Thomas rushed to the window in time to see Boyle pull away from the curb…Isabelle on the back. Just before Boyle accelerated, she looked up at the window wearing an expression of total desolation.

And then they were gone.

Clear, cold certainty quickly killed the jolt of shock that ran through his body. He knew Isabelle hadn’t left with Boyle because she wanted to…and he knew exactly where the demon was taking her.

Thomas didn’t waste time for anything but his car keys and cell phone. Barefoot and shirtless, he raced from Isabelle’s apartment, dialing Jack and the Coven as he went.

THE WIND WHIPPED THROUGH ISABELLE’S HAIR AND blew up her shorts, making her shiver. Of course the shiver probably had less to do with the wind than it did the demon she rode with.

The bike ate up the streets between her apartment and the warehouse a lot faster than she would’ve liked. She watched the pavement fly by under her feet and wondered what it would feel like if the copper affected Boyle like she hoped. How did it feel to die in a motorcycle accident? Would she end up with gravel three inches under her skin? Would her head split open? She supposed if her head split open she wouldn’t much mind the gravel under her skin.

Lady.

It was the only way and stalling any longer would be criminal. Now was the time. Her last chance. By doing this she’d save her mother, her sister would be avenged, and the worlds—both of them—would be rid of the likes of Erasmus Boyle.

All she had to do was move her hand, grab the syringe from her pocket, and shoot it into him. Then, if the copper injected straight into his body did as she hoped, she would die in a horrible, fiery motorcycle accident. Piece of cake.

She could do this.

She could.

Boyle flipped every stoplight they approached to green. Either that or he had some great luck at hitting the lights just right. Green light. Green light.

Green light.

They were getting near the warehouse and Isabelle knew she had to do it. It was time, past time. Her heart pounding so fast she thought she’d have a heart attack—preferable to the way she was about to die—Isabelle moved.

Boyle roared in protest as she took her arm from his body, but Isabelle ignored him. She plunged her hand down her shirt, sought the syringe, and yanked it out. Gripping the top between her teeth, she pulled the needle free, stuck it into the demon’s neck, and pushed the plunger down.

The liquid copper shot into Boyle’s throat.

Syringe empty.

Boyle gurgled. The bike wavered. Isabelle looked down at the swiftly passing road beneath them. They righted for a moment and then the demon made a choking, snorting, screaming noise.

And they tipped.