Thomas shhhed and rocked her in his arms. “He’s dying, believe me. He was more than halfway done for by the time I arrived. I just finished the job you started. It’s over, Isabelle. It’s over.”

Could it be? It seemed like it had been forever since it had begun.

“Home.” The groan came from Boyle. Bleeding and beaten, he pulled himself toward the doorway. He went inch by inch across the floor by willpower alone, leaving a trail of hissing blood behind him. “Home.” This time it sounded more like a sob.

“Let’s go,” Thomas said, helping her to stand. “I don’t know what that doorway is going to do.”

She climbed to her feet and took a quick inventory of Thomas’s wounds. His clothing and probably his skin were singed from Boyle’s blood. Cuts marked his head, his cheek, and his chest. His own blood soaked his thigh from a gash, but she couldn’t tell how deep it was. “Thomas—”

“Come on. We both need medical attention.” He slid his arm under her waist and helped her walk toward the exit.

The door at the far end of the warehouse opened, revealing Adam and the rest of the Coven witches entering the building.

Adam’s gaze focused on something behind her and Thomas. “Watch out!” he yelled and started to run toward them.

Isabelle glanced back and saw that Boyle had reached the doorway and was crawling through. The doorway had grown larger and brighter. Magick flared and rippled outward from the unruly, half-finished spell.

Light flashed and the pull intensified. Isabelle screamed as the thing sucked them in like some kind of black hole. Hell, maybe it was a black hole.

Magick, light, and sound exploded.

THOMAS CAME TO FACEDOWN IN A PATCH OF GRASS, his upper thigh throbbing in agony. His hand still gripped the handle of the sword. He had to physically force himself to relinquish it, one finger at a time.

Isabelle was no longer in his arms. He sat up and groaned, pain shooting though his body from his wounds. The pounding in his head had increased ten-fold and now nausea roiled in his stomach to boot. His hand went to his thigh and came away sticky and hot with his own blood.

He pushed all that away, pushed it back, and almost passed out from the effort. None of that was important. Only Isabelle was important.

“Isabelle?” he croaked.

It was dark. Wind creaked through tree branches not far away and the air smelled strange. Not at all normal. It smelled faintly of…demon magick.

“Isabelle!”

“I’m…here.” She groaned and something thunked. “Damn it. I’m here.”

Thomas groped toward the sound in the darkness and finally found warm flesh. He gathered her against his chest. “Are you all right?”