vampires mage 02 - witch hunter

by crawford, c n

  And now I’ll find Caine, before I pass out and find myself a vampire’s dinner.

  Chapter 9

  Rosalind stalked the hall, her heart pumping the blood from her neck. Hopefully her own blood wasn’t washing away the ker’s. Moonlight cast long, silver shadows across the black flagstones. The sound of her boots echoed off the high ceiling; the only other sound was her own ragged breathing.

  Just a month ago, she and Tammi would have been hanging out in her dorm room, listening to the Pixies or Beyoncé and trading clothes. Apart from the odd scuffle with a boggart as part of her demon-hunting gig, things never got much crazier than crashing frat parties or drinking Tammi’s disgusting peppermint schnapps.

  That part of her life was over, but she wasn’t going to let anything stand in the way of getting her friend back. She’d find Tammi, and when she did they’d toast Tammi’s return with champagne flutes full of peppermint schnapps. Somehow, Tammi made her feel normal again, like everything was okay. Even during the two days they’d been trapped in Abduxiel Mansion together, Tammi had instilled a sense of normalcy. Before the ward went up, she’d managed to sneak out to procure a whole bunch of makeup, and a bottle of Rouge Dior nail polish. She’d given them both manicures while they watched The Bachelorette. Normal stuff.

  Right now, things definitely did not feel normal. Rosalind clutched her neck tighter, trying to staunch the bleeding. Maybe this wasn’t the time to get lost in nostalgia.

  At the end of the hall, she paused before pushing through the doors into the stairwell. Here, she was no longer protected by Caine’s spells—not that they’d been helpful against the keres anyway.

  Her muscles burned, both from tiredness and the fight, and she dragged herself up the flight of stairs. And the next landing, she paused. With so much blood pouring from her neck, she couldn’t be sure if the smell of the ker’s blood was enough to mask her own human scent.

  If not, she had a collection of knives and makeshift stakes.

  She took a long, deep breath, her hand hovering at the door leading into the hall; finally, clutching her neck, she pushed it open. Red candles in thorny silver sconces lit the corridor, and crimson curtains framed the arched windows. Apart from the dancing light, nothing moved on the dark stone.

  She frowned. What do vampires do with their time?

  She took a tentative step, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts, and waited to see if an army of vamps would bust through the doors.

  No one’s here. Just me.

  She took another step, then quickened her pace, her hand clamped on her bleeding neck. I’d be surprised if the vamps couldn’t hear my heart thumping through the stone walls.

  Just a few doors away, Lord Byron’s painted image stared mournfully out the window. Made it. Relief washed over Rosalind—until a door behind her creaked open, and she whirled.

  A flaxen-haired vamp poked her head out of the doorway, licking her ruby-red lips. She stepped into the hall, running a hand down her white gown. “How delicious. I thought I heard a beating heart.”

  So close.

  Fangs bared, the vamp prowled forward. Rosalind didn’t wait for her to get any closer—she hurled one of the long hawthorns right at the vamp’s chest. It struck her between her ribs and she stumbled back, clutching the thorn, eyes wide. Dark blood trickled between her fingers.

  Another door creaked open, and Rosalind whirled, ready to hurl another stake.

  Caine stood in the doorway, his arms folded. “Making friends, I see. How did you develop such a charming way with people?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  His gaze landed on her bleeding neck wound. “Get in here. Now.”

  “That was the plan.” She stepped into his room, surveying the space. It was more of a hall than a bedroom, and made of pure luxury. An enormous four-poster bed stood against a wall, a blue and silver embroidered canopy hanging around it. Starry lanterns blazed from stone walls. The remains of a feast were laid out on an oak dining table.

  Caine’s raven familiar perched on an armchair, and a floral breeze blew in from a window. The room was beautiful; she wanted to lock herself in and sleep for days.

  He pointed to the bed. “Sit down. What happened now?”

  Gripping her neck, she crossed the room and sat on his blue-blanketed bed. “Someone tried to eat my neck. And my face, but that part is intact.”

  He frowned, gently pulling her hand away. “Why did you leave the corridor? I specifically told you not to, or you’d be savaged by vamps.” He leaned down, inspecting her wound. “Of course you don’t listen to me, since you think you know—”

  “I didn’t leave,” she cut him off. “And it wasn’t vamps who did this.”

  He stood over her, peering down. “Who was it?”

  “Keres. Three of them. They were sent to take me to some sort of master, but the ker committed suicide before I could get the full story.”

  “Seven hells.” His jaw tightened. “What are keres doing here?”

  “I think Erish uses them as some sort of slaves.”

  “Gods below. I need to check the dungeons. And we need to speak to Ambrose.” He gently pulled down her collar, growling as he examined her neck. “I see you managed to disguise your human scent. You reek of ker blood.”

  Dizzy, she could feel the blood draining from her head. “Bianca helped me before she offed herself.”

  “Stop talking for a second.” He lightly traced his thumb around her ragged puncture wounds, chanting a spell—a melodious one she recognized from the other times he’d healed her. His cool, silvery aura curled around her body, caressing her skin, soothing her muscles. His magic whispered over her throat like a gentle kiss, and she sighed as the last of the pain left her body. She half wanted to throw herself back and curl up to sleep in his soft, blue blankets, wrapped in his calming, breezy aura.

  “That should do it.” He narrowed his eyes, studying her. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

  “Queen Antu chopped it off with her claws.”

  He frowned. “The queen of the keres came into your room to cut your hair. I’m a little baffled by this turn of events.”

  “She wanted to cut off my face as well.” She held up a hand. “Apparently, Erish sent them to abduct me—and look, before this conversation goes any further, I should probably tell you that I threw Antu out the window. Queen Erish had cut off her wings, so she didn’t survive the fall.”

  Caine went completely still. “Start from the beginning.”

  “Three keres showed up—a queen and her two lackeys. Queen Antu said she wanted to take me to my new master. We all fought. When Antu attacked, I stole one of your moves and threw a queen from a window. I won the battle, but my hair lost.” She crossed her legs. “On a scale of parking ticket to apocalypse, how bad is this situation?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Candlelight glinted in his icy, gray eyes. “Queen Erish doesn’t normally stop until she’s gotten what she wants. We’ve got to contain the keres in case she has plans for them, but after that I’m not letting you out of my sight. We already lost track of Miranda. I’m not losing track of you, too.”

  “Or Tammi.”

  “Right.” He crossed to his dining table. “Even if she serves no tactical purpose,” he muttered, pouring himself some wine.

  Irritation sparked. “Well that’s the difference between you and me. I don’t think of people just in terms of their utility. I actually like people, and since I like them, I tell them relevant things about myself, like ‘Hey, by the way, I’m a million centuries old, and my father is something called a shadow prince, and in Maremount I’m considered a monster.’ Oh no, wait, those are facts about you. Mine are normal things.”

  Shadows gathered in his pale eyes. “Do you know why I don’t tell you things? Because sheltered, spoiled girls like you love to make judgments about good versus evil.”

  Her cheeks burned. “Is that right?”

  “It’s so nice to have a ne
at and tidy little world. You’re drawn to clean-cut, utterly pedestrian humans like Drew, with his light magic, and his pretty little potions. Then you’ve got the bad guys, the demons and dark magic, the incubi and the succubi, and let’s not forget the Ravener, son of the shadow prince. Everything is in its place, isn’t it? How nice for you to never have to make tough decisions about morality or think for yourself—so you can save all that mental energy for wallowing in guilt.”

  “And at what point in your calculations do you mull over these complex moral judgments?” she shot back. “Before or after you decide someone’s tactical value to your goals?”

  He ignored her, crossing to a trunk on the floor. He unlatched it, revealing a set of silver-hilted swords.

  Drumming her fingers on the bed, she studied him. She’d never seen him quite this worked up. “Is it my imagination, or are you jealous of Drew? You seem a little hung up on him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He strapped a sword to his back and rose. “Do you have any idea how easy it would have been for me to kill him?”

  “Right. That doesn’t sound jealous at all.” She straightened, eyeing his sword. “Are you going to check the dungeons? The keres looked starved. And there was dirt under their nails.”

  “Yes. And then I want to bring you to speak to Ambrose.” He touched a lock of Rosalind’s butchered hair. “I am impressed you managed to defeat two armed keres and a succubus. The armor and weapons I left you must have come in handy.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t find any of that until after the fight. Antu surprised me. I was completely naked and weaponless for the whole encounter. I really appreciated the hawthorn—”

  “Hang on. You’re skimming over crucial information. You were completely naked?”

  “I was about to take a bath when they showed up.”

  “I can’t believe I missed that. Naked brawling. Another reason not to let you out of my sight.” This time, his gaze slid over her more slowly. “I’m going to see what I can find out about the keres. I’ll spell the room—properly, this time. No one will be able to get in except me. I’m sure you know not to leave for any reason.” He left the room in blur of silver and black, the door slamming behind him.

  Rosalind stood, pulling the knives from her holsters. She crossed to a small table that stood by his bed and laid out the blades, then lay back on the bed, spreading out her arms. She was exhausted. Fatigue burned her muscles. This wasn’t the time for rest, and yet it called to her like a siren.

  As she tucked her hands behind her head, she inhaled deeply. Caine’s room smelled of jasmine, and the fabric below her was the softest she’d ever touched.

  Her eyelids drifted shut.

  She braced herself for the onslaught of gore that welcomed her every time she drifted off. But this time, a sunny image burned in her mind: a grassy field by a pond that smelled of brackish water, its gentle waves glittering in the sunlight. Dandelions and bluebells dappled the grasses along the shore. Someone came up behind her—the blue-eyed boy, handing her a tiny, curled seashell. She took it from his hand, then turned in a circle, letting the sea air rush over her skin.

  But when she opened her eyes, a wave of horror slammed into her. The sky shimmered with waves of copper, silver, blue, and green… Four stakes stood by the shore, ready to burn four heretics.

  Her pulse raced as shadows whirled around her, and in the next moment Caine stood before one of the stakes, gripping a woman by her collar. The woman’s brown eyes were open wide. Fear tightened its claws around Rosalind’s heart. The woman looked a lot like her, only older. Caine grabbed the screaming woman by her throat, pinning her to a stake.

  And he drove a thick, iron nail right into the center of her heart.

  * * *

  The sound of the door creaking snapped her out of her dream. She sat up, catching her breath. Seven hells. I never want to sleep again. Sweat dampened her brow.

  Caine stood in the door, holding a delicate, shimmering gown in his hands. “What happened?”

  She swallowed hard, staring at him, all her muscles tense. Maybe he was right, and she was still terrified of demons deep down. “Just a bad dream. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  But her entire body had gone cold. Something deeply disturbed her about that image of Caine murdering a woman who looked so much like her. It was almost as though she’d seen her own death.

  Caine narrowed his eyes. “I want you to tell me about it later. But right now, we need to speak to Ambrose and find out what he knows. I saw nothing in the dungeons, but I suspect the guards were lying to me. I could smell it on them.”

  “They’re protecting Erish?”

  “She has a way of convincing people to be loyal to her. I’ve sent ten trusted soldiers to scour the castle for her and to bring her to Ambrose in chains. If she truly keeps her own secret army, even if they’re half-dead keres, she has committed treason.”

  Rosalind stood, stretching her arms over her head. “What the hell does she want? She’s already queen.”

  Caine grabbed a small blue cloth from the dining table, and soaked it with water from a pitcher. “She’s furious at Ambrose because he doesn’t sufficiently worship her anymore. Plus, she’s singularly obsessed with only one thing right now.”

  “What?”

  He crossed to Rosalind, tilting up her chin. “Me, of course.” Gently, he began cleaning the blood from her neck.

  “I guess you and she have that in common.”

  “When we go to see Ambrose, I want you to tell him exactly what you told me about the keres. And then I’m taking you out of Lilinor. We don’t know how many soldiers are loyal to Erish.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Another one of my homes.” He ran his fingers over her throat, examining it. His face was truly stunning—with smooth, tan skin and eyes so pale they shined like starlight.

  Why did I have that horrible dream about him?

  He traced his fingers over her skin, his touch leaving a trail of tingles over her throat. “It healed well. You should be fine to travel.” He lowered his hand, stepping away, and cast a critical eye over her outfit. “Take off your clothes.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want anyone to recognize you. Her guards may be all over this castle. And anyway, you can’t meet the high lord dressed like an assassin. You’re a Hunter.”

  “Ex-Hunter.”

  “Regardless, no one here trusts you.” He grabbed the dress from his bed and thrust it at her.

  “Not even you?”

  “I don’t need to trust you. I could kill you before your fingers even touched your weapon belt.”

  “Whatever.” How I missed that classic Caine cockiness. “Turn around. I’m not stripping in front of you.”

  He made sure she witnessed his eye roll before he turned his back, as if being shy about stripping in front of an incubus was the most ridiculous notion in the world. She pulled off her bloodstained leather shirt, then unzipped her pants, slipping out of them. “I do hope we’re coming back for the weapons. I was growing attached to them.”

  “Of course. Someday, you won’t be so dependent on them.”

  She lifted the dress in front of her, eying the stunning, dark fabric—a midnight blue that sparkled with tiny white gems like a spray of stars. The top was virtually sheer, apart from a few strategically placed embroidered leaves. She unhooked her bra. I guess this has to go, too. Visible bright blue bra straps were probably not the right look for a meeting with the king.

  She pulled the dress over her head, and the thin fabric slid down her legs until it reached the floor. Layers of stunningly thin tulle formed the skirt, parting slightly above one of her thighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything so beautiful.”

  He turned, inhaling sharply. “I think you need to do it more often.”

  She flashed a smile. “Let’s go see the king.”

  “Not quite yet.” He circled around to her back, zipped up the dres
s, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “You look perfect.” His proximity to her alone was disarming.

  “Fit for a king, I hope.”

  His fingertips brushed over her shoulder, sending a thrill through her. “I want you to be cautious. Ambrose is just about to learn that his wife of five hundred years seems to be staging a coup. She’s the one who made him. I honestly have no idea how he will react.”

  Chapter 10

  T hey stalked over an impossibly long walkway, lined on either side by three guards. At one end of the walkway, a tower speared the night sky, its pale stone walls gleaming in the moonlight. “The White Tower,” according to Caine, from which Ambrose ruled his empire—at least, when he wasn’t seducing human women.

  Despite Caine’s declaration that she looked “perfect,” he’d still called Aurora in to paint Rosalind with makeup and fix her disastrous hair, pulling it up on her head with a thorny crown of tiny white pearls. No one would mistake her for a Hunter now, in this wildly impractical ensemble.

  Still, she’d strapped a knife to her thigh where no one could see it. Who knew how many of these guards might be working for Erish?

  Warily, she eyed one of the vampire soldiers, armed with a silver pike. His eyes followed her every step along the way, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

  A cool night breeze chilled her skin, and she shivered, then paused to peer over the battlements. From here, she could see the entire kingdom of Lilinor stretching out below. The castle stood at the highest point of the city, giving them a view of the kingdom’s twinkling white lights, which mirrored the starry sky. Thin alleys wound around the city in byzantine patterns, and sleek black buildings towered above. Glowing orbs lit the streets, burning like starlight, and sharp-spired towers pierced the air below them.

  A flock of ravens flew overhead, cawing into the night sky, and her gaze lifted. The full moon hung in the sky like a fat dewdrop, and the constellations shone bright in a purple-hued sky. Certainly beautiful, if not relaxing.