“We might all be dead if it weren’t for her.”

Micah smiled. “I hear admiration in your voice.”

Thomas grinned back at him. “I think she’s pretty damn hot, too.”

“Knew you did.”

STEFAN SAT ON THE EDGE OF HIS BUNK, HIS BLOND head—hair perfect even in captivity—bowed. Thomas had come to Gribben immediately following his disturbing conversation with Micah. Stefan held answers and Thomas hated that. It shifted the power into Stefan’s hands.

He hadn’t felt the need to bring Isabelle with him for this because Isabelle had specified she wanted to be included in any official Coven communication with Stefan. This was personal.

Thomas stopped pacing in front of Stefan.

The warlock raised his head, a smug smile spreading over his lips. “I touched her, you know. Isabelle. She let me feel her up before she attacked me. Her breasts are beautiful. They feel nice against a man’s lips, smooth and soft. Have you kissed them yet?”

Thomas stared down at him, teeth gritted as he tried not to react to the obvious bait.

His voice changed from honey-sweet to barbed. “I see how you look at her, that witch bitch. Was it coup de foudre? Was it love at first sight, Thomas? Or do you just want to fuck her? Either way, I hope you always remember I was there first.”

“You didn’t fuck her.” Tightly leashed rage laced the words. The warlock seemed to know what buttons to push.

Stefan smiled. “How do you know for certain?”

Thomas turned on his heel and paced away, trying very hard to keep his anger in check. Doing that around Stefan was difficult in the best of times; now it was nearly impossible. He wouldn’t lose his temper with Stefan again. It made him look weak, uncontrolled.

Stefan gave a soft laugh and leaned against the wall behind him.

Thomas turned toward the warlock. “I just spoke to Micah, who has finished examining some of the documents you provided. They point to a genetic and magickal link between demons and witches. Why didn’t the Duskoff share this information with the Coven?”

Stefan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and spreading his hands wide. “It is not like we’re friendly organizations, Thomas. This naïveté is irritating. Why would the warlocks share anything with the witches? What possible advantage would the Duskoff gain?”

“We’re enemies, but we still share a race,” Thomas replied through gritted teeth. “Unfortunately.”