Isabelle relaxed. This seemed like a run-of-the-mill domestic scene to her. She watched for a little longer, until she started to feel like she’d intruded on an intimate moment, and backed away to return to the car.

Backed away and hit something really big. She frowned. That tree hadn’t been there three minutes ago.

Isabelle stilled. Her nostrils detected a scent she knew—that same dry, earthy, acrid smell that had lingered in her bedroom after she’d had the nightmare. Magick flared along her skin, first tingling and then burning. Sensing malice melded with incredible power, she whirled.

A beautiful blond-haired blue-eyed man stood there, wearing a long black trench coat, and an amused smile on his soapstar handsome face. Isabelle blinked in surprise as the man strode past her as though she didn’t exist, toward Alexander and Melanie.

Demon.

This was the demon.

Dear Lady. The demon had been in her bedroom. Why hadn’t it killed her?

CHAPTER EIGHT

EIGHT

SHE RAN AFTER HIM, RAISING POWER AS SHE WENT. Casting her arm out, she forced a powerful bolt of magick at the creature, with the intent of freezing all the water in his body solid. The recoil from the amount of power she’d released sent her careening backward to hit a tree trunk. Isabelle cried out as pain lashed up her spine and she struggled to focus on the monster striding away from her.

Throwing power at a solid brick wall would’ve had more effect. He continued across the parking lot toward the unsuspecting couple like nothing had happened. All she’d succeeded in doing was beating herself up.

Frantically, she cast about for other weapons to use and came up empty. She’d never dreamed her best weapon, her magick, would be useless.

She did have the small, pretty copper blade Angela had given her sheathed to her left wrist. It wasn’t very practical, considering she’d have to get close to the demon to use it. The blade was more for looks, anyway, not for actual maiming. Also, according to Micah, a demon’s blood was acidic, not conducive to stabbing wounds since she’d be in spurting and dripping range.

“Damn it!” She would have brought a bazooka if she’d known.

Isabelle peeled herself from the tree and ran at him as he grew near the couple.

“Mr. Boyle!” exclaimed Alexander with a confused look on his face. “Er…hey! Melanie, this is Erasmus Boyle—”

Melanie screamed and backed away. As a witch, she undoubtedly sensed that what approached them was not human. Boyle was hardly masking his nature.

Not knowing how else to slow the demon, Isabelle launched herself at Boyle’s broad back, wrapping her legs around his rock-hard waist and her arms around his thick neck in an effort to choke him.

From behind, she heard the squeal of tires on pavement. Thomas. Thank the Lady.