“I do this for you, Isabelle Novak.” The demon almost sounded hurt. As if he’d given her a gift that she’d thrown back in his face.

Her eyes wide and her chest heaving—how much stress could one take before one broke?—she glanced at Adam and then at Thomas. They both still appeared to be breathing, thank the Lord and Lady.

She turned her attention back to Boyle. “I did want to kill Stefan, Boyle. I wanted to kill him at first because I couldn’t find you. I want to kill you, don’t you understand? You killed my sister!” She screamed the last sentence.

The demon shook his head. “No, I don’t understand. I have lived in your home for all these years. I have lived among you, passed for one of you, but I still don’t understand you, aeamon.” He looked off into the distance and almost seemed…sad. “I want to go home.”

Isabelle remained unmoved. However, she did move.

Taking advantage of his distraction, she reached down, pulled the syringe free and rushed him. All she had to do was get the needle in him somewhere. Anywhere.

She’d taken him by surprise and managed to sink the needle through the fabric of his shirt and hit flesh, piercing his chest. Before she could press the plunger down and shoot the liquid in, Boyle roared, raised his arm and knocked her backward.

She went sprawling onto her ass. Her elbows hit hard. Pain exploded. She struggled to stare up at the demon, knowing that to take her gaze from him now meant lots of agony for her later.

The demon stared down at the syringe poking out of his chest, reached down and pulled it out. All of Isabelle’s hopes crashed as Boyle tossed it to the side, like a piece of refuse. Involuntarily, she lurched forward and reached out as if to catch it and then collapsed in a heap at Boyle’s feet.

Boyle stared down at her for a moment, his lips parted so she could see the tips of his double row of pointed teeth. His eyes blazed red. He raised his hand and magick pulsed through the air, coating the back of her throat with the dry, bitter flavor of it.

Staring up at Boyle, Isabelle could see her impending death. Inwardly, she groped for power and came up empty, all of it stripped away by Gribben. But these walls didn’t affect Boyle. His magick remained strong, vibrant. His desire to use it with killing force now stood clearly on his face.

Magick rippled and Isabelle felt something warm running over her upper lip—her nose had begun to bleed.

The demon moved his hand and she cringed, waiting for the blast that would end her life. Then he hesitated, lowered his hand. “I can’t kill you now. Later. Soon.”