Divine Hunter (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 4)

by C. N. Crawford

“It sounds idyllic,” he said. “But I suppose idylls are rarely real.”

  “So you’ve never had just a normal, human-like life with a family and… I don’t know, normal family meal times, walks in the park?”

  “Not really.”

  She frowned. “Where were you born, anyway? Maremount?”

  His jaw tightened. “No.”

  “Silly of me to think you’d actually answer a personal question.”

  “It’s not important.” He pushed his rain-soaked hair off his forehead. “What’s important is that with every victory Drew wins for the Brotherhood, they are able to absorb more humans into their cult. Every Brotherhood victory and glorious new building signals that Blodrial is all-powerful, a god who will bestow success and wealth on his followers.”

  “Oh, believe me, I’m familiar with their P.R. tactics.”

  “And worse, Drew is using Erish to create demons that have not walked the earth for centuries. Storm demons, uridimmu, wraiths of famine… and that’s just the start, if we aren’t able to stop Erish from creating more. There could be no end to Drew’s power, and we will find ourselves in the midst of a true apocalypse. Considering Drew is slightly fixated on you, I’m guessing Lilinor will be his first stop with his new legions of the damned.”

  Rosalind hugged herself. Her clothes were sodden. “How do you know the specifics?”

  “I have a spy among his people—someone who can shift into human form and disguise her magic.”

  “Who?”

  “Esmerelda.”

  “Oh. Right. The unpleasant woman you had a dinner date with.”

  He took a deep breath. “I allowed you to think it was a dinner date, but it wasn’t. She was reporting to me.”

  Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “First a compliment, then an open admission. I’m starting to think the apocalypse is upon us already.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Perhaps. It is one of the seven signs, I believe.” He reached for her face, then tightened his fist again and pulled it away, his expression darkening. “I think I should go alone to get Erish. You should remain in Lilinor with Malphas.”

  “No.” She swallowed hard. “We should stick with the plan I’ve been working on for weeks.”

  “The one that I think is a terrible idea?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said firmly. “Don’t underestimate me.”

  “I hate this idea,” he said fiercely.

  “It’s my decision.”

  He held her gaze for a long time, a look that stripped her bare. “We’ll need more time to get ready,” he said, sounding as if he was trying to reassure himself more than her.

  “I’ll be fine. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to finish my lunch.” She started to leave, then thought better of it and turned back to him. “Are you going to admit why you wanted me to think you and Esmerelda were having a little romantic evening?”

  He shrugged. “Because I was angry with you.”

  “You’re over that, right? You understand now, surely, that it wasn’t me who slept with Ambrose? It was Miranda.”

  The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but a chill rippled through the air. “It wasn’t Miranda who kissed my brother.”

  She shook her head. “No. That was Cleo. She was controlling my mind.”

  He smiled wryly. “Just Cleo, was it?” Abruptly, the amusement left his expression. “I’m not sure what bothers me more: the fact that you kissed my brother, or the fact that you’re unable to take responsibility for things you’ve clearly done.”

  Above, the clouds began to thin, letting in shards of moonlight.

  “And why is this so hard for you to understand?” she asked. “I’ve heard all about the fact that you did something terrible when you got your second soul. I kissed Malphas—big deal. I’m guessing you did something worse. What was it?”

  His frigid aura snaked from his body, icing the air around them. “Much worse. But I don’t blame it on my second soul.”

  “Maybe you should. Then maybe you could ease up on the self-loathing and relax a little.”

  His body had gone completely still, and shadows slid across his eyes. “A second soul is not entirely a foreign entity. It brings out your true nature, your true desires.”

  “That’s not a real thing. You just made that up.” She cocked a hip. “And what are you suggesting my true nature is?”

  “I’m not suggesting it’s anything,” he said. “Only that your true nature has chosen Malphas—and of course it would. It’s destiny that you should choose him.”

  Chapter 3

  Cold rain slid down Rosalind’s skin, chilling her to the bone. “Why would you say that?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “What did your second soul bring out in you, then? What’s your true nature?”

  For just a moment, darkness crept over his eyes like pooling ink, giving her a dizzying glimpse into the void. “You’re kidding yourself, little girl, if you think you don’t already know.”

  A shiver snaked up her spine, and she let out a long breath. “You’re going to have to stop calling me that, when I’m wielding the power of seven gods. Perhaps that’s the real obstacle for you, isn’t it? A woman with power greater than yours?”

  “No, Rosalind.” His eyes brightened to silver again. “But the important question is, are you sure you’re ready for what lies ahead, even with your power of seven gods?”

  Her stomach flipped. She wasn’t ready—not at all. But she wasn’t about to tell Caine that.

  “Of course I’m ready,” she lied. “And I need you make me a promise: When I go into Cambridge, you can’t come after me. I need you to trust that I can do it on my own. Don’t underestimate me, okay?”

  He stared down at her, and she was certain the starlight dimmed in the sky for a moment. “If that’s what you really want.”

  She turned to walk away from him, dread blooming in her chest.

  Perhaps this would be a good time to get herself acquainted with Cerberus.

  * * *

  The light rain continued to fall, and Rosalind rubbed her arms for warmth as she walked down the cobbled path to Cerberus’s bar. Drew and the Brotherhood had the upper hand in every way, creating dreadful armies and palaces, recruiting new converts with the promise of wealth and riches from a benevolent god. Her cousin would be sitting on a marble throne, presiding over the kingdom he’d always wanted… and planning how to capture his queen.

  Cleo’s aura roiled restlessly in Rosalind’s chest. Rosalind wanted a few hours off, but, as ever, her second soul was hungry for bloodshed and vengeance.

  Kill the Hunters, Cleo sang.

  “I will,” Rosalind whispered. “You and I will kill them together.”

  Rosalind’s footfalls clicked over the stones. There was a time when she had no chance in hell of walking through these streets unscathed, but since she’d been using gods-magic, the vampires had begun to ignore her.

  The street curved down to a steep-roofed stone building, a grimacing, winged gargoyle looming over its entrance. Cerberus’s. Perfect. With any luck, a few hours there would mean a few hours where she could forget about Drew—and perhaps forget about Caine’s bizarre proclamation that she and Malphas were destined for each other.

  She pushed through an arched wooden door into the bar. As the breeze filtered in, candles guttered over the shadowy stone walls. In alcoves around the bar, vampires hunched over silver cups, barely registering her arrival.

  Faint moonlight streamed through multi-paned windows, onto an oak bar. A man stood behind it, his jowls as formidable as his velvet suit.

  Rosalind crossed the stone floor to him, raising her eyebrows. “Cerberus?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Looks like I’m in the right place.” She took a seat between two vampires—a woman casually dressed in a T-shirt, and a distinguished, silver-haired gentleman in leather pants and a frilly white shirt.

  Cerberus leaned on the bar. “What’ll it be?�
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  Rosalind scanned the offerings. Crooked stone shelves were crammed with bottles of blood, and amber and clear alcohol. Two large barrels with taps hung above the bar, simply labeled Red and White.

  “Red wine, I guess. No blood. Just the wine.”

  “Suit yourself.” Plucking a silver goblet from behind the bar, Cerberus shuffled off to fill it.

  Rosalind peered at the young woman to her left, whose dark hair had been dyed purple at the tips. On closer inspection, she was surprised to find her wearing a Count Duckula T-shirt, jeans, and frilly bunny slippers.

  The woman sipped her drink, then caught Rosalind’s eye and raised her glass. A faint sheen of blood glistened on her lip.

  Cerberus slid Rosalind’s wine across the bar, and she lifted the goblet to the purple-haired woman before taking a sip. The clear, fruity taste danced on her taste buds.

  “Rebecca!” The older man on her right leaned over her to yell at the woman in the T-shirt. “Must you bring down the tone of the place every evening with your ridiculous clothing?”

  She scowled. “First of all, I go by Becca now. Second of all, I am two thousand years old. I remember when Caligula made his horse into a consul, because I was there. I will wear what I want, Duke Ricard, and I want to be comfortable.”

  Duke Ricard sniffed. “Vampires are supposed to comport themselves with a sense of dignity. Bunny slippers and Count Duckula T-shirts do not qualify as dignified.”

  “Says the man in leather pants.” Becca rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Ricky. The nouveau mort are the worst.”

  The Duke’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You do not have permission to call me Ricky. I am the Duke of Death and Rain. Furthermore, I have impeccable taste. You have wine stains on your shirt. Mine is spotless.” He gripped his cup so hard he crushed it. “You take back what you said.”

  Becca swiveled on her chair, then leaned back on her elbows, curling her lip. “I stand by it. Nouveau mort.” Despite her pink bunny slippers, she managed to inject her voice with some serious menace.

  The Duke rose, his eyes darkening to midnight black. Snarling, he revealed his fangs. Rosalind turned to watch the action unfold. She was about to witness one of those bar brawls Aurora had mentioned. She’d come to forget about Drew and Erish for an hour or two, and she would not be disappointed.

  In a flash of pinkish light, Becca leapt over the bar and plucked a bottle of vodka from the shelf. On her way back over the bar, she shattered the bottle against the oak, splashing Rosalind with vodka.

  “You need a weapon, do you?” snarled the Duke.

  Becca’s lip curled, and she lunged for him. He dodged back, and soon they were caught in a wild dance of lunging and whirling, striking and ducking, the Duke always just out of reach of her broken bottle. He managed to land a wild haymaker, but Becca followed up with a jab of the broken bottle. Streaks of crimson stained the front of his shirt.

  Okay. Time to step in.

  Rosalind stood, stepping between the two vampires, just as the Duke was lunging again. Using silver night magic, she formed a shield. “Okay, this has been fun, but maybe let’s just drink now, shall we?”

  Becca, who had lost one of her bunny slippers in the fray, simply shrugged. “Sure. But I would just like to note that Duke Ricard’s shirt is no longer pristine.”

  “Gutter vampire,” the Duke muttered, taking his seat again.

  Becca returned to her chair, smoothing her hair. She scowled at the Duke. “Come back to me when you hit five hundred years, and we’ll see how much you care about dignity.”

  The Duke straightened, looking straight ahead. “I might not live that long, not with the Brotherhood gearing up to slaughter us at any moment. Bastards keep raising the sun in the land of night.”

  Okay. So apparently there was no escaping this current crisis.

  Becca arched an eyebrow at Rosalind. “Aren’t you that mage? You’re not a vampire. And you’re not human.” She looked Rosalind up and down. “So you’re the person who’s supposed to save us.”

  Rosalind swallowed an enormous gulp of her wine. “I will have help.”

  “So what’s the plan?” the Duke asked. “Aren’t you supposed to turn us into daywalkers? Ambrose promised us.”

  This particular trip to the bar was about as relaxing as hip surgery. “We needed my sister for that. We had a bit of a setback—namely, she died.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Becca said. “Sorry.”

  The Duke raised his glass. “To your sister.” He knocked it back.

  “So,” Rosalind continued, “we’ll find another way. But for tonight, I just want to drink wine.”

  “Fair enough,” Becca said.

  Rosalind finished off her wine in silence, half listening to Becca and the Duke bicker about shoes. When she finished, it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t brought any money with her. She channeled the icy magic of Nyxobas to create three silver coins and dropped them on the counter.

  Chapter 4

  Rosalind spent another hour in the bar, drinking her way through a few more glasses of wine, before she returned to the fortress. As soon as she was inside, something compelled her to seek out Caine. She wanted to know exactly what he’d meant about the whole You’re destined for my brother thing. Caine had been keeping secrets from her for too long now.

  Rosalind’s and Caine’s lives were now completely intertwined, twin vines searching for light—and the secrets Caine carried were a blight that would rot them from the inside out.

  Should she tell him that when she’d woken that morning, tangled in her sheets, she’d reached for Miranda’s hand? And that when she didn’t find her sister there, she’d been able to think of only one other person she desperately wanted to see.

  Caine. Not his brother.

  He needed to know that. But she also needed him to let down his defenses a little and actually tell her about himself. She wanted all of him—not just his beauty and grace, but all the dark, sharp edges. He was her blackthorn tree: dark, beautiful, and savagely spiked. She wanted him just as he was—assuming he could learn to trust her.

  After all they’d been through together, he still wasn’t telling her the truth.

  In the high-arched hall, candlelight danced in the lanterns, casting writhing shadows over the floor, like half-living creatures. By now, her clothes had totally dried, though her hair still hung damp over her shoulder.

  Her gaze landed on the portrait of Lord Byron outside Caine’s room. Standing before his door, she took a deep breath, then knocked on the oak.

  After a few moments, the door creaked open. Eerily, no one stood before it. Caine sat in a silver armchair, reading a large book by candlelight. He wore a black T-shirt, short-sleeved, showing off his muscles.

  He arched an eyebrow. “We’ve already finished our training for the day. You were supposed to be resting. Eating. Whatever it is humans do.” The breeze lifted strands of his dark hair. “If you’d like to bathe here, of course, feel free. I’ll be happy to help.”

  She folded her arms. “About our conversation earlier…”

  He closed the book, sliding it onto a small oak table. “Yes?”

  “Why are you so certain that my true nature wants your brother, and that Malphas and I are destined for each other? I don’t understand.”

  Caine looked at the window. “When I was locked up in your parents’ house, there was one ray of light: Malphas. Unlike me, he wasn’t chained. He could move from place to place. He’d come see me in the cellar. He’d leave, and travel through the fields, through the forest.” He met her gaze again. “Always, when he came back to me, he was talking about one thing: Rosalind. Rosalind is brave. Rosalind led us on an adventure. You weren’t the good twin, but you fascinated him. That’s part of it, anyway.”

  Rosalind’s heart tightened. “And what’s the rest of it?”

  Caine rose and crossed toward her, his movements smooth but precise, his hands in his pockets. His icy eyes—starlit on the
inside, with a deep pewter ring around the irises—made her stomach swoop. She’d never quite appreciated their depth before.

  As he stepped into her space, he pressed his hands against the wall on either side of her head, boxing her in. His powerful aura caressed her skin, lighting her body up. She glanced at the sharp tattoo on his forearm—the heart of his dark secrets.

  Her breath hitched in her throat. She would ask him about his secrets, and he would dodge her questions. This was their eternal dance.

  “In the vision of your life that I saw, there was a blond woman brushing her hair in a cracked looking glass.”

  Shadows flitted across his eyes. “And what does that have to do with you?”

  “Who was she?” She reached up, touching the tattoo on his arm. “This was hers. The hairpin.”

  He flinched. “She’s the real reason why Malphas is your destiny, and I am not.”

  Suddenly, her legs were trembling. Her pulse raced. So this blonde was another lover, perhaps. “Why? Who was she?”

  Caine’s eyes darkened, became black as the void. The candlelight in the lanterns guttered, and the temperature in the room dropped. An icy chill ran up Rosalind’s spine.

  “He’s here,” Caine whispered.

  Dread stole Rosalind’s breath. Drew.

  Caine cupped her face, staring into her eyes. “It’s too soon.”

  Rosalind glanced over Caine’s shoulder as the rising sun had stained the sky blood red. A tendril of horror coiled around her heart. “We don’t have a choice,” she said. “We need to act now. Find Ambrose.”

  “I’ll stay with you. We can defeat him together, now.”

  “Go.” She tried to steady her voice. “See that the vampires are safe. I’ll handle Drew. It’s what I’ve been training for. You know this.”

  This was it. This was her actual destiny.

  But Caine didn’t respond to her command. Instead, he seemed to be searching her face for something, and every moment he wasted meant another vampire could die in sunlight flames.

  Gently, she pushed at Caine’s powerful chest. “He’s going to kill again. He’s going to kill every last one of Lilinor’s citizens. Keep the vampires in their rooms. This is your duty now.”