A demon with short brown hair and a handsome face angrily pushed his way through the throng and shoved the redhead, barking something at him. The redhead barked back. The handsome demon gestured at her and Thomas, growing louder in his protestations.

Chaos ensued.

Demon turned on demon, shouting and shoving. They gesticulated at her and Thomas constantly. One of them tried to rush them, but was held back by his peers. Obviously, this was a serious disagreement.

Obviously, it was over their fate.

Thomas took her hand and squeezed it a moment before the redhead raised his hand and sent a blast of demon magick toward them.

The scent of it burned along her nose and throat, making her choke—triple stronger than on Earth—and blackness enveloped her.

ISABELLE AWOKE WITH A JOLT AND GRIMACED. THE redhead pulled a capsule away from her face and she saw he’d waved something that smelled bitter under her nose. She tried to move her hands, but quickly learned they, like her ankles, were bound.

They’d dressed her, at least. That was good because being clothed in just her bra around a bunch of male demons hadn’t made her feel very warm and fuzzy. She now wore a dark blue tuniclike shirt in a soft weave of fabric that seemed a cross between silk and cotton.

The redhead said something unintelligible to her. She ignored him, too busy glancing around the room to locate Thomas. The room was surprisingly luxurious—soft dark green couches with tasseled pillows, granite tables, and plush throw rugs covering a polished stone floor. Gleaming swords decorated the walls. The décor appeared medieval and posh all at once.

It was a nice room, except for the fact Thomas wasn’t in it.

“Where’s Thomas? Where’s my friend?” she asked, interrupting his fruitless attempts to communicate with her. She knew he couldn’t understand her, but the question was involuntary.

“Pah, aeamon.” The redhead waved a hand at her in a gesture that needed no translation, turned, and walked out of the room.

Isabelle fell back against the cushions in defeat. Damn it, she had to find Thomas. If they hadn’t seen to his wound—and what was the chance of that?—he’d bleed out.

He’d die.

Her wrists were tied in front of her. She raised her hands and worried the rope with her teeth as fast as she could. Hell, she’d gnaw through them if she had to.

She’d managed to get the knots around her wrists undone and was busy laboring on the ones around her ankles when the door opened. Isabelle pressed herself back into the cushions, wishing she’d been able to work a little faster, and watched the new demon enter the room.