“So this is it, then?” She didn’t look up when she asked the question. She stared at a piece of soaked, crumpled newspaper on the ground in front her. Her voice sounded bland and wooden to her own ears—resigned—but she still had one ace up her sleeve. She rocked back on her heels and incrementally moved her hand toward the back of her waistband, where the gun was tucked. “Time’s up?”

The demon took three steps toward her and planted his massive booted feet on the pavement in front of her. “The head witch, I can feel his emotion for you. Behind the factory I mentioned you and his pulse raced, anger and fear flared. He does not like that I am even aware of your existence.”

She shook her head and glanced up at him. “What?”

“When I fought with the leader of the witches, the one with the angel tattoo on his back, I saw that he has much emotion for you.” He tipped his head to the side. “And I feel that you care for him, yet I feel reticence in you. I am fascinated by this.”

This was beyond bizarre. What strange turn her life had taken that she should find herself discussing her love life in a back alley with her demon executioner.

Isabelle sat on her haunches in the puddle, enduring the sensation of the cold alley water seeping into her jeans, and placed her hands high on her hips, closer to her gun. “Why do you care?”

His blue eyes narrowed. “I’m interested in human behavior, even the behavior of the half-human, the aeamon. I followed you tonight to ask why you hold yourself in reserve.”

Her mind fumbled. “You followed us tonight to…You followed us.” Fuck.

The demon smiled and Isabelle shivered. A demon’s smile wasn’t a warm and fuzzy thing. Pointed teeth peeked from his peeled-back lips. “Did you think you were tracking me? No, aeamon. Your witches were lucky the other night, but you should know by now that you’re outmatched. You can try to stop me, but you won’t. Now answer my question.”

“So you didn’t come here tonight to put me in your stew pot? You just came to ask me this.”

“I’m not ready to add your magick to the blend I need yet.”

“So you’re just playing with your food, then?” The question, spoken in a lighthearted tone, made her wince. It was good to keep him talking, though. She just needed a break in his concentration so she could pull the gun, aim it and fire. Isabelle wasn’t sure exactly how to get that break, however. She doubted Boyle would fall for the classic Hey! Look over there! ploy. She had her syringe, too, tucked safely in a tiny holster inside her bra.

He grinned. “You are entertaining. It will be a pity to kill you.”