She nodded furiously, her gaze straying behind Thomas to where Boyle was rousing from the ground. “My mother, in point of fact. He meant to take my mother in my place. Yes, I have issues with her, but I can’t let Boyle kill her.”

Boyle looked badly injured and hope flared within her. Judging from the way he moved Isabelle doubted he could get very far from his current location, which was comfortably distant from their own.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

She made a frustrated noise and clenched her fists. “Because I knew you’d do this! You’d rush in all knight in shining armor and let the demon kill you before he hurt me. I tried to keep you out of this so you would be safe. The Coven needs you, Thomas. Witchdom needs you. No one in the world needs me.”

Thomas’s response came swiftly. He reached out, grabbed her and crushed her to him. “I need you, Isabelle.”

For a split-second she melted into him, closing her eyes at the emotion in his voice. Then she pushed away, putting him at arm’s length. “Thank you for that, but I won’t let Boyle put another witch in my place.”

“No, you…won’t.” The voice came from behind her. Low. Rasping. Forced. In pain.

Boyle.

He put his hands on her shoulders. Apparently, she’d been wrong about Boyle’s ability to move. Unfortunate.

Isabelle held Thomas’s gaze for a moment. She knew she looked resigned.

Boyle poofed her.

SHE COULD STILL HEAR THOMAS’S AGONIZED BELLOW ringing in her ears when she suddenly found herself in the warehouse, her stomach roiling and her head pounding. Isabelle took two steps forward, staggered and went down on her hands and knees. Bile coated the back of her mouth and flooded her mouth with bitterness.

Her hands pressing into the cold concrete, she closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated on not passing out. Boyle’s way of transporting people really sucked. She’d prefer a car to that any day.

Behind her came heavy, shuffling footsteps and a low groan. Keeping her head bent, she opened her eyes and stuck her hand up her sleeve, her fingers closing around the hilt of her copper knife.

“You won’t live long enough to kill me, Boyle. You’re done.” Her voice echoed steady and harsh in the quiet of the warehouse. “It’s in the sound of your voice and the cadence of your step. Death.”

No sound. Not even a whisper of breath filled her ears. Isabelle hoped for one wild moment…then four shuffling steps toward her. Huge hands thrust under her armpits and lifted.

She’d expected to be yanked, thrown, hit, something violent. The demon’s touch was gentle instead, almost caring.

“I’m going home,” he whispered as he lifted her into his arms. “Don’t you understand? I’m going home.”