No scent of demon magick fouled the air. Not a sound could be heard. She wasn’t too hot or too cold…then she knew it with utter certainty.

Dread curled itself like cold lead in the pit of her stomach. She pulled out from under Thomas’s protective arm and slipped from the bed. Solemnly, she pulled on underclothes, a pair of jersey running shorts, and a long-sleeved T-shirt, then resecured her syringe and knife sheath. That done, Isabelle walked to the living room window as if drawn there by powers beyond her control.

Indeed, she probably was.

She pushed aside the curtains covering the living room window, and there, on the tree-lined street running past the apartment building, sat Boyle on his Harley—looking up at her. Metal and chrome, buffed to a high shine by loving demon hands, gleamed in the streetlight. Black leather covered Boyle from head to toe, and the morning breeze buffeted his blond hair.

She gasped, “Thomas,” and turned to run and quickly try to get him out of the apartment. Instead, she ran smack into a very broad chest. The smell of leather and demon slammed into her nose.

Boyle stared down at her, his normally blue eyes already glowing red. “It’s time.”

Mute, she could only shake her head. It was time? How could it be time? It couldn’t be time! Thomas was still in her apartment.

Boyle reached for her and she took a step back. He withdrew his hand. “Do you choose to place your mother in your stead? If so, let me know now. I don’t have a long time in which to make this sacrifice.”

“I’m the one making the sacrifice.” Her voice shook. “And I won’t allow anyone else to be put in my place.”

“Very well.” He held out his hand again. “Then we shall leave now.”

Isabelle was amenable to leaving the apartment quietly, leaving Thomas to sleep in the other room…and not interfere. “All right.” She went to the foyer, where her white Keds sat neatly side-by-side under the breakfast bar. She slid them on and turned to the demon. “I’m ready.”

Boyle didn’t poof her. He led her out of the apartment and downstairs to his Harley. Every step that took her farther away from Thomas made her throat constrict a little more. When they finally reached the street, Isabelle counted it a miracle she could still breathe.

The demon mounted the motorcycle. “It is a beautiful bike, don’t you think?”

She only stared at him. Small talk wasn’t something she could manage at the moment.

“I will miss this bike,” he continued. “It is one of the only things I will miss about living here. So, we take my bike where we are going, instead of more direct transportation. It will be my last chance to ride.”

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?”