Unable to take the sight of him any longer, Thomas turned on his heel headed for the exit. Stefan’s crazy laughter followed him out the door and down the corridor.

Thomas could still hear it echoing in his head even when he’d left Gribben—with utter relief—and found sanctuary in the Coven library.

He sank down in the leather chair facing his desk, propped his elbows on the armrests and stared out the huge window at the end of the room, willing the sound of that laughter away. Stefan’s voice, his laughter, the edge of sympathy he’d felt for him back in the cell, all of it infected him. It made him wish for a shot glass and something hard and wet to fill it.

“Thomas?” A warm hand touched his upper arm. He turned his head to see Isabelle’s concerned face. He hadn’t heard her enter the library—a thing that no other witch would have dared do without permission, no other witch but Isabelle.

Thomas found he didn’t mind.

She’d changed out of her ruined clothes, into an ankle-length blue-patterned peasant skirt and a white blouse. Her hair hung long and loose over her shoulders. She looked beautiful, but then she always looked beautiful.

He stood, resisting the urge to catch her up and bury his face in her hair. He wanted to take her upstairs to his room and drown himself in her softness, scent, and curves. Sinking into her would drive off Stefan’s laughter. Her body, breath, and spirit could chase everything else away and leave only pleasure. She’d let him. Thomas knew she was his for the taking…but she’d been injured in the fight. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and touched her ribs. “It wasn’t a bad injury, just painful. Doctor Oliver fixed me up with the help of a few fire witches. But what about you? They told me you haven’t been in to see the doctor yet.” She glanced at his ripped and dirty clothes. “You haven’t even changed.”

“I’m okay. Just working.”

She forced him to turn toward her and pushed his hair away from his face. “You don’t look okay and you feel tired and troubled to me. Your emotions are…twisted. Why haven’t you been to the doc?”

“I’m not injured, Isabelle.”

“Then why do you feel so beaten up to me?”

He smiled. “I didn’t know you cared.”

She grinned, glanced down the length of his body and gave him a slow wink. “Maybe I’m just worried you won’t feel like picking up where we left off in the apartment.”

Ah. He traced the curve of her jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I meant what I said back there. I want you, Isabelle, but maybe this isn’t the—”