The man threw himself at her, breaking her hold on Stefan. Pain cut up her spine and down her legs, making her cry out, but she still fought the heavy weight on top of her. He pinned her down, struggling to gain control of her limbs. Exhaustion and her back injury forced her to go passive. Her magick sparked and died in her chest, spent like a candle burned too long. She made a choking sound of grief.

He stared down at her, his face shadowed by a long fall of blue black hair. Thomas Monahan, head of the Coven. The hair branded him. She didn’t even need to see his face.

She winced and let out a small sob. “It’s because of him, because of the Duskoff, that my sister is dead.”

“He won’t get away with what he’s done, Isabelle,” came his low voice. “But his punishment can’t be like this.”

“How do you know my name?”

Behind them she could hear witches subduing Stefan. The limo rocked with the motion. “You said you’re Angela’s sister. I can only assume you mean Angela Novak, the water witch who was killed by a demon a couple of months ago. That makes you Isabelle. We’re on the same side. If I let you up, will you be good?”

Her mouth snapped shut and she nodded.

He moved away from her, Monahan’s face—set in handsome, brutal lines—finally coming into view. She glanced around the limo’s interior, seeing Adam Tyrell and Jack McAllister, both fire witches she was well acquainted with. The two men restrained the injured Stefan, who wasn’t fighting anymore. He knelt with his hands between his legs, looking like the only battle he could wage was against unconsciousness.

“We are not on the same side,” she growled at Thomas. “You are preventing me from—”

“Taking your revenge. I know.”

“I didn’t kill her sister,” spat Stefan.

Thomas cast a look at Stefan that reminded Isabelle of how a cat might regard a worm, beneath his bother but something interesting to play with. “In general I’d prefer Stefan dead,” he drawled, “but we need him.”

Cradling her injured hand, Isabelle only glowered at him through her hair in response. She sought Monahan’s emotions, but got nothing more than a flicker. Either she was too tired to sense them or he was hellishly repressed.

“Ah, Isabelle? Not that I mind the view, but…” Adam looked at her pointedly, helping her remember her state of undress.

She glanced down, registering her lack of clothing. In her rage, that little detail had been lost. Hell. Could anything more go wrong?

Making sure Jack had ahold of Stefan, Adam tossed her dress to her and she gingerly slid it over her head, wincing at the pain in her back.

Thomas jerked his head at Stefan. “Incapacitate him for transportation.”