Boyle covered the last few feet that separated them with more strength than he’d displayed since she’d injected him. The rest of Isabelle’s hope died with a sick whine. The injected copper hadn’t worked.

“Will you fight me?” he asked.

She stiffened and gritted her teeth. “How can I? How can I when I know you’ll take my mother or some other witch in my place?” Even though every fiber in her body wanted to lash out at him, kick, punch, and scratch…then run for her life.

“That’s why it will not give me much pleasure to kill you.”

Much.

Boyle pulled her into his arms like he might a lover. Her mouth pressed against the smooth black leather of his jacket. She tasted something warm and salty and realized she was crying. He cradled her in his arms for a moment, long claw-tipped fingers brushing through her hair.

Then he lowered his mouth to her throat and bit.

Demons were like spiders, their venom squirting from their mouths into their prey, rendering them paralyzed.

Boyle’s sharp teeth pierced her skin like twenty needles. Pain shot through her body, making her twitch in something close to a convulsion. When she jerked against his teeth, it hurt even more so Isabelle went still and keened softly as blood ran down her neck. The demon groaned, as if in ecstasy, as if he loved the taste of her, and tightened his embrace.

The venom shot like acid straight into her bloodstream and Isabelle arched her back in agony, unable to do anything more. Her vision faded from color to black-and-white. The images she viewed were blurry around the edges.

Was this how Angela had felt?

No, she didn’t want to think about Angela. Anything but Angela.

A coat brushed her cheek for the millionth time. Darkness had swallowed her whole. She didn’t even know where the door was in the middle of the night when no light spilled beneath the crack. Hunger gnawed at her stomach lining. She’d gone through all the jacket pockets already and found nothing, not even any of those little plastic wrapped crackers from the restaurant. Her only comfort was Angela, slumped in sleep beyond the closet door, her breathing steady in the night.

The only steady thing in Isabelle’s life….

She came to lying in the center of the floor, not far from the doorway. Moving her limbs was fruitless, just as the involuntary scream that tore from her throat remained soundless, ineffective. Silent. Mute. Motionless.

Prey.

Just waiting.

Boyle lowered himself over her, her vision still in black and white. His mouth opened, but she heard nothing. The demon grasped her arms, cold fingers digging in. He lowered his mouth to hers and began to suck out the magick from the center of her.

Inwardly, she screamed. She writhed. She died.

Outwardly, she could do nothing but endure it.