Blood Hunter (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

  Darren nodded at the two Danes. “Aldrich and Rodney will take her to Ambrose.”

  Without so much as a final glance goodbye, Tammi stalked down the hall, barefoot. Aldrich and Rodney hurried to flank her.

  Darren’s gaze turned to Rosalind, slowly taking in her body. He stepped closer, his gaze lingering on a tear in the shoulder of her gown. “I’ve heard that Caine has claimed you as his concubine, and no vampires may enjoy your womanly delights.”

  Rosalind’s stomach turned. Gross.

  She took a step to move around him, but he blocked her path. “I’m not finished speaking to you.” He seemed transfixed by the torn dress, and he ran a long, pointed tongue over his lips. “Have you noticed that the most beautiful things are also the most fragile? How tempting it is to touch that which breaks easily.”

  Okay… “Right. I actually have to go somewhere else now.”

  Darren stared down at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on a daywalking spell? I thought that was your whole purpose here.”

  “You’re one of Ambrose’s trusted advisors, aren’t you? I’m sure he’s filled you in.”

  Darren tapped a long finger against his mouth. “He’s been promising us that spell for a while, and yet I haven’t seen anything materialize.”

  “Maybe I don’t like the idea of demons like you having more power than you already have.”

  She’d read about what could happen when humans meddled in nature. When wolves hunted caribou, they culled the weak. If humans tried to protect the caribou by shooting the wolves, it backfired. Diseases spread and took out entire herds. Any major changes to one species could mean devastation to another. Nature had its own balance.

  “What are you talking about?” he scoffed. “We’re meant to dominate humans. That is nature’s way.”

  “Maybe vampires are meant to have limitations, to keep things in some sort of balance so they don’t completely destroy humanity.”

  “Fine.” Darren’s pupils flashed with red. “But it won’t be all vampires. Just those here.”

  Her thoughts whirled. She really didn’t want to give vamps like Darren and Esmerelda more power over humans.

  On the other hand— maybe daywalking vampires could act as a counterbalance to Drew’s power. Without a powerful enemy of his own, Drew could turn half the human race into blood-drinking demons like Tammi. And the other half he’d probably sacrifice in the Brotherhood’s fires, just to keep the Hunters happy.

  The unholy alliance of witch and witch-hunter.

  She shrugged. “Perhaps it’s a lesser of two evils situation, but you’re not doing the vampires a great PR service by blocking my path right now.”

  Darren cocked his head. “Lesser of two evils, hmm? And is that how you feel about Caine?”

  Now he had her attention. “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s not the only powerful demon in Lilinor who wants your nubile flesh. I’m sure you can see Ambrose wants you, too. He sends you food; Caine does not. Yet you’ve chosen Caine. A hunter choosing an incubus. Is he merely the lesser of two evils, or have you been lured in with his incubus charms, like so many before you?”

  Rosalind frowned. “Ambrose wants me?”

  “Don’t think you’re special. Demons are drawn to humans like moths to a flame.”

  Ambrose… Cleo’s words screamed in her skull. I want him to burn, yet I remember the feel of his bare skin against mine. An image burned in Rosalind’s mind: Ambrose’s hands cupping Cleo’s pale breasts, leaning in and kissing her neck, his mouth hot on her skin. A wave of pleasure rushed through her body, and she nearly groaned.

  “Not now, Cleo,” she snapped.

  Darren’s eyes widened, as if Rosalind was suddenly the scary one. “Cleo?”

  “Never mind.”

  “I suppose you’ve amused me for long enough. But if you’re here to create daywalkers, do it fast. Whether or not Ambrose desires your flesh, he will only indulge you for so long.” He turned, stalking off past her.

  Cleo’s aura roiled in her mind. He brought me a wreath of blackthorn. He kissed my throat, his hands clutching my body—

  “Yeah, I get it, Cleo!” Rosalind’s voice echoed off the ceiling.

  Where was that wreath Miranda had made for her? That thing had actually subdued Cleo’s ranting.

  He brought me the sweetest wine—

  Rosalind turned back to Tammi’s room and pushed open the door. She snatched the wreath from the floor and frantically pulled it onto her head, sighing as Cleo’s voice faded in her skull.

  Chapter 6

  In the apple orchard, the sound of violins drifted on the evening wind. The air hung thick with blossoms. I pulled open my dress, letting the spring air kiss my bare skin, waiting for him to come to me…

  But the air chilled, and a storm wind rushed over my body.

  Now the air fills with the smell of gangrenous flesh and rotting wood. An intruder lurks in here.

  Wake, Rosalind. Wake and see it.

  Rosalind’s eyes snapped open. Tangled in her sheets, she slept in her thin silk nightgown next to her sister. Milky daylight streamed through the edge of the closed curtain.

  Something wasn’t right. The room smelled terrible, and when her eyes adjusted her heart thundered against her ribs.

  Daylight. There is daylight in Lilinor.

  That alone was very wrong. The sun didn’t shine in the City of Night. She sat upright, her panicked gaze landing on Miranda.

  But Miranda wasn’t alone.

  Crouching on her sister’s chest was a gaunt figure. White light gleamed off his bald head, the color of unbaked bread. The creature had no mouth or ears—just two slits for a nose, and gaping black eyeholes. He smelled like the bottom of a grave. Before she could reach for him, the creature wafted away like black smoke on the wind—so quickly that Rosalind had to wonder if it had just been the remnants of a dream.

  She glanced down at her pillow. She’d been sleeping on her half-crumpled wildflower wreath, while Miranda’s crown still rested on her head. Rosalind rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the fog of sleep from her mind. What was that thing?

  Her gaze trailed over Miranda’s throat; at the sight of an iron necklace, Rosalind’s adrenalin surged. It looked like the charmed necklaces Drew used to control people. Around the metal chain, colored magic swirled into the air—gold, silver, blue…

  Rosalind ripped the thing from Miranda’s throat, examining it. The exact same type of thin iron chain the keres had been wearing in Maremount—a collar of sorts. And Drew’s strange magic was all over the damn thing. He couldn’t be in Lilinor, could he? Either way, he’d be able to control anyone wearing one of the chains.

  Miranda’s eyes opened, and she sat up. “What’s going on?”

  Rosalind shook her head, still gaping at the necklace. Had the creatures gone after anyone else, or just Miranda and Rosalind?

  Whatever the hell was going on, there had clearly been some sort of breach of Lilinor’s defenses. Maybe Drew’s strange magic allowed him to open portals without permission.

  “What’s happening?” Miranda asked, still blinking.

  “There’s daylight in Lilinor.” Rosalind threw off her bedcovers. “And Drew might have seized control. I need to warn people.”

  Rosalind rushed for the door. She flung it open, then raced through the corridor, her heart thrumming. Where was Ambrose? Sometimes he slept in the White Tower, but not always.

  But she knew exactly where to find Caine—one floor up, next to the painting of Lord Byron.

  She pushed through another door into the stairwell, her pulse racing. Her feet pounded the stairs as she raced up. This had to be Drew’s doing. No one else could use that type of magic—apart from Erish, but she was locked safely in the dungeon. Wasn’t she?

  Rosalind pushed through the door at the top of the stairwell. The sunlight streaming through the windows looked so wrong here. How many chains had the demons distributed?

  R
osalind opened a door to one of the rooms. There, sprawled over a bed, lay Esmerelda. An iron chain hung around her neck. She rushed to the next door, turning the knob. A muscular, blond vampire lay in the middle of the stone floor. Another iron chain.

  Rosalind’s throat went dry. The demons could have hit the whole city.

  She turned, sprinting for Caine’s room. Her bare feet pounded over the stone floor, and she screeched to a halt at the painting of Lord Byron. Frantically, she flung open the door to Caine’s room.

  In the center of a silver bed, Caine lay wrapped in his bedsheets, his chest bare. His thick black lashes rested against his cheeks. At the sight of his beauty, her heart skipped a beat. For just a moment, she forgot why she’d come, letting her eyes linger over the tattoos that snaked over his muscled chest. The moon and stars, the strange thin dagger on her forearm… Together, the symbols were like a map of his life—one she couldn’t quite read.

  She blinked to clear her mind, and her gaze moved up his body…to the iron necklace on his throat. Tendrils of magic—blue, gold, and silver—wafted off the iron.

  Drew was here, and every demon in Lilinor might be mind-controlled by him.

  She rushed to Caine’s bed, then jumped up next to him to rip the necklace from his throat.

  With a growl, Caine’s eyes snapped open. The next thing she knew, he’d flipped her onto her back. The back of her head landed on his pillow, and he gripped her hair with one hand while the other pinned her own hands over her head.

  How had he managed that so quickly, without hurting her?

  Her pulse raced as his hard body pressed against hers. Through the thin silk of her nightgown, she could feel his warm skin, his powerful body. So that’s what happens when you wake up an incubus from a deep sleep.

  He inhaled deeply and laced his fingers with hers.. “Rosalind. You’re not wearing your ring. Isn’t that dangerous if Cleo takes over your mind?” He leaned in close, his breath warming her neck. “But maybe now isn’t the time for me to ask questions like that.”

  “I don’t wear the ring anymore,” she whispered. “It doesn’t work.”

  His leg pressed between hers, and heat flooded her body. Focus, Rosalind. She swallowed hard, trying to clear her mind. “I came here to warn you. There’s been a breach of Lilinor’s defenses—some creatures that can disappear like smoke. They’ve clamped iron chains on everyone. I just ripped yours off. And the city is flooded with daylight.”

  He blinked hard, as if trying to clear his mind, and released his grip on her. He sat up, glancing at the window. “Daylight.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Seven hells.”

  “Daylight, and mind-control.” She held up the necklace. “These are the same chains Drew used on Tammi and Miranda in Maremount. They’re charmed with his magic. He’ll be able to control anyone wearing one.”

  Caine jumped from his bed in a blur of silver, suddenly completely alert. “We need to get to Ambrose.”

  “Where does he sleep?”

  “That’s anyone’s guess. Sometimes in the Ishtaritu hall, sometimes in…” Caine’s golden skin paled, and a look of complete horror crossed his face. “The White Tower.”

  Suddenly, Rosalind understood. Ambrose’s open-air lair. Ambrose often slept there, beneath the stars. If the creatures had slapped a collar on him, he’d be burning to death in his bedsheets right now—a charred body in the blazing sun.

  “Come with me.” Caine held out his hand, and she stepped closer to him, folding into his embrace.

  He began chanting the teleportation spell, and she joined in, feeling his electric aura rush over her skin.

  When she opened her eyes, they stood in Ambrose’s tower room. Sunlight blazed between the open vaults, but not a single smudge of ash stained Ambrose’s sheets. Relief washed over her, and she heard a sigh slide from Caine.

  “Thank the gods. He’s not here. But I want to find him now. As lord, he’ll be the primary target for the demons.”

  Rosalind grabbed his arm. “Maybe we can use magic.”

  “For what?”

  “Hang on.” She crossed to one of the tall, peaked windows, gazing out at Ninlil Castle. The cobblestone courtyard below was ringed with rickety stone towers; they pierced the blue skies, each crowned with a sharp spire. A fountain stood in the center of the courtyard.

  From here, Caine and Rosalind had a view of all the living quarters, and she would be able to direct the spell into each of the rooms. “I used a spell in Maremount,” she said, “to free the prisoners and take their necklaces off. We can do the same here—a spell for bending iron. We’ll need to work together, to make it as strong as possible. It’ll save us hunting around the whole fortress for Ambrose.”

  He shook his head. “No. Ambrose is the priority. If we use a spell—”

  The opening of courtyard doors interrupted him, and Rosalind’s heart skipped a beat. From each of the doors, vampires walked into the sunlight, moving as silently as wraiths. Smoke rose from their skin.

  “The iron spell,” Caine said. “Now!”

  Her heart hammering, Rosalind began chanting the spell for warping iron. Caine joined in with her, their magic curling together in swirls of silver and green.

  Is it too late? Before they could get to the end of the spell, flames sparked around the vampires’ bodies. And yet they still moved steadily forward like blazing viking funeral boats.

  Caine stopped chanting and raised his hands to the skies. His silver aura whipped from his body, streaming to the heavens.

  What is he doing? Whatever it was, Rosalind needed to stay focused until she could get the damn necklaces off the vamps. Once freed, they could plunge into the fountain to douse the flames.

  Her heart clenched as the smell of burning flesh reached her nose, yet she kept chanting.

  Even as the vampires burned, an eerie silence enshrouded the courtyard. Not a single voice cut the quiet. The vampires simply walked onward into the light, pouring from the doors, skin blazing in the hot sun. Black plumes of smoke curled into the air.

  Rosalind could feel Cleo’s dark delight. She liked this.

  Watch the little vermin burn… Cleo whispered.

  Rosalind felt sick. Crazy twat.

  If she wanted this to work, she'd have to block out the chaos on her mind, the warring emotions. With all the mental focus she could muster, she directed Cleo’s vernal aura around the iron collars. At last, the metal necklaces twisted from the vamps necks, and fell to the cobblestones with a loud clang.

  And that was when the screaming began.

  Agonized shrieks ripped through the air, and the vampires staggered, limbs blazing. A few dove for the fountain, but most stumbled blindly, in too much pain to save themselves.

  By her side, Caine’s aura intensified, rippling over Rosalind’s skin in a staggering burst of power. Rosalind glanced at the sky; somehow, Caine’s magic was forcing the sun to set. The setting sun stained the sky a deep, blood red, but rays of sun still washed the city in gold.

  I can help him. Rosalind closed her eyes. With Cleo’s help, she launched into a spell for Mishett-Ash, the god of storms.

  Her stomach flipped at the power of the magic whirling around her body. An icy aura froze her skin. With trembling legs, she chanted louder, calling on the god to bring his storm winds to Lilinor. Another aura rushed through the air, briny and wet.

  Miranda. Somewhere in the fortress, Rosalind’s twin was working her magic, too.

  The sun sank lower, dipping just behind one of Ninlil’s spires, and still, rays of sunlight streamed around it.

  Rosalind closed her eyes, repeating the Angelic words to lure a storm into the skies. As she chanted, thunder rumbled over the horizon, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Fat drops of rain fell on her skin, drenching her hair and clothes. The storm’s power rolled through her body.

  From the courtyard below, the screams quieted.

  Softly, Caine touched Rosalind's arm, and she opened her eyes. All
around her, Cleo's aura swirled in the air, mingling with Caine’s.

  Rosalind’s entire body shook, and her eyes rose to the sky.

  Not only had she called a storm over the city, but Caine had somehow turned the daylight to night. The sky over Lilinor was pure midnight black. Lightning cracked in the sky, casting pale light over the sodden piles of gray ash littering the stony courtyard.

  Hundreds of vampires had wandered out to their deaths in just a few short minutes.

  Across the fortress, shouts rang through the halls. At least they’d saved most of the city.

  Still, with all the carnage below, Rosalind's knees had gone weak. She turned, leaning against the wall, and let herself slide down the cold stone.

  From behind her, Caine spoke in a low growl. “You saw Drew’s magic on the necklaces?”

  “Yes. It’s either him or Erish.”

  “I’m going to stab them to death with their own ribs.”

  “Did you see Ambrose out there?”

  He shook his head. “No. He’s safe for now. But I’m going to find him.”

  “How did the creatures get in here?” Rosalind asked. “And how did they get from room to room so fast?”

  “Drew must have found our portal. And somehow, Nyxobas let him open it.” He frowned. “What did the creatures look like?”

  Rosalind shuddered. “The one I saw was missing a mouth and ears. Its flesh was gray, like a corpse. And it smelled like a grave.”

  “Alu demons,” Caine muttered. “They belong to Nyxobas. They can travel on the wind, and disappear at will like smoke. They’re extremely rare.”

  Rosalind’s mouth went dry. “Maybe they’re not demons. Maybe they were human until Drew turned them.” She rose, unsteady on her feet. “And he’s probably still in the city. Lurking in the shadows, planning his next move. We need to find him.”

  “Not you. You’re too valuable, and I need your magic to keep the sun out of our city. If Drew made the sun rise once in Lilinor, I’m sure he can do it again.” He glanced up at the dark sky. “I need you and your sister to draw on your magic to keep the sun down. Under the cover of darkness, the entire vampire army can operate swiftly and hunt for Drew.”