“But I wasn’t with the Duskoff then.”

“Oh, spare me. You’ve done enough horrible things to warrant this, Stefan, and don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t raise another demon if you could.”

“No,” he whispered, his head falling back from the pain.

“No? What do you mean, Stefan? Wasn’t it you who was going to sacrifice those four witches last winter to pull a demon through? If it wasn’t for the Coven, you would have succeeded. That alone makes you deserving of punishment.” She cocked her head to the side. “And aside from all that, what about Naomi Nelson, that earth witch you roasted when you were eighteen? What about Robin Taylor—”

He pulled his head forward and focused on her. “I can help you. Help…help find the demon. Right the…wrong.”

He was making bargains now, was he? How dare he try.

She opened her mouth to respond, but heat flared white-hot against her palm. They both cried out in pain. Isabelle snatched her scorched hand away. Damn it, she’d lost focus for a moment and he’d taken control from her.

Stefan rolled to the side, his hand between his legs, cupping his privates. Her hand hurt like she’d been holding it over a flame, but he had to be in more agony than she was. He’d burned himself in a very sensitive place in order to unseat her.

Isabelle raised power as fast as she could, despite the pain. The air crackled as Stefan also drew magick to defend himself. In the same moment, the entire limo lurched to the side. Isabelle slammed against the opposite seat and cried out as her back twisted. The limo came to a swerving, squealing, smoke-under-the-tires halt. She fell to the floor of the limo, her face contorting from the pain searing down her leg and through her lower back.

She glanced up through her tangled dark red hair, seeing Stefan kneeling on the floor of the vehicle in front of her, looking as though he might retch. Outside the sounds of boots pounding on pavement and shouting reached her ears.