She winced and cradled the hand she’d injured when she’d punched Stefan. “It’s just…I don’t like remembering. Doing is fine. Hunting is great. Remembering is…not good.”

“That’s natural. You’re grieving, Isabelle.”

She closed her eyes and dragged in a breath.

Thomas knew that she’d found her sister since he’d been called in to the murders of both victims. The bodies had been…partially consumed.

When he’d first reached Angela Novak’s kill site, it had been difficult to understand what he’d been looking at. Gradually, as his mind had fought to comprehend, the images had become clear—mangled, torn muscle, gobbets of matter no one wanted to examine closely. Blood absolutely everywhere. No longer human-looking, just so much meat and bone.

Isabelle had been there before him. She’d been the one to notify the Coven of the murder before she’d disappeared, presumably to hunt the demon.

Even worse than the scene was the knowledge both Angela Novak and Melina Andersen had been conscious until they’d succumbed to their injuries. Demons trapped their victims in a kind of venom-induced stasis. The paralyzed witch could feel, but couldn’t speak, scream, or move.

While the victim lingered, the demon worked slowly, drawing out the killing. First the creature took the magick, psychically cracking the witch open like a coconut to drink the milk within. After that came the flaying of the skin and the extraction of the juiciest organs.

Knowing how that person had been treated as nothing more than a bit of livestock, a plaything, was worse than anything else.

Worse than the cleanup. Worse than the sight or the smell.

Isabelle gave a short, bitter-sounding laugh. “Grieving seems like such a light, simple word to use for what I’m feeling.”

Thomas shuddered, imagining finding his sister Serena the way Isabelle had found Angela. He placed his hand on her back to console her, but then removed it. Giving comfort didn’t come easily to him. “Take a deep breath and let it out slowly.”

Turning to lean against the wall, she drew in a shaky lungful of the stale Gribben air and slowly exhaled. “I just want to…need to do this,” Isabelle continued. Steel backed her words.

“I know.” He took her injured hand and examined it. It was nothing that wouldn’t heal. He wasn’t so sure that could be said about her other wounds.

He glanced up at her and found her staring at him in deep concentration. Absurd, inappropriate sexual awareness sparked, tightening his muscles. Her cheeks had regained their healthy color and lips were full and lush. He imagined several things he’d like to do to those lips in a span of a second.

Fuck.

He dropped her hand and turned away. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“I thought you’d never say that.”