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

by C. N. Crawford

  If Drew hadn’t been so blinded by his thrill at having her at his mercy, he would have noticed the magic roiling around her body.

  He gripped her face, and she let her head loll as if she were unconscious. “Rosalind. If I just keep hurting you enough, you’ll submit.”

  She half-opened her eyes, giving Drew a dazed look. Let him think you’re weak. She reached up, limply hitting him, missing. She made it look as pathetic as she could. She needed him to let down his guard.

  Drew had two things he relied on when he fought her. One was strangling. The other was running away as soon as she got the upper hand. She wasn’t letting him get away this time.

  She let her eyes glaze over, and he grabbed one of her thighs. “Oh Rosalind. Rosalind. I like you when you’re like this.”

  Anger erupted. Just then, she tightened her fingers around the nail and slammed it into his chest, cracking through his bones.

  Drew’s green eyes snapped wide open in shock, and he fell back.

  “Uggae Lalartu Dalkhu Mitu Wussuru Telal.” As fast as she could, Rosalind rattled off the spell for mortality. As she spoke, Drew’s immortality curled from his body, staining the air around him in wisps of silver, blue, green, and copper. Horrified, his skin paling, Drew stared at the magic leaving his body. The tendrils of magic floated into the air, disappearing like smoke on the wind.

  Drew fell back on the floor, his head cracking against the marble. Clutching his chest, he gaped at her. Blood poured from the wound, and the magic escaped him.

  Rosalind rose, standing above him. His jaw trembled, and his body looked oddly withered.

  “I think it’s time you learned your place, Drew.” She kicked him hard in the chest, cracking his bones.

  Humans. So weak.

  “Your place, Drew, is in the ground.”

  The last of his magic curled from his body. And when it disappeared into the air, Drew rasped his final, rattling breath.

  Chapter 35

  Rosalind picked up her sword, moving for the doorway. With Drew’s final heartbeat, the sheen seemed to wear off the palace walls, giving the ivory a dull, gray cast. That reverberating power she’d felt all over the palace dissipated, and the walls no longer seemed to breathe. Now, she walked through a carcass. Before she left the place, maybe the Brotherhood’s empire was due for a cremation.

  As she moved through the building, Rosalind felt at one with the seven gods, and their magic mingled within her, merging into a white light. She lifted her hand, staring as ivory plumes curled from her fingertips.

  Outside, the battle still raged, and the Hunters fired into the crowd of demons. Caine, seemingly dodging bullets at a stunning speed, cut through the lines of Hunters, hacking through their bodies. She traced her fingertips on the window, leaving trails of frosty white.

  Here he was, her king, breathtaking in his savage beauty, his body blazing like starlight. She sucked in a deep breath, steeling her resolve. The battle wasn’t over yet, and Lilinor needed her. She turned, then rushed through the halls in a gust of shadows, and slipped down the winding stairs, onto the ground floor. This palace, this corrupted carcass, never should have existed, and it was time to end it all.

  A line of Hunters had entered the palace, searching for her. They trained their guns on her, and she didn’t need to be told that iron bullets filled their guns. Still, they weren’t shooting, yet. They knew who she was—their emperor’s intended queen. They just had no idea what she could do.

  She closed her eyes, arching her back as she walked, and liquid fire pooled in her veins. She burned like the inner core of the sun, and when she flung out her arms to either side, flames licked along her arms, surging down her wrists, and exploded from her fingertips.

  White hot flames seared the air, and the impact rumbled through the walls. Around her, fire bloomed like a wildflower, claiming the hunters, the walls, the palace in an inferno.

  Screams pierced the air, and the walls crumbled around her. Fragmenting marble rained around her, but she continued striding through the halls, until she stepped out of the hellfire, into the courtyard. Dark smoke billowed into the air. Explosions ruptured the building, and she stepped onto the marble steps. Caine whirled, his magic dancing around his body. Through the smoke, his silver eyes pierced her.

  For just a moment, the fighting had stopped as everyone gaped at the exploding building, the Hunters’ empire destroyed. The filaments of colored magic that had coiled from the soldiers had all but disappeared, gone with their leader. A hail of bullets ripped through the air, and Caine whirled again, blasting icy shadow magic at a line of Hunters.

  Slowly, she stepped down the stairs, her body blazing with white light, and surveyed the carnage. She searched the crowd for Tammi, and her heart clenched as she found her friend crawling through the mud, legs bleeding. Any minute, one of the Hunters would finish her. Rosalind glanced at Malphas, one of his wings damaged, half of it blown off. His movements were labored. The winged cohorts had entirely taken out the helicopters, but Lilinor’s forces were in rough shape.

  In the center of the melee, Ambrose was stalking Bileth, their dark auras curling around both of them. Ambrose swung with his battle-ax, and Bileth dodged. Lilinor’s king—the new incubus—had the upper hand here. Still, as much as she wanted to watch him hack into Bileth, he wouldn’t be able to kill him without knowing the right spell. And moreover, she needed to end this battle now, before anyone she loved got hurt.

  A rush of white magic murmured over her skin. The humans had nothing left but their weapons, and she could take those. She raised her hands before her, her fingertips sparking with white light, and she felt for the magnetic pull of metal, an invisible cord that tied her to the guns, the shields, the swords. Lifting her fingers, she pulled the weapons into the air, while the Hunters frantically tried to cling on to them. Without their weapons, they had no chance. A few of them clung to their machine guns twenty, thirty feet in the air, until they dropped to the ground with a hard thud.

  The demons got to work with their hands and teeth, snapping necks, biting into veins. Apparently, vampire habits died hard in the fog of war. Panicking, a stream of Hunters began running for the shattered wall. But Rosalind’s gaze was locked on Bileth, his powerful body curling with that shadowy magic of his. He and Ambrose circled each other, gripping their weapons. Even with Ambrose’s formidable lethal power, he needed the right spell.

  Magic electrified her body, and she descended the stairs. As Rosalind moved, white magic coiled around her. Unconsciously, the crowd seemed to part for her, and she headed straight for Bileth. His dark gaze landed on Rosalind, but he looked away again, uninterested. He still didn’t see her as a threat. It was best that way.

  Gripping an iron sword, Bileth lunged for Ambrose, who deftly dodged. Rosalind glided closer to them, picking up her pace, and when she was close enough, she rushed forward, punching him hard in the throat, with the full force of the mountain goddess. Bileth staggered back, eyes widening in surprise, and she followed up with two brutal punches to his skull. Dazed, Bileth staggered. While he tried to reorient himself, Rosalind chanted the spell to steal his immortality.

  She watched the light flow from his body, disappearing on the wind, and Bileth’s dark eyes stared at the escaping aura. Slowly, his muscles slackened, his skin turning to ash gray. A layer of matted fur covered his body, and his horns cracked. His eyes yellowed, muscles slackening.

  Bileth stared down at his hands, his body trembling.

  Rosalind nodded at Ambrose. “The coup de grâce is yours.”

  Horror washed over Bileth’s features, and his body trembled. It took only a moment for Ambrose to slice through his neck with his ax. Bileth’s headless body fell to the ground, and Ambrose closed his eyes, whispering a prayer to Nyxobas.

  Rosalind whirled, joining the battle, or what was left of it. The Hunters had once been her tribe, but not anymore. Not since she realized what they truly were—history’s monsters.

  She
moved like the wind, a frantic whirlwind of sword against flesh, cutting down the Hunters, her sword dripping with blood. Just as Caine had said—if you cut off the head of this snake, it’ll just grow another head. The Hunters would always exist. But their defeat today would deliver a message—the gods were not smiling on The Brotherhood, and Blodrial would not bestow riches and luck on his followers. In fact, the gods did not care at all. The gods were insane.

  Chapter 36

  Rosalind stood in the blood-soaked field as the smoke began to clear, the rain mingling with the rivulets of blood and dirt. An eerie silence shrouded the battlefield, raising the hair on the back of her neck. Deep inside her chest, the gods-magic had mingled into one pure powerful core of light, and the screaming of the gods abated to a low, melodic hum.

  Across the courtyard, bodies littered the field. The bloated carcasses of the waterlogged edimmu and the bleeding bodies of the hounds stained the fields. She swallowed hard, her gaze roaming over the dead. Lilinor’s soldiers were gathering the corpses of their fallen comrades, hoisting the bodies over their backs. Ambrose was barking out orders, his silver armor glinting in the light. Each fallen soldier would have to be carried home again, and laid to rest in the earth with a feast of the dead.

  Caine crossed to her, his body glowing silver. He reached out, touching her arm.

  Blood and dirt smeared his cheeks, and at that moment, she had an overwhelming desire to wash his skin clean and kiss him all over. She trusted him with her life, as he trusted her with his, and she wanted to lie curled in the crook of his arm, smelling his skin, kissing his neck for the rest of their lives. She wanted to lie in bed as night blended into day and back, to stroke his waist and kiss his mouth until their skin glowed, to feel his warm lips on hers.

  She was struck by the feeling that their bodies belonged together, endlessly intertwined. But more, that they belonged together, two orphaned monsters who glowed like starlight in each other’s presence. When she’d first met him, he’d been such a mystery to her, and now she knew the darkest depths of his soul. She knew what he feared, and what hurt him. She’d seen his nightmares, and knew what could kill him. She knew that he was loyal and protective, that he dreamt of cherry trees under the stars. She even knew that he snored lightly in his sleep—that part of him was deeply human.

  If he’d died today, she’d be lost again—left with nothing but the indifferent forest where she’d make her home among the rocks and moss. If Caine disappeared, she’d hollow out. She’d need the quiet darkness of the yews to let her sleep.

  “What?” he said, pushing a strand of hair from her face.

  Tears stung her eyes. “Nothing. Just—I’m happy you’re okay.”

  He cupped her face, and pressed his forehead against hers. “We survived it. And now, I want to build a world with you, of stars and cherry trees in full bloom.”

  He slid his hand around the back of her neck, and kissed her gently on the lips.

  She pulled away, looking into his eyes, her hands on his face. “I want to get home and wash the filth off you.”

  “Did you honestly think for a second I wouldn’t be okay?” He looked almost hurt.

  “I worried.”

  A faint smile ghosted over Caine’s lips. “I like your parting gift. Blowing up the building. Dramatic.”

  “It needed to die.”

  His eyes darkened, and a wicked smile curled his lips. “I’ve never found you more attractive.” He grabbed her hand. “I want to take you home to Lilinor.”

  “There’s just something I need to do first,” she said.

  * * *

  Taking to the air, Rosalind swooped over the burning building, the heat from the flames warming her body. Acrid smoke curled into the air as she flew, soaring over the palace remains to the amphitheater. In the center of the pit, iron stakes protruded from the ground. The earth around the ground had been blackened, a relic of the people they’d burned in the center of the bit. By Drew’s side, she’d stared at these stakes, with a dull horror throbbing beneath the ice floes of her mind.

  She didn’t know how many people had died here, but because she had Cleo’s memories fluttering in the back of her mind, she could imagine the terror they’d felt, the indescribable pain. Randolph had wanted to burn her here, when they’d finished with her. After they’d forced her to bear Drew’s children for the empire.

  This place needed to die, too, and the Brotherhood’s followers needed to see once and for all that Blodrial’s cult was not the answer, that he protected no one.

  As she soared, she rallied the magic of Azazeyl, letting it vibrate over her skin in white light. For a few glorious moments, she felt the seven gods uniting within her, whole again. The seven merged in the air—the rocks and sea, storms and forests, darkness, fire, and blood—mingling together once more.

  She swooped lower over the pit, magic bursting from her body, streaming from her fingertips into the center of the amphitheater. The pit, the iron stakes, the stone—they exploded in a blaze light. Fragments of rock and dirt rained around her, clouding into the air.

  Rosalind soared through the debris, leaving the ruined pit behind her until she swooped through the clear air above. She was heading back for Caine, just as rays of amber sunlight pierced the clouds.

  She’d take him home now—back to Lilinor, where her sister lay beneath the earth. Where the sun could rise, and Rosalind could sleep safety in Caine’s arms, listening to his heart beat.

  She found him waiting for her on the battlefield, his silver eyes piercing the clouds of smoke, standing by Malphas’s side, each holding the body of a fallen soldier. She landed hard on the muddy earth, her magic flickering in her gut. She leaned down, scooping up the body of a slain soldier—a fae with a long, golden beard and silver armor. She heaved him over her shoulder. Between Malphas and Caine, she walked toward the river, back toward their home.

  When she reached the edge of the Charles, the three of them summoned their shadow magic, opening the portal to their home. Their shadow magic coiled together in silver streams, and Rosalind felt Lilinor pulling her in, like a gravitational force. Gripping the body of the fallen soldier, she leapt into the portal, plunging deep beneath the icy water.

  She drifted beneath the surface, her mind rolling over images of the girl she’d once been: the lost girl, at the river’s edge, watching her parents die. The Hunter, lured in by the promise of ridding the world of evil. What would that girl have thought of the woman today, who’d slaughtered Hunters by the droves?

  Clutching the fae’s body in her arms, she sank deeper into the river. Was she really human at all anymore? She wasn’t sure if it mattered at all.

  Chapter 37

  In Lilinor, the sun streamed through the yew’s boughs, dappling the cemetery grasses with dancing flecks of gold. Rosalind breathed in the lush scent of spring—somehow, it was always spring in Lilinor, the grasses always blanketed in bluebells and cowslips.

  Further over the gentle hill, Lilinor’s demons were laying out a feast across the Gelal Fields. Only a few of Lilinor’s soldiers wanted to return to their vampiric form after the battle. The rest, it seemed, had enjoyed the sunlight and the corn dogs too much to revert to their vampire forms—at least for now.

  So while a handful of vampires stayed in the depths of the fortress during the daylight hours, the rest of Lilinor strolled through the tall grasses in the sun, eating and drinking under the silvery shield of shadow magic.

  Rosalind leaned back among the bluebells, breathing in the fresh spring air. She plucked a wildflower from the ground, twirling it in her fingers. Cleo had been lingering among the wildflowers the night her world had ended, when she’d been waiting for Ambrose. With a flicker of surprise, Rosalind realized that Cleo had gone quieter recently, melding into her own mind as a part of her. Somehow, even with two souls and the magic of seven gods, Rosalind felt whole again.

  A breeze rustled the yew leaves, toying with the bells, and through their chimes, Rosa
lind thought she could hear her sister whispering through them, telling her all the things she wanted. We’ll make our own tiny little kingdom, the three of us. We’ll get a little house by the water, and we’ll build a magical shield around it...

  Footfalls crunched over the path, and Rosalind turned to see Tammi and Aurora walking toward her through the tall grass, weaving between gravestones. Aurora wore sunglasses, shielding her eyes from the glaring light. She wore a shimmering blue dress, her gray valkyrie wings trailing behind her. She really made a stunning valkyrie.

  Tammi’s silver hair cascaded over a red dress, resplendent in the morning light, and she carried Owen on her hip. The little human child, his cheeks now full and round.

  Rosalind smiled. “Hello ladies! And Owen!”

  Aurora plopped next to her, a flask in her hand. “We thought you might be here.”

  Tammi sat next to them, and Owen stood, staring at the tree.

  “I was just paying Miranda a visit,” said Rosalind.

  “Why?” said Owen.

  Rosalind took a deep breath. “I don’t know. It just makes me feel better.”

  He stared at her. “Why?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, Owen.”

  Tammi reached up, brushing her fingers over the shimmering ribbon that read Miranda. “This was sort of her dream, wasn’t it? A safe place, shielded by magic, where she could make a home with us.”

  Tears stung Rosalind’s eyes. This had been Miranda’s dream. Abominatonia, a sunlit city of demons and freaks. “If Drew hadn’t killed her, she’d have everything she wanted now. Everything she deserved.”

  “You’re still alive,” said Tammi. “And we both have very long lives ahead of us. We will just have to make the most of them.”