Witch Blood (13 page)

“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.

B
Y THE TIME THEY REACHED THE WAREHOUSE, IT WAS
past twilight and stars twinkled in the clear black sky. A few hours prior it had showered, leaving the air a little damp. Now Isabelle pulled that soothing dampness around her body like a cloak.

It was far too pretty a night for the job they were on.

Adam was the first to meet them when Isabelle and Thomas entered the large, brightly lit warehouse. Inside two witches had been killed in tandem, the magick sucked from the center of their souls and their bones picked clean.

Isabelle had a flash of a memory—blood, unnaturally tangled limbs—but she stopped short, squeezed her eyes shut, and willed it away.

Thomas's warm hand touched her arm. “Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes and glanced at him. He parted his lips but before he could utter the words—undoubtedly about her sister—she stepped past him. “I'm fine.”

“Welcome,” Adam greeted them in a flat voice.

She nodded. “Adam.”

Adam leaned against the doorway of the warehouse, watching them approach. His handsome face was drawn in grim lines, his customary grin absent and shadows present in his dark blue eyes. “Isabelle, a beautiful woman on a beautiful night.” He paused and glanced back toward the center of the building. “On not such a beautiful errand.”

“How clean is the scene?” Thomas asked, coming up next to her.

Isabelle glared at him and did a quick translation in her head.
Have you removed the bodies so Isabelle doesn't have a meltdown?

Damn it, Thomas
. She could take care of herself.

Adam rubbed his chin and looked for a moment about twenty years older than his thirty-five years. “It's clean.”

Even though Isabelle was annoyed by Thomas's high-handed protectiveness of her, she couldn't help but feel a little relieved. Adam moved out of their way and allowed them to enter the building.

A handful of witches who had reached the warehouse before them labored within the cleared interior, some working earth magick. That power rubbed against Isabelle's skin like rich planting soil—deep magicks meant to bury and conceal. They worked to cover up the scene of the crime from non-witches, just as they'd done at the scene of her sister's murder.

At the far end of the building, she noted two large open doors big enough to drive a truck through. She wondered if they'd been open when Boyle had killed the witches. It would make it easier for her to work if the water from the brief rain shower had been lingering in the air during the killings. Since Boyle didn't seem all that concerned with his murders being discovered and because this part of town was devoid of humanity at this time of night, it was possible he'd left the doors open.

A flash of white caught her eye and she glimpsed two sheets covering a section of the cracked concrete floor. The bodies had been removed, but those sheets marked the location of where they had lain. They'd done that with her sister, too.

The world lurched a little and Thomas took her by the upper arm to steady her. She straightened, calmly pulling from his grasp.

Adam walked over to them. The man always had a five o'clock shadow, but Isabelle didn't think it was so much a fashion statement as it was simple forgetfulness to shave. Right now it made him look weary. “The warehouse is owned by Erasmus Boyle.”

Isabelle let out a small laugh. “Color me surprised.”

Thomas glanced around. “I wonder what a demon wants with a warehouse?”

“Maybe he's planning to start a shipping business, specializing in sending packages to hell,” she commented.

She knelt and put her palm flat to the cold concrete floor, sending out tendrils of her magick to search for any moisture that might have a story to tell. Water held emotion like none of the other elements. When something violent happened in a place, the moisture picked up and retained a record of it, burned there by the intense feelings of the participants. Accessing that emotional echo was not a skill all water witches possessed, but Isabelle had been lucky enough to inherit it.

Or unlucky, as the case may be. Reliving all that emotion was rarely pleasant.

She drew a breath. Damn it. No moisture to note along the floor. Maybe in the air. There was always a little bit of moisture in the air, and her magick was usually strong enough to pull it.

She stood. “But I might wager a guess he needs a large open area that is also concealed in order to…
work
.”

Thomas pushed a hand through his hair, freeing it partially from the queue at his nape. “Toward what goal?”

“And,” Adam added, “if he needs a place like this, why kill a witch here and blow his cover? He killed the first two witches in their own”—he hesitated and winced, probably realizing he spoke of her sister—“environment. Sorry, Isabelle.”

“It's okay.” Isabelle shrugged. “It was just a theory.”

“And not a bad one.”

“Well, at least we can rule out that he's targeting young female witches now that he's taken a man and an elderly lady,” Thomas put in.

“He's selecting them on other criteria,” Theo jumped in, striding to the three of them. He wore rubber gloves over his broad hands. Isabelle didn't want to think about why.

“Well, I'm leaving you three to hash that out,” Isabelle put in. “I need to search for water molecules.”

Isabelle left them talking and circled the sheets, examining the floors. Reaching out with her magick, she explored the area for any residual moisture that might have retained memories of the murder. She halted in the center of the warehouse and drew the water droplets to her, petting them and purring at them with her magick until they coalesced and began to give up their recollections of what had happened that night. Warm magick rippled from the center of her chest to complete the task.

“Come on. What secrets are you keeping?” she murmured.

Isabelle grimaced as the hazy, watered down images began to flicker through her mind's eye. She put herself through this torture for one reason and one reason only—to discover something new and different, some puzzle piece that would fit to make the picture clearer.

Now that she had her magick on the moisture, she doubted the doors had been open during the killings. Sifting through, it was difficult to find much memory.

As she gathered more moisture from the air, she felt the strain on her body from the expenditure of her magick. At the same time, the images grew more frequent and came to her a little less hazy, although fragmented, like a horror movie being played, fast forwarded, and then played again.

And then it slammed into her in one short blast of hell.

She tasted the fear of the victims on the back of her tongue—sharp and metallic. She heard their screams echoing in the cavernous building…until they didn't echo any longer.

Isabelle didn't know how long Thomas had had his arms around her, or how long she'd been crouching on the floor of the warehouse, both hands flat on the gritty concrete floor. Her vision had gone black and she'd lost her hearing, though she hadn't passed out. Her body shuddered as if she were outside naked in the middle of January.

Her mouth opened and a puff of air came out as she tried to answer Thomas's frantic questions of
Are you all right?
He held her close, rubbing her arms, trying to warm her up.

No.

No, she'd never be all right again. Not ever totally all right for having subjected herself to that. Worse, she'd gained nothing. There'd been no new puzzle piece. Nothing but a nightmare. Lady, and she'd just had flashes of moisture memory. How had Mira endured hearing the whole thing in real time?

She almost turned into Thomas's chest, almost wrapped her arms around him to draw comfort. Isabelle knew without a doubt she'd find it there.

Warmth. Strength. Protectiveness. Comfort.

She stopped herself just in time.

Gathering every ounce of strength she had left and pulling the tattered remnants of her magick around her like a cloak, she pushed to her feet. “I'm fine.” The words came out without a quaver. Amazing.

Thomas rose and stared at her, unspeaking.

She turned her head and met his eyes. Isabelle could only hold the dark warmth of that gaze for a moment before glancing away.

“You won't ever ask for help, will you, Isabelle? You think you can do it all on your own, don't you?” His voice sounded brittle. “You think you're so tough, but you're not tough enough to let another person in, are you?”

Isabelle stared at the ground, completely unable to look up and meet Thomas's eyes. The truth of his words twisted in her stomach. “I don't need you to try and understand me, Thomas.”

His response was swift. “I think you do.”

“
Whoa
. What the hell?” Adam's voice saved Isabelle from responding.

She and Thomas turned to see him standing about seven feet away from them. He'd gone stock still as he waved his hand in the air front of him.

Isabelle blinked. “Um, Adam?”

“There's something strange about the air here. It feels…sticky.”

“Sticky?” She walked to him, followed by Thomas.

“Yeah. Like the air here has something in it, some kind of—”

“Magick?” Thomas asked.

Adam stepped back. “Feel it.”

Thomas stepped through the area that Adam had indicated. It was, Isabelle noted, very near where she'd seen the victims killed in the moisture memory. It may have been
exactly
where the two witches died, but she couldn't be sure.

Thomas stopped and waved his arm. “Hmmm. It's almost like this space is out of sync with the rest of the air around it.” He stepped to the side. “Isabelle?”

She stepped through. It was like walking through thick cobwebs. “It's as if the molecules are vibrating slower than they should be. It feels like a warding, but not quite. More like a—”

“More like how a doorway to the demon dimension might open?”

“Maybe.” Isabelle licked her lips, her thoughts whirling. “In the moisture memory the demon said something…something about his victims having certain qualities he needed. I think he meant magickally.”

All three of them went silent.

“Are either of you thinking what I'm thinking?” asked Adam finally. “Maybe this demon is trying to get back over the rainbow?”

Thomas rubbed his chin and sighed. “There's no way to know for sure, but I'd say this is a decent find and a powerful clue. Maybe this demon is trying to go home. Maybe there's some spell we don't know about that will allow him to open a portal on this side.”

Isabelle glanced at the white sheets and tried to not go where her memories wanted to take her. Seemed she just kept collecting bad ones. “Some spell that requires a lot of blood magick.”

 

T
HEY ARRIVED BACK AT THE
C
OVEN AT TWELVE PAST
three in the morning after scouring the warehouse for every clue they could. There hadn't been much. Isabelle leaned against the wall by the side of the door in the Coven's dimly lit foyer and watched Adam and Thomas enter after her.

Both men looked tired and unkempt. So did she, but tired and unkempt looked a hell of a lot better on them than her. Adam's hair was an inch too long and stuck up all over his head in spikes, and his jeans were worn tantalizingly thin in some places.

Thomas's hair hung loose over his shoulders and dark stubble marked his jaw. He looked bed-mussed. He'd looked a lot like that after they'd made love, his eyes hooded and dark with lust. Remembering made her shiver.

“I'm going to bed. I'm so damned tired I can't even think anymore,” mumbled Adam as he walked past.

“Night, Adam,” she mumbled back.

Thomas started to walk past her, toward the stairs. She reached out and touched his upper arm. He turned to look at her and she said, “You were right. Right about me not being as strong as I would like to think. Right about not being able to ask for help or let people in.” She shrugged. “I hate it, but you're right.”

In response, Thomas only swept his arm around her waist and crushed her to his chest. His mouth came down on hers. Stubble rubbed the skin around her mouth, playing contrast to his warm exploring lips.

Isabelle didn't have time to breathe, let alone object to the impulsive action. She wanted to, she really did, but the ability to push him away had died with a whimper as soon as he'd touched her.

She responded to his hot, urgent mouth without a flicker of hesitation. He demanded she part her lips to admit his tongue, but she was there first. She slanted her mouth across his and slid her tongue within to spar and stroke. His hand found the hem of her shirt and pushed beneath it, where he used skillful fingers to massage the tense muscles of her back. Her body let go of a degree of her tension with a shudder.