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

by C. N. Crawford

  And for that, she’d need the ambrosia.

  Luckily, she knew exactly where to find it. She tiptoed through a set of doors toward the Great Hall, straining her eyes to see in the dark. A shiver rippled over her skin as she took in the chalice carvings on the hall’s oak door. This was where Miranda had nearly killed her; in the dark hall beyond this door, she’d nearly burned to death. Both she and her sister had had their minds broken and twisted by Blodrial’s followers.

  She checked over her shoulder, making sure the hall was empty, then pulled open the door. As soon as she did, a deep crimson aura curled through the air—and with it, the sound of a blaring siren. So they were using magic now.

  Heart racing, Rosalind closed her eyes. Cleo. I need some help now, or your little vessel won’t live long enough to seduce Ambrose.

  In an instant, shining Angelic words blazed in her mind; she incanted them, letting the magic ignite her body with power. As she chanted, the alarm faded.

  Still, the damage had been done. A banging noise made her turn her head, and she glimpsed two men running down the hall—Hunters, gripping canisters of dust. A tall, wiry man and a stocky blond. She didn’t recognize either of them.

  Good. That’ll make this easier.

  Her pulse raced. Kill or be killed. She drew her knives. If she let them spray her with that dust, she’d be helpless here—visible, magic-free, and in extreme pain.

  She threw the first knife, and it arced through the air, finding its mark in the wiry Hunter’s heart. The blond’s eyes widened, in too much shock to act quickly. She threw the second knife, and it buried in his chest—a few inches to the right of his heart.

  Shit. She’d missed the mark.

  He fell to the ground, dropping the canister and gasping. Her heart thundering against her ribs, she ran to him. As she stood over him, he stared into the air, unable to see his executioner. A gurgling rose from his throat. A drop of blood slid from his lip, and his eyes blazed with fear. He was going to die, and he knew it.

  Rosalind’s throat tightened. It was a lot easier to kill a guy from far away. Still, she had to act fast; more Hunters would follow. She pulled the misericord from her belt, crouching down. She plunged the thin blade into his ear, watching his eyelids flutter.

  There wasn’t time for guilt now. She stood, rushing for the door. Adrenalin surged in her veins. Where the hell is the magic coming from? She pushed through the door. Moonlight streamed through the oculus, casting a circle of light on the floor. Just outside the pale sphere stood a stone lectern with an iron compartment, locked by an electronic keypad.

  The Hunters were still using human technology, but it wouldn’t be long before they evolved.

  Luckily, she didn’t need to know the code—not after Cleo’s electromagnetic pulse. Her hands shook, and she hurried to the lectern, yanking opening the compartment. An iron flask stood in the center. She snatched it, shoving it into her belt.

  But as she rose, a familiar aura seeped into her nostrils: moldering hemlock, the color of dried blood. Fetid magic crawled over her flesh like spider legs, erasing the cloaking spell. She glanced down at herself. she was completely visible now.

  Slowly, Rosalind turned. Stepping into the light was a behemoth of a demon with bone-colored skin and cheekbones sharp as knives. Horns grew from his forehead, and sharp tattoos marked his bare chest. He glared at her with empty, ivory orbs.

  Bileth.

  Chapter 14

  Rosalind’s heart climbed up her throat. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was going to ask you the same, my little beauty.” His voice rumbled through the hall. “And then I saw you take the ambrosia.”

  If there was ever a time to have a direct line into magic, it was now. She was trapped in a standoff—unable to chant an Angelic spell without Bileth snapping her neck with his mind.

  He took a step closer, a grin curling his lips. “I do remember with fondness the time you impaled me with a silver spear. In fact, it fuels my most depraved fantasies. I trust the memory is fresh in your mind as well?”

  Her throat went dry. She’d always wondered what had happened to Bileth—he’d been full of fury, desperate for revenge. And then he’d simply given up.

  Still, she couldn’t quite get her mind around what he was doing in the Chambers. Drew was one thing. Drew, at least drank Blodrial’s ambrosia. But Bileth was pure, muscled shadow demon. An ancient acolyte of Nyxobas, forged in the shadow void.

  “What are you doing with Randolph and the Hunters?” she asked in desperation. “Why have they allowed you in here?”

  He clenched his meaty fingers and took another step closer. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” His deep red aura curled off him, and he glided closer. “Accomplice. Close enough.”

  She didn’t understand. “You mean me?”

  A low growl rumbled through the room. “You really think you’re that important, little girl? You think you’re my enemy?”

  She needed to get out of here. Any second, a phalanx of Hunters could appear. At least with Bileth, she could figure out a way to distract him long enough for her to launch into a teleportation spell.

  “Okay, so I don’t know who your enemy is.” She took a step closer to him, and surprise flickered in his eyes. “But you still think fondly of the time I stabbed you. What do you mean it fuels your most depraved fantasies?”

  If she could pull a knife from her belt, she could stab him a second time. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would stun him just long enough that she could get out of here.

  He glided another inch closer, and her fingers twitched at her belt. Before she could grip a knife’s hilt, Bileth’s powerful hand was around her throat. With one hand, he lifted her from the ground, crushing her neck. She kicked at him, but the demon simply reached down, ripping the blades from her weapon belt and flinging each one across the room. Her lungs burned as he squeezed her throat.

  He pulled the flask from her belt, looking it over. “Poison,” he snarled.

  He dropped her, and she fell to the ground, gasping. She touched her bruised throat. Shit. So much for the knife plan.

  “What do I mean about my depraved fantasies?” Bileth reached down, pulling her up by the hair. “When I think of your impertinence, your stunning human arrogance, it makes it all the more exciting when I think of all the ways I will punish you. You thought you’d escaped, didn’t you? You thought I’d forget?”

  His fetid aura slithered under her skin, and her heart hammered. He was going to try to control her mind.

  And maybe she’d play along, just long enough to figure out how to get out of here.

  She focused on forcing the maroon tendrils out of her body. If I can see magic, I can control it.

  “Take off all your weapons,” Bileth growled.

  Rosalind widened her eyes, giving her best impression of a compliant little victim.

  Bileth shifted closer, stroking his thumb up her cheek. The demon’s touch was cold and damp, and she tried not to shudder. Still gripping her hair, he trailed his thumb over her lips, then shoved it in her mouth. His waxy skin tasted of stale milk, and she tried not to gag.

  Her stomach turned. Okay. I don’t want to play along anymore.

  He released his grip on her hair. “Take off your clothes.”

  Rosalind’s heart pounded. Cleo, I want the spell now.

  Cleo’s aura roiled. Not yet, Rosalind. Wait until he can’t see your mouth moving.

  Swallowing her disgust, Rosalind reached down, unbuttoning her shirt. Bileth let out a low growl, staring at her. He reached out, stroking her collarbone. Then he pinched her skin between his fingers, twisting it hard.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she tried not to shout. She needed to act compliant.

  Bileth pulled his hand away. “The rest. Now.”

  She bent down, unzipping her boots and sliding them off. Any time now, Cleo. She slid her hands down to her pants, unbuttoning them. Fucking hell. This was a bad idea. I sh
ould have kept the weapons on me.

  Revulsion twisted her gut as she slid out of her pants. Cleo, I need to get out of here.

  No spell rose in her mind as she straightened, staring straight into his blazing ivory eyes.

  The door slammed open, and from the corner of her eye she saw a line of Hunters burst into the room, guns drawn.

  Her cheeks burned. And here I am, standing in my sheer black underwear.

  Cleo’s aura blazed. It’s your body, you fool. Don’t be ashamed of it, and they have no power over you.

  Her mage friend had a point.

  “Lie on the ground and put your hands behind your head,” shouted one of the Hunters.

  Bileth held up a hand. “She’s mine right now. You can watch.”

  So they knew he was here, and they allowed it.

  “But, you…” one of the Hunters stammered. “We need to arrest her.”

  You. Hunters addressed their officers as Sir. Rosalind had the sense that the Hunter didn’t know how to address Bileth. He was stronger than they were, completely lethal, and to some degree the Brotherhood had opened the doors to him.

  But they didn’t accept him. He terrified and revolted them. As he should.

  Bileth gripped the back of her hair again, pulling her head back. Her heart tightened.

  I need two spells. One for the flask, and one to leave. Two spells, Cleo.

  The Hunters looked on as Bileth slid his other hand around her waist. He pulled her closer.

  Two spells, Cleo.

  Bile climbed up her throat as the demon opened his mouth. Her stomach clenched as she waited for a slimy tongue or cold lips on her neck.

  But Bileth had another idea. He opened his mouth and bit down hard on her shoulder, tearing at her flesh.

  Pain ripped her apart, and she clenched her teeth, trying not to cry out. Two spells, Cleo. She tilted her face away from the Hunters just slightly. She didn’t want them to see her grimace, to see her lips move.

  Letters blazed in her mind, an angelic word for magnetic rock. Rosalind whispered it, holding out her left hand out of the Hunters’ view. The iron flask flew into her grip.

  Bileth bit deeper, and the pain nearly blinded her.

  Cleo offered up the second spell, the one for teleportation, and Rosalind whispered the words, keeping her head slightly turned. The pain was excruciating, but after one last rip of Bileth’s sharp teeth, she was free, her body teleporting away.

  At the edge of the dank crypt, she fell to her knees, clutching the flask. “I’m free,” she whispered to herself. She touched her ravaged shoulder, wincing at the deep wound. Her body trembled, and nausea flooded her.

  She needed to get back to Lilinor now. Bileth knew how to find the portal to Lilinor. In fact, Bileth could probably come into Lilinor whenever he wanted—his ugly portrait hung over the damn entrance to the castle.

  Shit shit shit.

  Flask in hand, she stood and leapt into the pool of freezing water. The cold shocked the pain from her body, and she sank deep under the water. When her lungs burned, she glanced up, glimpsing the rays of moonlight streaming into the water. She kicked her legs, fighting her way up.

  Her arms breached the surface, and she pulled her way out of the pool. The pain from her shoulder stole her breath, and she watched the blood pour from her wound, pooling in red rivulets on the tile.

  It was only a moment before strong hands were lifting her up. Ambrose’s green eyes widened, and he slid a hand around her waist. He pulled her closer, his touch like silk on her skin. Moonlight streamed in from the open ceiling, washing his skin in silver. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  In the next moment, his mouth hovered over her neck, his fingers clamping on her waist in a vice-like grip. He emitted a low groan.

  Rosalind’s heart pounded against her ribs. Shit. I’ve just presented a bleeding neck to a vampire. She slid her hands up his chest, hard as marble, and tried to push him away. “Ambrose. Stop.”

  He growled, gripping her tightly. A full head taller than her, he stared down. Fury blazed in his eyes. “Don’t ever come to see me like this again—half naked and covered in blood.”

  Cleo’s aura swirled off her body, stroking Ambrose’s skin, and her voice rang in Rosalind’s skull. Why don’t you give him what he wants?

  Rosalind ignored her, trying to gather her thoughts. Her body burned from the exertion of the teleportation spell, and it was hard to concentrate with Ambrose’s iron grip around her. “Ambrose. I need you to listen to me. Can Bileth get through Caine’s shield?”

  Ambrose’s entire body went rigid. “Why are you asking about Bileth?” he growled.

  “He’s the one who took my clothes and the chunk of flesh from my shoulder.” A cool breeze whispered over her back.

  Almost imperceptibly, Ambrose’s fingers tightened on her waist. Dark rage crossed his features, nearly distracting her from the searing pain in her shoulder. “Bileth did this? How? Why?”

  “He was in the Chambers. He seems to be working with the Brotherhood. He mentioned that old adage about ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ But I have no idea who he’s talking about.”

  Ambrose loosened his grip on her, forcing himself to step away.

  Her gaze flicked to the bed, where two nubile blonde courtesans pulled up sheets to cover their naked bodies. Blood dripped from their necks. Apparently, she’d interrupted a little vamp-on-human menage.

  A drop of blood glistened on Ambrose’s lip, and he licked it off. “Bileth can’t get in here with the shield Caine put in place.”

  “What did he mean about his enemies? Why is he working with the demon hunters?”

  “He’s talking about me.”

  Pain still screamed through her shoulder, but his eyes transfixed her. Her pulse raced, and Cleo’s voice rose in her mind. You should feel his kiss. “Why would Bileth consider you his enemy? I thought you worked together. His picture hangs in the castle.”

  He lowered his mouth to her neck. Without thinking, she tilted back her head, exposing her throat. So that’s how vampires control their victims.

  Before his fangs reached her throat, he abruptly dropped his grip on her. His body buzzed with dark magic. “I can’t think straight around you.” His gaze slid down her body, taking in her bare skin. “I need to heal your shoulder. Now.”

  Ambrose, Cleo whispered. Come closer.

  He bit into his wrist, letting his own blood pool, and held it to her mouth. “Drink.” Blood dripped from his wrist.

  You’ll like this, said Cleo.

  “What will happen if I drink your blood?”

  “You’ll heal. Drink.”

  “If I drink your blood, won’t it change my thoughts and make me one of your mindless followers?”

  “Drink.”

  Her lip curled. “I like the way Caine heals me better.”

  Ambrose inched closer, and an impulse from the ancient recesses of her brain compelled her to tilt back her head again. He pressed his bleeding wrist to her mouth, and as soon as the first salty drop hit her tongue, she began to suck.

  A dark heat flooded her body, a primal power. As she drank from Ambrose’s wrist, the pain in her shoulder melted away. She drank deeper, letting it drip down the back of her throat. Deep in her core, a slow fire simmered.

  Ambrose gripped her hair, pulling her mouth away from his wrist. “That’s enough, Rosalind.”

  Raw power blazed through her veins, and she stared at the vampire lord. His pupils had turned blood red.

  “You got the ambrosia,” Ambrose said, slowly pulling his gaze away from her. He stared at the night sky, obviously trying to avoid eye contact. “Good work.”

  Cleo’s aura lit her body on fire. Now, Rosalind. It’s time to make good on our bargain. With Cleo’s iron will urging her on, and the intoxicating rush of Ambrose’s blood burning through her veins, she couldn’t resist taking another step, running a hand up his chest…

  A sly smile curled his lips, and his fingers
found their way around her waist again. His gaze trailed over her neck. “I thought you belonged to Caine.”

  “I don’t belong to anyone.” Except Cleo, apparently. Sweet earthly gods, I can’t do this. “Cleo demands things from me,” she blurted. “Every time I want a spell from her, I have to strike a bargain.”

  He froze. “What sort of bargain?”

  “I know you have a history with her. She knows you. And you know her, too, don’t you?”

  Ambrose’s muscles tensed, and he pulled his hands away from her waist, grabbing her chin. “I could smell her on you the first time we met.” He stared into Rosalind’s eyes, and her pulse raced. Ambrose was every bit as unnerving as the first day she met him. “And I think I know what she wants from me.” He dropped his hand.

  Rosalind tightened her fists to keep herself from touching him. She wants to bang you, and then murder you.

  “She wants my death,” he said.

  “That’s part of it.” Rosalind wiped her chin, glancing down at the smear of blood on the back of her hand. “Who is she? What happened between you?”

  Ambrose stared down at her. “Here’s the part you need to know. I want you to drink that gods-blood. Now. You need to tap into the gods-magic. You can’t strike a bargain with Cleo every time you need to use a spell. You can’t let her control you. You will use her only when it’s time to make the daywalkers.”

  I just love how these vampires speak in commands. “I need a little more time.”

  “For what?” he barked.

  “Just give me an hour to do a little research first.” What she really wanted to do was to dig Miranda up from the earth and try the spell for Nyxobas, but Ambrose seemed to be pushing her along at a breakneck speed to develop the gods’ powers.

  “And how do you intend to do research?”

  “I’m going down to the dungeons. I’m going to talk to your wife.”

  “Whatever you need to do, Rosalind, do it fast. We have work to do.”