Witch Blood

TWENTY-EIGHT

ISABELLE LEANED OVER A SHEAF OF PAPERS IN THE library, squinting against the exhaustion that had overtaken her. The room was dark, but for the light illuminating her immediate area. Micah and the others helping them on this project had long since retired.

She was no scholar, didn’t even have a college education, but since Thomas’s disappearance she’d had a crash course in lots of esoteric subjects she’d never had cause to be interested in before, like the nuances of Aramaic and the delicate intricacies of earth magick.

Until now the Coven had had no reason to delve into historical documents kept by non-magickals, but since their witchy origins had been revealed, Micah had been procuring them and scouring them for any information that might fit in with what they’d received from the Duskoff. In the process, knowledge that needed to be closely guarded from the warlocks had been discovered. If Thomas hadn’t been trapped over there, they would’ve let it stay buried forever. It was quite practical and some of it very dangerous.

Mumbling to herself, she read the line giving her trouble for the fiftieth time and then double-checked the three translations she had, trying to figure out which one fit with rest of the text.

She sat back, rubbing the bridge of her nose and closing her bloodshot eyes. “I really need to let Micah handle this,” she mumbled to herself.

They were growing closer to a breakthrough for getting back to Eudae every day, giving her just enough hope to continue on. She tried not to think about how long Thomas had been over there or that the odds grew slimmer every day that he still lived. Those were not things she could dwell on.

Isabelle leaned forward and laid her head on the papers in front of her. Sleep pulled at her, but she resisted. Just needed to rest her eyes a bit….

A warm hand closed around her shoulder. Her breath caught in her throat, arrested by the familiarity of the touch. She would know the warmth of that hand anywhere, the weight of it. Her eyes opened slowly.

“Isabelle?”

His voice. Her name on his lips.

She had to be dreaming.

Isabelle lifted her head, tears stinging her eyes. This couldn’t be real. She pushed the chair back, rose and turned around.

Thomas stood before her still dressed in the same drawstring pants he’d been wearing three weeks ago. His hair, tangled and matted, stuck up in tufts around his head. Someone had cut it…badly. His now short hair threw his brutally handsome face in angular relief. He’d lost at least twenty pounds. Someone had tried to clean him up, but dirt and grime still marked his skin, as well as a profusion of cuts and bruises. He smelled heavily of blood and demon magick.

Isabelle didn’t care.

She stepped toward him, hand outstretched, trying to gain a foothold on the moment. Blinking, she said, “I fell asleep. I’m dreaming.”

Thomas stepped toward her and yanked her into his arms. “You’re not dreaming, Isabelle. Do you think anything in this universe could stop me from getting back to you?”

Then he lowered his mouth to hers and proved to her that he was, indeed, flesh and blood. His warm lips skated over hers softly, then pressed down possessively. His tongue speared between her lips and rubbed against hers with a ferocity that stopped her breath in her throat. His fingers curled into her hair, his arms strong around her body.

He held her like he’d never let go.

Isabelle sobbed against his lips, tasting her tears as they ran into her mouth. “How?” she murmured. Her fingers found solid purchase around his shoulders. “What did they do to you?”

“I’m okay.” His voice came out scratchy but strong and steady. “They just roughed me up a little and showed me some demon hospitality when I refused to share information with them.”

Fudging the truth for her sake. She could feel it. As usual, even now, he tried to protect her. “I don’t believe you.”

He took a moment to answer. “They didn’t like it when I refused to share every aspect of Coven business and our dealings with the Duskoff.”

“They tortured you.” Her voice sounded angry and flat to her own ears, accusatory. “You told them to let me go and keep you.”

He nodded. “I did. I love you, Isabelle.”

She swallowed hard. “Why did they send you back?”

“They didn’t. I escaped. I had help on the inside, a woman named Claire. She slipped me extra food, treated my wounds, gave me charms to make me seem more injured and sick than I was, taught me—”

“Taught you?”

“She had earth magick like I’ve never felt before. Strange and powerful. She taught me how to use my magick against the demons. With her help, I gained enough strength that I broke myself out. It was dicey getting from the cell to the doorway, but we managed to get through all the obstacles in our path.”

“Who was she?”

“I don’t really know. I could never get her to say much to me. I don’t know why she was there or how she got there in the first place. At the end, I tried to get her to come with me, but she refused.”

“She wanted to stay?”

“I don’t think so, Isabelle. I don’t think she felt like she had a choice for some reason.”

Poor woman. Isabelle would forever be in her debt. She thought about their research on opening another doorway. Maybe she could repay this woman for what she’d done.

She dropped her head to his shoulder and held onto him like she was drowning. “I can’t believe you’re back.”

He brushed his fingers through her hair. “It was the thought of you that sustained me while I was there.”

She raised her head. “I’m glad the thought of me got you through hell and back, but you shouldn’t have done what you did.”

He shook his head. “Not even another word.” His voice had an edge of steel to it. “When I saw an opportunity to free you, I took it.”

She pushed away from him a little. “Thomas, you never stop—”

He dragged her up against him and she angled her head to brush his lips. The taste and feel of his mouth was like sunshine on her skin after a year of constant night. “Don’t pull away from me,” he whispered. “Not ever.”

She smiled against his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

THOMAS SLIPPED HIS HAND TO ISABELLE’S WAIST, reveling in the warmth of her skin radiating through the fabric of her shirt and into his palm.

“You need to see the doctor,” she murmured into his neck.

His arms tightened around her. “I am seeing my doctor.”

She raised her head. “I’m serious, Thomas.”

He touched her cheek. “So am I. Look, I’ll be fine. I just want to spend some time with you now. The doctor and the rest of the Coven have me tomorrow. I want to be yours tonight.”

She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Mine tonight? Baby, you’re mine forever.”

“Then let’s go upstairs. I need a good bath and then I need you.”

“Healing waters I can do. Stay here a moment and give me a head start.” She leaned up and kissed him tenderly. He closed his eyes at the sweet pressure of her mouth on his, his body going tight as a bowstring with the need to be one with her. She broke the kiss with a slow groan and murmured, “I’ll see you upstairs.”

When he opened his eyes, she was gone. For a moment he saw the inside of his prison cell in his mind’s eye. He heard the drip, drip, drip of the water. Smelled blood and demon magick. For a heartbeat he wondered if this was just another dream, one of many he’d had in the dark of night while he’d been tucked away in a place somewhere between here and there. Then the library came into focus and he sighed in relief.

He stepped forward, sifting through the papers that Isabelle had been leaning over. Apparently, they’d been trying to find a way to get back to Eudae and break him free. He let his fingertips rest on the texts, his thoughts straying to Claire and how wistfully she’d looked at the doorway while absolutely refusing to step through. Isabelle looked exhausted. Apparently, she’d been working nonstop, but maybe their labor hadn’t been in vain.

Those were serious considerations for tomorrow. Tonight he just wanted the woman he loved.

Thomas made his way upstairs to his room to find she’d left the door open a crack for him. He pushed it the rest of the way, stepped inside, and breathed in the familiar scent of his Coven apartment. Nothing except Isabelle had ever smelled so good. Steam rolled from the bathroom doorway.

He walked into the puff of the steam, then stopped short just inside to take in the best sight he could imagine — Isabelle naked in a pool of water, waiting for him.

Life didn’t get better than this.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked. Water lapped at the curves of her breasts and beaded on her throat. He wanted to lick those water beads off, one by one.

He shed his clothes and slid into the welcoming heat of the bath with a groan of pure satisfaction. Instantly, the water moved in ripples and waves around him, massaging the lingering ache of abuse from his body. That was one of the benefits of being in a bath with a water witch.

Isabelle moved across the tub and fitted herself against him. Slick wet skin slipped across his, tightening his every muscle. She started with his hair, dripping shampoo into her palm and massaging it through the uneven length. “Bastards tried to strip your power.”

His hand covered her wrist. “They didn’t succeed because they didn’t take you.”

Warm smile playing on her lips, she lathered her hands with soap and then eased them down his arms, over his shoulders and back. Thomas let out a low groan of satisfaction as she washed him from head to toe, her lips trailing on his now-clean flesh as she went. Every bruise and cut seemed to heal a little just from her touch.

Even better was her mouth when it found his.

Her lips fluttered against his tentatively at first. He nipped her lower lip and dragged it through his teeth while he slipped one hand down her waist and over her thigh to just under the sweet back of her knee. He pulled her leg up over his hip, enjoying the feel of her wet skin against his.

She parted her lips and allowed his tongue to slip within her mouth and ground her sex against his aching cock. Wiggling her hips, she sought his crown and slid down over the top of it.

All his nerve endings shot to brilliant life. He tipped his head back and groaned at the way the warm, silken muscles of her sex rippled and pulsed along his length as she impaled herself.

One with Isabelle, now he was truly home.

He pressed her down onto the top ledge of the tub that rose an inch above the water’s surface and sank as deeply within her as he could. She wound her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, burying her nose in the curve where his shoulder met throat. There she laid a series of kisses and gentle nips of her teeth.

Thrusting in and out of her soft, tight heat, he slaked the weeks-long need he’d had of her. Inserting his hand between their bodies, he used his wet fingers to rub her clit until she shuddered and came beneath him, sinking her teeth into his shoulder.

This was hard and fast lovemaking, urgent. Once he’d sated himself, he’d put her in his bed and do it again, slower, sweeter. Lather, rinse, and repeat…for as long as she’d have him.

He sealed his mouth to hers as his climax overtook his body, thrusting deep within her as he came.

Once it was over, they slipped into the water, tangled up in each other. For a long time, they did nothing but touch one another, kissing along smooth, wet skin.

She bit her lower lip and traced a bruise on his shoulder. “How bad was it?”

His arms tightened around her. He didn’t want to tell her about the beatings he’d received every day. If it hadn’t been for Claire patching him up and giving him glamours, he probably would’ve died there. “Bad. It could have been worse, though.”

She rubbed her lips against his shoulder. “Stefan is alive.”

He gritted his teeth, but didn’t reply. Score number two for the Duskoff. That was the second time he’d escaped them.

“He told me he struck some kind of deal with Boyle,” she continued.

Thomas rubbed his palm up and down her arm and murmured, “Considering we witnessed Boyle’s beheading, I’d say all negotiations he made are probably void.”

She snuggled against him, her body soft and warm against his, but her voice was hard. “Let’s hope we never get an Atrika on this side of the doorway again.”

But they would. Maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but one day the Duskoff would pull another through.

“Let’s forget about all that for now. The future will take care of itself. Let’s live in the present. Or, better yet, let’s talk about our personal future…together.”

She frowned up into his face. “You’re not going to do something dumb and ask me to marry you, are you?”

“I want you to stay, Isabelle. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Thomas, and the only place I want to be in this world is with you. I would’ve said yes, you know.”

Pleasure warmed him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. “In that case, will you—”

“Yes.” She kissed him. “Yes, I will. Thank the Lady you finally got around to asking. I’ve always wanted to be a queen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for all intents and purposes, you’re the king of witchdom.”

He smiled. “And you’re definitely my queen.”