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

by C. N. Crawford

  “Of course,” Caine said. A lock of hair fell in Rosalind’s eyes, and he pushed it away, studying her. “Have you been hearing Cleo’s voice?”

  She really couldn’t keep anything from his gaze. “The iron ring doesn’t work anymore. But Miranda told me bluebells would bring me peace, and they work better. I’ve got wildflowers in my pocket. She made me a wreath…”

  “With magic as powerful as yours,” Caine said, “you have to take care that it doesn’t warp your mind. Especially with everything that Drew did today. He was trying to break you.”

  Her fingernails dug harder into her skin, and she shook her head. “I’m not broken.”

  “I know,” Caine said. “But you can’t use more powerful magic. Understood?”

  At the far end of the hall, Aurora pushed through a silver-plated door into the circular room, her normally tidy hair flying around, unkempt. Her bright gold dress was torn and singed. For just a moment, her gaze flicked to Rosalind. “I’m sorry about Miranda.” She stalked over to a high-backed chair and sat, her gaze lowered.

  Rosalind swallowed hard. She wasn’t the only person in here who’d lost someone today. Everyone in the room had watched their friends die at the hands of Drew. She turned to Caine, staring at his perfect profile—the thick eyelashes framing his pale eyes. “Did you lose anyone you cared about?” she asked. “Any friends?”

  “Soldiers. Not friends.”

  She was nearly certain she caught a subtle eye roll from Malphas.

  The silver door opened again, and Ambrose strode into the room, leveling his emerald gaze on her. His black aura curled from his body in thorny spikes, and an icy breeze whispered over her skin, scented of rowans and cloves.

  At the scent of him, Cleo’s aura roiled, a vibrant, leafy power. Even now, as Rosalind was dealing with the shockwaves from her sister’s murder, Cleo wanted to jump on the vampire lord and rip the clothes off his perfect body.

  Down, girl. This is not the time.

  “Who can tell me what the fuck happened today?” Ambrose’s voice was a low, animalistic growl that seemed to rumble in her gut.

  Apparently, vampires weren’t into offering condolences or sympathy. Maybe a side effect of watching one generation of humans after another die .

  “What happened today,” Caine began softly, “is that we lost half our army. And we lost our chance at creating daywalkers, when one of our mages was murdered. By a human.”

  Contempt filled his final word, and she couldn’t help but think of what he’d said by the yew tree. And I suppose your humanity makes you better than me, right? By his tone, she’d known exactly how he felt about humans.

  “How did this happen?” Ambrose asked, his words low and controlled.

  “Drew can apparently control the sun. Rosalind says he uses gods-magic. He’s protected by the Brotherhood in Boston, and he has the power to control Rosalind’s mind.”

  “In other words,” Aurora said, “we’re fucked.”

  Chapter 11

  “What happens to Miranda’s second soul?” Ambrose’s gaze slid to Rosalind, as if he was searching for a reaction.

  She kept her expression impassive. This isn’t the end for Miranda. Sometimes the things that are buried will rise again.

  Caine crossed his arms. “My best guess is that her second soul is trapped in the house of shades. I can retrieve it.”

  “That’s dangerous,” Malphas said. “You know you could get lost there.”

  Caine shook his head. “I’ll be fine. And once I find it, we’ll need another human to take it on.”

  “Or a half-human,” Malphas said. “Like you and me.”

  Caine’s expression darkened. “Not you.”

  Malphas frowned. “Why not?”

  “You know why not, Malphas,” Caine snapped.

  Ambrose stalked closer, his gaze fixed on Caine. The vampire lord was nearly as tall as Caine—at least six foot three. “He may be your brother, but this is my kingdom. If Malphas agrees to do it, then so be it. He understands what’s at stake.”

  An electric tension crackled through the room, and goosebumps rose on Rosalind’s skin. Dark magic curled off the two men.

  Who would win in a fight between these two, if it came down to it? Caine had a broader, more muscled build, but Ambrose had a certain quiet ferocity to him that unnerved her. Caine might be the grandson of a shadow god, but a lethal darkness ran deep in Ambrose. If they ever came to blows, the carnage would be brutal.

  Clearly, neither of these men were used to hearing the word no.

  Ambrose was a king. But when it came down to it, he was just a vampire. Caine was a demigod. He’d been allowing Ambrose to rule the city for centuries, probably because he had no interest in being a king. Rosalind had the sense that Caine felt he owed Ambrose something, though she didn’t know what. He seemed to have some deeply ingrained sense of loyalty—but after five centuries, that loyalty might have started to wear thin.

  “Relax, brother,” Malphas said. “We know the risks now, and we know how to avoid them. It won’t be like last time.”

  The vampire lord narrowed his eyes, studying Caine. “We lost half the city today,” he hissed. “Half our army. And we’ll continue to lose them, as long as they’re vulnerable to sunlight. Malphas is the only answer we have. He’s the only human in Lilinor who isn’t a courtesan.”

  “So use a courtesan,” Caine snapped, his eyes blazing with a pale light. “The shield I created will hold. Drew, the alu, the hunters—they won’t be able to get through.”

  “And then what?” Aurora asked. “We stay trapped in here until we starve to death? We won’t be able to get a fresh supply of courtesans or other humans.”

  “I’ll be able to get to and from the other world. I’ll ensure that some of us can come back through the shield,” Caine said quietly. Even he seemed to understand this wasn’t a long-term solution.

  Rosalind’s gaze flicked to a row of silver axes lining the sides of the altar. If the vampires are going to start starving here, maybe I need to upgrade my weapons.

  “Quite the impressive arsenal,” she said. “I don’t suppose I could get my hands on some of that, considering you all are gonna be pretty hungry within a few days.”

  Ambrose stared at her. “These weapons are six hundred years old. We captured tens of thousands of humans in Târgoviște. The vampires showed no mercy, and impaled each human on a stake. We created a forest of the dead that the world has never forgotten.”

  Rosalind’s skin went cold, and she swallowed hard. Not sure how to respond to that.

  His black aura cut the air around him. “I want to recreate the glory of that army. I can’t always depend on night attacks, as I did back then. We need the power of daywalkers for true glory.”

  Rosalind winced. “A forest of dead humans isn’t exactly my ideal vision of the world. Nature has its own balance, don’t you think?”

  Aurora leaned down, pulling an axe from the altar. “We need to be able to defend ourselves from Drew’s new empire. Just like you need to defend yourself.” She crossed the room, handing Rosalind the heavy silver weapon. “Drew not only has the power of the Brotherhood on his side, keeping him safe, but he can use gods-magic. It’s an abomination. And if daywalking vampires are an abomination too, maybe that’s what we need to be to fight back.”

  Rosalind gripped the ax. “What can you tell me about gods-magic?”

  Caine raised his hand, and inky shadows curled from his fingers. “As a demigod, I have a direct line to shadow magic.”

  “Right. And Drew can use magic from all the gods,” Rosalind said.

  “But Drew wasn’t sired by the seven gods,” Ambrose said, “so what the fuck is going on?”

  Rosalind cocked her head. “Actually, according to Drew, we’re both sired by the seven gods. We’re direct descendants of Azazeyl. The One Who Is All. The original fallen god. He fragmented into seven broken gods, who slowly went insane from the split.”

  “Se
ven tormented gods,” Caine said, “desperate to be whole again.”

  “Ridiculous.” Ambrose frowned. “Azayzeyl never existed. He’s a myth that only lunatics believe.”

  “Apparently not,” Rosalind countered, “given what we’ve seen my cousin do. He says that the blood of Blodrial—the seventh god—awakened his powers. Now he drinks it regularly. I’ve had the ambrosia before, but I was wearing an iron ring, so nothing happened. Except it gave me the ability to see magic.”

  “It’s real,” Caine said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. “When Rosalind’s parents called the second souls into our bodies, they used the seal of Azazeyl.”

  Ambrose’s dark aura curled from his body. His green eyes locked on Caine.

  Rosalind’s throat tightened. “I want to get more ambrosia. If Drew is right, I have the same powers he does. I’ll need to leave here long enough to steal some blood from the Chambers. I can be just as strong as he is.”

  Caine’s gaze slid to hers. “You said Drew lost his mind.”

  Her lip curled. “I’ll only use it long enough to murder the bastard.”

  Aurora shook her head. “You want the power of seven gods at your fingertips? Why do I feel like this won’t end well?”

  Rosalind sighed. “I get it. Humans weren’t meant to have this power. Drew seems far crazier than when I first met him. And given that a bluebell stem is the only thing keeping me from being controlled by the voice in my head, there’s a serious risk I could end up completely mental. But like you pointed out, maybe we need to fight Drew with another abomination. You’ll just have to help me get back to normal when it’s all over.”

  Deep in her pocket, she wrapped the stem tighter around her fingertip, nearly cutting off the circulation. “Gods-magic is what we need to kill Drew. I’ll drink the blood. You all can pay for my therapist when we’re done.”

  “Don’t do anything yet,” Caine said. “I’m going back to Maremount first.”

  “Why?” Rosalind asked.

  “I’m going to rip Drew’s flesh from his bones,” he said. “And I’m going to find the seal of Azazeyl while I’m there. If I can get into the House of Shades, I should be able to find Miranda’s second soul. I’ll trap it in the sigil.”

  Rosalind bristled. She wanted to be there to watch Drew die, but she couldn’t leave Lilinor. She still had to raise Miranda from the grave.

  “Good. Find the sigil,” Ambrose said. “And how, exactly, do you get into the House of Shades?”

  “That’s for the gods to know,” Caine said.

  Rosalind’s stomach tightened. What was going on with Caine? That was no way to address a king.

  Ambrose tilted his head, his eyes darkening. “Fine.” His controlled voice belied an icy rage. “But do not try to hunt down Drew on your own. We will have an army to do that, once you return with the sigil. We will create my daywalkers. That is our priority, and I’m not losing another one of my mages.”

  Caine’s eyes had turned black as coal. “My priority is slaughtering Drew.”

  “You may be a demigod,” Ambrose said, “but if Drew is what you say he is, he has the power of seven gods. And I need you to return alive. Do you understand me, incubus?”

  Caine simply tilted his head, staring at Ambrose. The air between them seemed to crackle with tension.

  Rosalind took a deep breath. “The legend is true. I’ve seen the magic with my own eyes. If I drink the blood, I could be used as a weapon against Drew.”

  “This should get interesting,” Aurora muttered.

  Caine touched her arm. “You don’t need to figure this out now. You’re still mourning your sister’s death. Humans are not meant to wield gods-magic, just like you said.”

  Ambrose surveyed Caine coolly. “If these legends are as real as you say, she should drink the blood. Maybe we won’t even need a third soul to create the daywalkers. Rosalind might be enough. I’ll believe it when I see it, but it’s worth a shot—unless you’re worried that your little girlfriend could become more powerful than the great demigod?”

  Caine glared at him. “Has it bothered you all these years, Ambrose, that I’m connected to your god more than you’ll ever be?”

  An oppressive silence enshrouded the room, and the candles flickered in their sconces.

  “Let’s stay focused,” Malphas said, before his gaze slid to Rosalind. “My brother is right. You should mourn your sister before you make any big decisions.”

  “No.” The word came out of her mouth too quickly, too insistently. But the fact was, she wasn’t going to mourn her sister. She was going to bring her back. When she spoke again, she tried to soften her voice. “I mean, we have plenty of other things to worry about. Mourning won’t kill Drew. And you know what will make me feel better? Killing Drew.”

  Burn him, Cleo whispered.

  She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Maybe her own sanity was no longer worth preserving at all costs. “The point is, I think Ambrose is right.”

  “Of course I am,” he said. “If this works, I’ll want to see how you fight. I’m not convinced the Brotherhood trained you properly.”

  Rosalind thought she heard a low growl rise from Caine’s throat. The temperature in the room cooled again, and Caine’s icy gaze bored into Ambrose. “You don’t know how to use gods-magic.”

  “I want to see how she fights,” Ambrose said. “Malphas can teach her the rest. Unless you’re worried about another incubus getting his hands on her.”

  Caine’s sharpened silver aura sliced the air around him. “Why does the idea of this turn my stomach?”

  Aurora straightened. “Because Ambrose and Malphas are the only men on earth who look as good as you, and you’re all thinking with your dicks.”

  Caine turned to Rosalind, and nodded at the ax in her hand. “I trust you know how to look after yourself.”

  She frowned. “What, exactly, are you worried about?”

  “Just take care of your yourself. And don’t let anyone get in your head.”

  Chapter 12

  Rosalind stood in in her bedroom, wrapped in blankets. She wore a black gown, and had her hair piled up on her head.

  How long would it be before Miranda would rot beyond repair?

  Through the open window, the sound of chanting floated on the wind. Beyond the Gelal Field, and past the temple of Nyxobas, the vampires were holding their funeral in the Garden of the Dead.

  She’d lasted about thirty minutes at the death feast—just long enough to listen to some of the eulogies and to give her own half-hearted tribute under a yew tree. She’d felt entirely numb as she’d stood by Miranda’s corpse, with the eyes of an entire vampire city on her.

  She told the one story she knew: that Miranda had never stopped looking for her. It wasn’t a brilliant tale, with a beginning and an end, but it was the one thing she knew for certain. As she’d spoken, Caine and Malphas had stood on either side of her. And when Caine leaned in to tell her she could go if she wanted—before they covered Miranda in dirt—she took off up the hill on her own.

  Now, from her spot on her bed, she could still hear the mournful songs drifting through the city. She hadn’t shed a single tear today—but maybe there was no point in mourning a sister who wasn’t going to stay dead.

  A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts, and she rose from her bed. She wrapped the sheet tightly around her as she crossed the room to pull open the door.

  Aurora stood in the hall, dressed in a long red gown, a red rose tucked behind her ear. All the vampires had been wearing red at the funeral—apparently it was Lilinor’s color of death.

  “Caine sent me to check on you,” Aurora said. “He couldn’t leave yet.”

  “I’m fine. I’m just taking the time alone to think a few things over.”

  Aurora studied her. “Why do I feel like you’re planning something?”

  “Maybe I am. Come in.” Rosalind turned, stalking back to her bed.

  Aurora stepped into the
room. “Starting to get a bad feeling about this.”

  “Miranda’s story wasn’t finished. No one even knows what it was.”

  “I’m sorry.” Aurora reached into her handbag, pulling out a small, silver flask. She handed it to Rosalind, and when she did, Rosalind noticed the tremor in the vampire’s hands.

  “Are you okay?” Rosalind asked.

  Aurora plopped down on the bed. “I’m sick of watching vampires burn. A couple of months ago, the Brotherhood’s Hunters took us to a field in Belmont. They opened the van in the broad daylight. Caine saved me, but I heard the screams as the other vamps died. I still hear them in my dreams. I can still smell their flesh burning. Today, it was worse.”

  Rosalind’s chest ached. “I can see why you’d want the daywalker spell so badly. ”

  “All I know is, if we don’t do something, all of Lilinor will burn. And now we’ve lost Miranda.”

  “What if we could get her back?” Rosalind asked.

  “What are you going on about?”

  “Caine will never let Malphas take on the extra soul. I don’t know what happened to Caine after he gained his extra soul, but whatever it was, he won’t talk about it. And he doesn’t want the same thing to happen to his baby brother. Neither Caine nor Ambrose trust the courtesans enough to allow them to take on this power. Plus, they’d have to be trained to control magic, and we don’t have time for that.”

  “Right. But Miranda’s dead.”

  And if we don’t act quickly, we won’t be able to get her back. Rosalind’s fingers tightened on the bedsheets. “But maybe she doesn’t have to stay that way.”

  Aurora stared at her for a long moment. “I hope you’re not talking about bone-conjuring.”

  “You said it’s possible. Isn’t there a book somewhere?” She took a deep breath. “The night before she died, she said something to me: ‘Sometimes what’s buried rises again.’ I think it was some sort of message. I heard her voice again, whispering through the bells by the yew.”