She pressed her forehead to the window, the glass cool against her skin. Morning sunlight blazed over the city, turning her blood to ice. My new home.
She felt Drew walk up behind her. He swept her hair out of her face, and leaned over her shoulder, breathing down her neck.
“What do you think of your new home?” he purred.
She shuddered at his touch. Something wasn’t right. Her thoughts were muddied, but… “This isn’t my home,” she slurred.
“Rosalind, my little pet. You will learn your place.” His fingers slid around her waist. “Tell me that you worship me.”
She clenched her jaw, fighting the compulsion to say what he wanted her to say. His iron had infected her system, but deep in the hollows of her mind she could still form her own thoughts. Dear gods. How long would it be until she could get out of here?
Without warning, he spun her around, slamming her against the window. Her head smacked against the glass, and she winced.
“You are my queen,” he said. “And you will treat me as your king. Did you know that I no longer need to drink the blood from Blodrial? The magic of the gods is simply within me now. I am a god. I am Azazeyl, and so are you. And the two of us—with gods-magic in our bodies—we will never die. You and I will live together forever, do you understand? And that is why I am your destiny.”
Panic ripped her mind apart. He tightened his fingers around her throat, crushing the air out of her. Pain blazed through her body, searing her lungs. He liked this move—strangling her. He liked the control, like the pain he inflicted. More than that, she was certain he liked being close to her. He was desperate for human touch, and he had no idea how else to get it.
Her lungs burned. How long until I can get out of here?
“Rosalind,” he purred. “I will make you behave. Looks like one injection isn’t enough for you now. Not to worry—there’s plenty more.”
The needle pierced her skin, just between her ribs. His charmed serum would allow him to control her mind. And when he finished, he pressed his hand hard against her ribs, sealing her skin.
The charmed iron spread through her body; ice encased her mind.
As if watching from a distance, she saw Drew press a finger over her mouth. “There, there, my little queen.”
All the anger had left her body. Now she didn’t feel anything at all.
Drew stared down at her, his face still lumpy and red from the beating. “Now. Tell me what I want to hear.”
Hours passed in a fog, and Rosalind knew only that she’d been chained to a bed. Sunlight streamed in through the thin curtains, burning her eyes, and the iron shackles around her limbs and neck chafed her skin.
Sometimes, Drew would come in and force her to speak, to say the things he wanted to hear.
She’d feel her mouth forming the words, but she couldn’t quite decipher the meaning—only that he seemed desperate for something, and that he’d tear out his hair with rage if he didn’t think she was saying it right.
Glaciers slid across her mind, and her thoughts moved sluggishly beneath them like ice floes. Every now and then she’d catch a wisp of a feeling floating by… a fleeting stab of sadness, a spark of rage. And then, just ice and iron, and the burning sunlight.
For the first time, she realized someone had changed her clothes, dressed her in sheer wisps of white fabric that hardly covered anything. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and she shivered.
She closed her eyes; somewhere beneath the ice, images flitted through her mind: a girl who looked like her, pinned to a stake with a nail through her heart. A beautiful man with porcelain skin and gray eyes. And another like him, with sun-kissed skin and a dark secret…
The door to her room creaked open, and someone strode in, the strike of his heels echoing off the ceiling. It was someone different this time, not the cousin who called her “queen.” A man with flame-red hair who made her skin grow cold… He stared down at her, a dark smile curling his lips. In another life, she’d known him…
Desperately, she tried to grasp a tendril of a thought. There was something dangerous about him.
“Do you remember me, Rosalind?” he asked. “I suppose you might not.”
He wore an iron chalice pin on his lapel, and the sight of it sent a shock of panic through Rosalind, but she wasn’t sure why.
“Allow me to reintroduce myself, now that you’ve been given that little brain-altering treatment. You once knew me as Randolph Loring. I was your leader, when you fought the witches and demons. Before you turned into their whore.” He frowned, taking a deep breath. “I know what you’re thinking—assuming you can think at all. I have surrounded myself with magic now, and this is never how I imagined it would all turn out. But you can’t fight magic without magic. I know that now.” He gestured at the building. “And all this—it’s for the glory of Blodrial. The populace must know how truly dangerous magic is, and I’m teaching them.” His eyes burned with the fervor of a fanatic. “When my work here is done, when the old ways have returned once more, then anyone defiled by the use of magic will feed my flames of righteousness.”
Rosalind felt a chill wash over her, and for just a moment, she jerked against her chains.
The man wagged his finger. “Uh-uh-uh. Lie still, Rosalind.” His forehead creased. “I’m not sure why he has you chained. It’s not like you can go anywhere, not with all that charmed iron in your blood. But I suppose he likes the way it looks on you.” He stroked the chain attached to her collar. “I can’t fault his tastes. It is a good look on you.” He leaned down, staring into her eyes. “You know, I would tell you to forget everything I’ve said, but I’m fairly certain I don’t have to. But I’ll be seeing more of you soon.” He scanned her body. “A lot more.”
He turned, walking out of the room. Rosalind couldn’t quite figure out why, but a gnawing dread climbed up her chest.
Chapter 7
Rosalind stood by a bay window, squinting in the milky sunlight. Gauzy curtains, like moth wings, fluttered in a draft from the window. She wore a silky, cream-colored bathrobe, cool against her skin. Around the room, the scorpion men stared at her.
That painful, soul-sapping ice encased her mind, freezing her thoughts. As she stood by the window, she was dimly aware of servants bustling around her, stripping off her clothes.
This can’t happen… a stray thought screamed under the ice. There was something she needed to return to—deep silver eyes, flecked with starlight. Golden skin. Cool and warm, dark and light. Soft lips on her neck…
She just couldn’t remember who that was, or why she cared. As she stood, dumbly, a woman smudged blush on her cheeks, then painted her lips with a blood-red lipstick. Another woman stood behind her, braiding flowers into her dark hair.
Rosalind’s hands hung limply at her sides. A servant with pale blond hair and gray eyes stepped in front of her and looked up, her eyes pleading. She held a piece of stuffed bread in front of Rosalind’s face.
Rosalind’s lip curled in disgust, and nausea turned her stomach. With all the glaciers in her mind, food seemed repellent to her right now. She didn’t want to eat or drink. She wanted it to end.
A voice underneath the ice floes in her mind screamed, and yet all she could do was stand still, gaping at the soft light of the window, waiting for her own funeral. For the dirt that would cover her corpse. I lived. I died.
“Please.” The girl’s lip trembled. “I’m supposed to get you to eat.”
Rosalind blinked, trying to clear the fog of her mind. Slowly, she shook her head. How could she eat when she wasn’t truly alive at all?
The girl lifted a chalice of red wine, and Rosalind stared at it dully. “At least drink this.” Fear glimmered in the girl’s gray eyes, and Rosalind wanted to help her.
She didn’t quite understand why, but this girl needed her to drink the wine. Rosalind nodded, and the girl brought the wine to her lips. Slowly, she tipped the cup, letting the wine flow into Rosalind’s mouth. It tasted fruity and
crisp, but Rosalind didn’t want any more than a sip. For some reason, she was certain this entire marble palace was a mausoleum, and she didn’t want to drink in a tomb.
The girl lowered the cup, shooting Rosalind a grateful look. The door creaked open, and footsteps echoed off the ceiling. The pale girl began shaking as she stared over Rosalind’s shoulder. She turned to look at the new person.
It wasn’t Drew, she thought—but the man with the bright red hair. A man she’d once known and revered. The one who called himself Randolph.
He crossed to the blond servant, who stared at him, wide-eyed.
Randolph looked the girl up and down. “You may leave.”
Even through Rosalind’s clouded thoughts, the girl’s terror was palpable. When she moved to leave, she stumbled, spilling her wine onto Randolph’s chest. Slowly, she raised her eyes to him, her entire body shivering.
Randolph’s features darkened, and he stared down at the girl with barely controlled rage.
Something terrible is about to happen…
Randolph pivoted, his gaze sliding to one of the scorpion men, and he nodded curtly.
“No!” the girl shrieked. “Please!”
The scorpions moved closer, dark eyes locked on the girl, tails lowering.
Numbness spread through Rosalind, and she stared as Randolph backed away from the girl, letting the scorpions close in.
The girl screamed. Rosalind wanted to help her, to stop whatever was happening, but her body wasn’t responding the way it should. She took a step closer to the girl. There was something she could do to help…
Randolph shot her a sharp look, his jaw clenched. “Stay where you are, Rosalind. Or there will be consequences.”
At the sound of his command, her body slowed against her will. But the scorpions were closing in, and the girl’s screams pierced the air. Rosalind needed to stop them.
Fighting against the ice in her mind, she forced her body to take another step—but she was moving too slowly, as if the weight of a thousand rocks pulled her down. She stared as one of the scorpions snarled at her. He looked older than the rest, his hair streaked with gray, and he lowered his tail piercing the girl’s shoulder.
The servant’s agonized screams slid through Rosalind’s bones. As the girl fell to the ground, tears stung Rosalind’s eyes. The girl’s body convulsed, jerking and writhing on the floor as her muscles seized. Her pale face contorted with pain, her eyes pleading with the gods to end her torment. She rolled onto her side, vomiting red wine onto the floor again and again, until nothing but bile came up. Her mouth frothed with red and white foam. Under the glaciers in Rosalind’s mind, a dark rage began to bloom.
The girl’s agony seemed to go on forever, her body bucking and writhing, until at last she lay still. Wide open, her eyes gaped at the ceiling.
Rage curled around Rosalind’s ribs like wisteria vines. She turned to look at Randolph, her body shaking.
Smoothly, he moved closer to her, and the sinister curve of his smile made the hair rise on the back of Rosalind’s neck. He wore a black suit with an iron lapel—a chalice, decorated with rubies. That symbol had meant something to her once, long ago.
He reached for her, stroking her face, gently at first. Then, he grabbed her by the jaw, squeezing hard. He smelled of onions and ambrosia, and the combination turned her stomach. “I told you there would be consequences if you defied me.” He pressed harder on her jaw. “Lucky for you, the iron in your blood stopped you before it could get any worse for you. I wouldn’t want to have to mutilate a bride just before her wedding.”
He leaned in, his voice sending ice through her veins.
“I know you’ve broken free of Drew’s mind control before. I want to make sure that it’s worked properly this time.”
He dropped his grip on her, then smacked her hard across the face.
She fell back on the floor, and pain exploded through her head. While a cry of despair keened under the surface of her mind, she simply lay there, staring at the blond girl’s corpse.
“Stand,” Randolph commanded.
She felt her body respond to his commands, and she pushed herself up on her elbows and rose. Her face still throbbed where he’d smacked her.
Slowly, her gaze drifted to the scorpion men. They watched, unmoving.
“Walk closer to me,” Randolph said.
Slowly, one foot in front of the other, she moved into the center of the room, where pale light streamed through a window.
“You’ve caused such problems for us, Rosalind. And I’m pleased to see Drew has tamed you. I wanted him to kill you, but he was so keen to keep you. And I need to keep him happy until I’m done using him.”
The chill in the room went right to Rosalind’s bones.
Randolph walked in front of her, looking her up and down. “In the ancient custom of the Brotherhood, the high priests have the right to a bride on her wedding night. In this case, I am the high priest.”
Rosalind couldn’t quite make sense of his words, but she began to shiver. She’d freeze to death in here.
“Perhaps a preview of tonight is in order,” he purred. “Take off your robe.”
Deep in the recesses of her mind, a vernal aura began to stir. And yet, she felt herself untying the bathrobe. She let it slide off her shoulders, and fall to the ground.
She had the sense that the scorpion men were looking on, that laughter danced in their dark eyes. She looked down at her trembling body, surprised to see that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Someone had dressed her in white panties.
“I want you to kneel,” Randolph said.
As a voice in the back her skull raged, she dropped, the cold tiles biting into her knees. That strange, green aura roiled around her mind, threatening to snap. One of the scorpion men cocked his head as he stared down at her, his lips curling in a wicked smile.
Randolph crossed to her, and he reached down to stroke her hair. “I never supported women as Hunters or leaders, but times changed. I guess I was right to have my reservations. Since your betrayal, we’ve begun to rid our ranks of women. Your place now is to serve us, as it was in the old days.”
He stroked her face, then smeared his rough thumb over her lips. “You’re lucky you’re not in the dungeons with Erish.”
At the sound of Erish’s name, a flicker of recognition sparked in her mind. Erish is important… The secret weapon.
“You’re going to be married in our amphitheater today. And when I’m ready to purge the demons and heretics from my city, you and Drew will burn there.”
Dread bloomed in her chest, and she stared at the floor. Randolph raised his hand, smacking her once more, and pain burst through her cheek as she fell back on the floor. She lay on the cold tiles, her head throbbing, and Randolph stood over her.
“I’ll leave you there for now,” he said. “Someone will be in to dress you soon, but I look forward to our meeting tonight.”
Her skin felt cold against the tile, and the floor seemed to pulse beneath her, throbbing with Drew’s magic. Erish is in the dungeons… Magic stirred in Rosalind’s ribs as she lay staring at the corpse on the floor. Such a strange thing when a building seemed alive but the girl on the floor didn’t…
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before two girls came in, and pulled her off the floor, fussing over her as they pulled a corset around her, tightening the stays until she thought her ribs would crack. They dressed her in a white gown—a cage of lace, ribbons, and frills.
My wedding gown… Her heart tightened with dread.
One of the girls tied a bow just below her breasts. “Your groom will untie these later.” She frowned. “Or the high priest. I’m not sure which comes first.”
Rosalind’s stomach lurched. She swayed slightly, as nimble fingers wove flowers through her hair.
Deep within her, a green leafy aura stirred, bringing with it the scents of the forest, of life. Rosalind’s heart beat a little harder.
She wasn’t sure why, but
she turned to one of the servants, and felt her mouth form words: “Can you please tell me where the dungeons are?”
The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. “Below the palace.”
As if from a distance, Rosalind heard herself ask, “But how do I get to them?”
The girl frowned. “You’re going to marry the emperor today. Why would you need to get to the prisons?”
Rosalind’s lip curled. Something inside her mind didn’t like this answer. Her hand shot out, and she snatched the girl’s wrist, tightening her fingers. She would get the answer to this question, whatever it took. Her mind flickered with visions of the rowan grove, the silky dress that caressed Cleo’s thighs—then the flames that seared her milky skin.
Gritting her teeth, she tightened her grip on the girl’s wrist until she screamed. “Tell me, Hunter,” she snarled, her voice laced with venom. “How do I get to the prisons?”
The girl’s eyes widened, and she stammered. “There’s a tunnel that connects to the prisons from the amphitheater where you’ll be getting married today. Please don’t tell your husband that I told you.”
Rosalind nodded and dropped the girl’s wrist. Once again, the icy mists returned to her mind, clouding her thoughts, and her muscles relaxed.
One of the women pulled a thin, gauzy veil over Rosalind’s head, making the world even hazier, then grabbed Rosalind by the hand. As she led Rosalind into the arched hall, one of the servants turned to her, blinking. “I don’t know why they wanted you there for this part of the ceremony. Drew wanted you to see it. After the prayers, the wedding begins with a sacrifice. It won’t be pleasant.”
Rosalind’s heart slammed against her ribs. A sacrifice.
“Oh, don’t worry,” the girl said. “They’re just demons and witches.”
Divine Hunter (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 4) Page 4
