Jack glared down at Stefan. “That was one option.”

“You could’ve just let me kill him, too,” Isabelle added. “That would have been much less trouble for everyone. I know I would have been far happier.”

Thomas turned and regarded her with eyes that seemed blacker than obsidian. They were unsettling, yet beautiful, and they matched the hair that swirled around his shoulders. The man truly did look like a witch — a very, very wicked one. “Really? That would have made you happy, Isabelle? Tell the truth.”

She glanced away from him, suddenly feeling far more naked under his gaze than when she’d been undressed.

The head of the Coven was better looking in person than he was in his pictures, like some beautiful fallen angel, although the rough-hewn lines of his face saved him from the more perfect type of male prettiness. His sensual, lush mouth seemed at odds with the rest of him, set with deep lines on either side. He had a powerfully built body, long of leg and broad of shoulder. Every inch of that massive body had been pressed against her and it had hurt. Her back twinged with the memory and she grimaced.

“So how’s it going, Isabelle? Long time, no see,” said Adam as though they’d met up by chance at Starbucks or something.

Her lips turned up in a smile. Grinning at Adam Tyrell was something you had to do because of his charm, especially if you were female. Even under these circumstances, she couldn’t help it. “Not too great, Adam.”

“Get him out of here,” Thomas growled at Adam. He turned to Jack. “Can you heal her back and hand?”

“Isabelle’s hand and back, yes. Stefan’s dick, no. My hands aren’t going anywhere near that.”

“We’ll let Stefan heal on his own, I think. It’s the least he deserves.”

Adam heaved Stefan out of the limo and Thomas followed, casting one piercing look at her over his shoulder before he went. “I want to talk to you. Don’t disappear.”