Fighting through the discomfort, she resumed drawing magick and directed it at Stefan. Sensing the swift buildup within the confines of the limo, his head snapped up and he also tapped power. The air snapped with electricity from their combined efforts. It was a magickical showdown and they were both battling through injuries.

But his were worse.

Isabelle shot her hand out in a near unconscious effort to increase her power, commanding the water in Stefan’s body to do her bidding—to freeze.

The limo door opened. Confusion and fury from the unknown observers pressed against her empathy. The intense emotions around her settled like a bitter wine on the back of her tongue, but she focused all her attention on Stefan.

“No,” came a commanding male voice. “Stop it now.”

She ignored the order. Stefan’s spine snapped back as she intensified the freezing process. She had him now and, dear Lady, it had to hurt. It was nothing compared to what the demon had done to Angela, though.

Her sister had died the one way she’d always feared, by a demon’s hand. Angela had had nightmares about that since she’d been a child, after one of their “uncles” had related to them how demons killed their victims.

Isabelle had been the one to find her body, but she still couldn’t bring herself to visit those memories. Not in detail. Her mind had blocked them and she was grateful for that.

In front of her, Stefan keened.

Funny, Isabelle thought she’d feel satisfaction when this moment came, perhaps a release and a lifting of the heavy emotion that had weighed her down for so long. But she felt none of those things. She only felt sorrow.

“This is for Angela, Stefan,” she said woodenly. “This is my sister saying hello from the grave.”

Where was the fulfillment she thought she’d feel? Where was the righteous justification? She stared into Stefan’s eyes, watching pain explode his pupils. Her magickal grip faltered. She couldn’t do this…Damn it!

From her left, a man approached her. “Isabelle,” he said gently. “He’s the scum of the earth, but he didn’t kill your sister.”

Her face contorted, her eyes filling with tears. “He did. He’s the head of the Duskoff. Without the Duskoff, the demon wouldn’t exist.”

“I’m asking you for the last time. Stop.”

This revenge, once a red-hot, pulsing, living thing in her heart and mind, now tasted bitter and cold.

Still…Angela.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t stop.”