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.”

Jack stared down at Stefan — his expression dangerously dark. For a moment Isabelle wondered what he’d do. The warlock had tried to kill Jack’s girlfriend last winter.

Jack glanced pointedly at Stefan’s privates. “You should see a doctor about that.” Then he punched him — hard. Stefan slumped to the floor of the limo, unconscious.

“You could’ve just drugged him,” said Thomas with a twist to his lips.