minutes ago.”

He glanced at Isabelle, who stared at a fixed spot on the floor. She’d tightened her arms around herself and her face had gone white. Was she fighting memories of finding her sister? Thomas wanted to go to her, to slip his arms around her, but his intuition told him that was the last thing she wanted right now.

He moved to her anyway. There was a difference between what she wanted and what she needed. Thomas wasn’t sure if Isabelle had any comprehension at all about what was best for her.

He slid his arms around her. She stiffened against him and Thomas thought for a moment she might push him away, but she relaxed, melting against him and resting her head against his shoulder.

“I tried so hard to save that little girl and he just chose other witches to take her place.” Her whisper sounded like silk and sand at the same time. “Lady, two instead of one.”

Thomas closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head. “I know.” Then louder, “Where’s the scene?”

Micah answered. “A warehouse on the corner of Thurston and Maple.”

“Jack, take Mira to see Doctor Oliver.” He worried about her experiencing something so stressful while she was pregnant.

“Already on my immediate to do list,” answered Jack.

Isabelle instantly stepped from Thomas’s embrace. “Let’s go.”

Thomas took a moment to reply. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…not for you, anyway.”

She shot a look at him that froze his balls. “Oh, no, you don’t. See? This is where macho and protective stops being sexy and gets irritating. Anyway, I’m the only one who can access the moisture memory. That’s one of the reasons you hired me, right?” Without waiting for his response, she turned on her heel and walked out the door.