“Maybe.” Isabelle licked her lips, her thoughts whirling. “In the moisture memory the demon said something…something about his victims having certain qualities he needed. I think he meant magickally.”

All three of them went silent.

“Are either of you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Adam finally. “Maybe this demon is trying to get back over the rainbow?”

Thomas rubbed his chin and sighed. “There’s no way to know for sure, but I’d say this is a decent find and a powerful clue. Maybe this demon is trying to go home. Maybe there’s some spell we don’t know about that will allow him to open a portal on this side.”

Isabelle glanced at the white sheets and tried to not go where her memories wanted to take her. Seemed she just kept collecting bad ones. “Some spell that requires a lot of blood magick.”

THEY ARRIVED BACK AT THE COVEN AT TWELVE PAST three in the morning after scouring the warehouse for every clue they could. There hadn’t been much. Isabelle leaned against the wall by the side of the door in the Coven’s dimly lit foyer and watched Adam and Thomas enter after her.

Both men looked tired and unkempt. So did she, but tired and unkempt looked a hell of a lot better on them than her. Adam’s hair was an inch too long and stuck up all over his head in spikes, and his jeans were worn tantalizingly thin in some places.

Thomas’s hair hung loose over his shoulders and dark stubble marked his jaw. He looked bed-mussed. He’d looked a lot like that after they’d made love, his eyes hooded and dark with lust. Remembering made her shiver.

“I’m going to bed. I’m so damned tired I can’t even think anymore,” mumbled Adam as he walked past.

“Night, Adam,” she mumbled back.

Thomas started to walk past her, toward the stairs. She reached out and touched his upper arm. He turned to look at her and she said, “You were right. Right about me not being as strong as I would like to think. Right about not being able to ask for help or let people in.” She shrugged. “I hate it, but you’re right.”

In response, Thomas only swept his arm around her waist and crushed her to his chest. His mouth came down on hers. Stubble rubbed the skin around her mouth, playing contrast to his warm exploring lips.

Isabelle didn’t have time to breathe, let alone object to the impulsive action. She wanted to, she really did, but the ability to push him away had died with a whimper as soon as he’d touched her.