Aurora shook her head slowly. “Maybe it was just a hallucination. Just nonsense.”
Rosalind rose on shaking legs. “Why do you think the spell didn’t work the way it should have?”
“I have no idea. Apparently, Nyxobas doesn’t want to give your sister back.”
Chapter 17
Dressed in her battle gear, Rosalind stalked down the hall to the armory, choking down her bitter disappointment. She was supposed to meet Ambrose; he’d said he wanted to see how she handled herself in a fight.
She shuddered. It would be hard to focus on Ambrose when she could still feel the shadows of Nyxobas whispering through her blood, tempting her to the cold, clean void.
As she walked, her footsteps echoed off the ceiling. Nyxobas had dominion over the dead, and she’d toyed directly with his power. They’d tried the spell three more times, and each time she’d thought of Caine, and felt the power of the night god flowing through her. She’d seen the visions from his memories: the woman with blond hair, the child with gray eyes. She’d watched the valkyries attack Caine, closing in on him in the forest, had recoiled as he’d cut into their flesh.
But each time the visions cleared, the magic simply wafted uselessly in the air above her sister’s corpse before disappearing into the night sky.
Why the hell didn’t it work? Maybe we baked the bread wrong. Maybe the ancient alchemists weren’t big on the specifics of spell mechanics.
And by the final try, the spell hadn’t worked at all. No visions from Caine, no rush of shadow magic. Nyxobas hadn’t granted her permission, and Miranda still lay dead in her grave.
Almost as bad was the nagging worry that she might have seen a vision of Caine in some serious trouble, plagued by a horde of valkyries. She was pretty sure he’d been in a forest in Maremount.
Or maybe Aurora had been right, and it was nothing but a hallucination.
The cut on her forehead, from where Erish had knocked her into the floor, still stung. She reached up to touch it, and a smudge of blood came off on her finger. She hadn’t had time to clean up properly—it had been a mad dash from Erish, to the yew tree, back to her room to change, and now down to the armory.
She approached the armory, wiped the blood off on her pants, then pulled open the door. As soon as she stepped into the room, her pulse sped up.
Ambrose stood in the center of the room, dressed in black. He stood rigid with that eerie, preternatural stillness that raised the hair on the back of her neck. Shadows licked the air around him.
“Close the door,” he snarled.
His steely tone unnerved her, and she swallowed hard, pulling the door closed behind her. She was suddenly acutely aware that she was alone in a room with a predator. One who—right now—seemed more demon than human, who seemed to be staring at her from the depths of hell itself.
Silently, he cocked his head, the movement oddly reptilian.
She wanted to break the tension, to draw a spark of humanity from him. “I went to see Erish,” she ventured. “To find out about the ambrosia. She confirmed it would make me lose my mind.”
“A small sacrifice.”
“She’s very skinny, and cold. And she’s filthy. I told her I would speak to you about—”
His eyes flashed with white light. “Lock the door.”
So much for that. Her heart thudded, and she turned to the door, sliding the bolt to lock it. When she faced forward again, her heart leapt into her throat.
Ambrose had crossed the room in that fraction of a second, and was standing within inches of her. His hands shot out, and he gripped her wrists, pinning them to the wall. He stood a head taller than her, his body made of pure muscle. His eyes—two dark abysses—stared down at her, and her stomach flipped.
Why do I get the feeling that I screwed up, big time?
His sharp incisors glinted. “You’ve done three things wrong. Can you tell me what they are?”
Rosalind pressed herself flat against the wall, desperate to get away from that dark, penetrating stare.
She had a guess about one of those infractions. She hadn’t been willing to leave Miranda, so she was probably a minute or so late. Is he really that particular about lateness? Seven hells.
Still, with her arms pinned to the door, this didn’t seem like the time to argue. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“One, you showed up late.”
Okay. So he is a stickler for punctuality.
“You won’t waste my time again.” His lip curled in a sneer. “Two. You won’t show mercy for our enemies. Not Erish. Not Drew. Not anyone who has tried to kill us. Mercy will be your death.”
“Right now I feel like you’ll be my death.”
Lantern light contoured his sharp cheekbones, like a perfect marble sculpture. “That brings me to my third point. I told you not to come to me when you were bleeding.” His gaze lowered to her neck.
Her pulse raced. He had her pinned in a vice-like grip, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do if he wanted to tear out her throat. Cleo’s aura whorled through her belly, warming her body. He’s beautiful, isn’t he? Now is the time. I told you to take off your clothes and show him your body. Kiss his neck.
Part of her was deeply, seriously pissed off at this flagrant display of vamp testosterone, yet Cleo wanted her to give in to it. Wanted his mouth on her neck, his teeth in her throat.
Somehow, she no longer felt complete control over herself. She felt her head tilting back, exposing her throat to him. Heat warmed her chest. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Ambrose let out a low growl—softer than she’d expected. The tips of his fangs grazed her skin.
But this wasn’t why she’d come here. She hadn’t come to give Ambrose her blood.
She was here to fight.
With Ambrose’s spicy scent in her nostrils, Cleo’s magic curled around her spine. Touch his powerful body, Cleo whispered.
“Shut up Cleo,” Rosalind said through clenched teeth.
Immediately, Ambrose dropped her hands and jumped away from her, a horrified look on his face. “What did you say?”
She rubbed her wrists where he’d been gripping them. “Nothing. I was just telling Cleo to shut up.”
“Cleo,” he said. His skin had gone a shade paler than normal.
“Right.” The name Cleo seemed to agitate him. She swallowed hard. “My extra soul.”
For now, maybe best to leave out the part where she wants to bang him and then light him on fire.
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Sorry about the blood hunger. That’s why you mustn’t come here with blood on your body.” He looked away from her, staring at the wall. “There’s water for you on the altar. I know humans require it when you exert yourselves.”
She crossed to the altar, picking up a small pitcher. “What, exactly, are we doing here?”
“I want to see how you fight.”
“I can fight fine. But if I drink the ambrosia, I’ll need magic training.” She poured a few drops of water onto her hand to wash off the blood on her fingertips. “I’ll need help controlling the gods’ power. And I need Malphas for that.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” He ran his tongue over his sharpened incisors. “Apparently you don’t know the true place of humans here in Lilinor.”
A shiver ran up her spine. What the hell is his problem? “Oh, I’ve met one of your courtesans,” she said, glaring at him. “but I’m not here as one of your human slaves. You need me—that’s clear enough. Maybe you’re forgetting your place.”
She didn’t know Ambrose well, but she didn’t think Caine would let her stay here under the protection of a complete psychopath—and with that thought, a strange revelation bubbled in the back of her mind: Apparently, I actually trust Caine.
Ambrose took a step closer, letting his eyes rake over her body. “I’m going to enjoy punishing you.”
Her anger simmered. “What is wrong with you?”
In the next moment, his hand w
as around her throat. “I’ve added a fourth rule to my list: Don’t speak until I’ve asked you a question. And don’t presume to look me in the eye.”
A hundred retorts blared through her mind, like Take your hands off my throat, you alpha dickhole. But she choked down every one of them, because the fact was she couldn’t take Ambrose in a fight. She knew better than to argue with a vampire lord in the thrall of blood-hunger.
But her anger simmered, and Cleo’s rage was only adding fuel to the fire. In the darkest recesses of her mind, Cleo’s melodic voice sang, Fuck him to oblivion. Then kill him. Cleo’s song drowned out Rosalind’s own thoughts, until she could think of nothing else. Angry heat warmed her cheeks, and her body began to shake. Her teeth chattered as molten anger flooded her veins. I know what’s coming next. I know what it feels like when battle fury claims my body.
Surging with adrenalin, she slammed her forearms into Ambrose’s wrists, kicking him in the groin at the same time. He dropped his grip, and she punched him hard in the carotid artery.
His eyes bulged, then his hands flew out, gripping her wrists again. With stunningly swift power, he pinned them to her side. He stared down at her again, his lip curling in a terrifying smile.
He thinks he owns you, Cleo whispered. Punish him now. Kiss him later—when you’ve tamed him.
Anger flooded her, and she headbutted him. His head whipped back, but he only held tighter to her wrists. She brought her knee up into his groin a second time; when it connected, his grip loosened just a little. She yanked one hand free, slipping it into his hair to pull back his head.
I have you in my thrall now.
Cleo’s aura surged, claiming Rosalind’s mind. She was no longer in the armory, but standing in the center of the rowan grove, in a silky dress that caressed her thighs. Stars engrave the night sky. When Ambrose comes, he’ll run his fingers over my hips, over my belly, gentle as a flower petal… He’ll bed me in the wildflowers. He says he’ll always keep me safe…
Rosalind’s vision cleared, and she was in the armory again—pressed between the altar and Ambrose’s strong body. He pinned both wrists behind her back, gripping them tightly in one of his hands. Inky shadows curled from his cold body, and a low growl rose from his throat as he glared down at her.
Her stomach lurched. “What the hell are you doing, Ambrose?”
Cleo’s aura caressed her ribs. He’s doing what’s in his nature. Taking what he wants. Using you, like he did to me.
Damn it, Cleo. That was the worst possible time to hit me with one of your visions.
What exactly was Ambrose doing here? Caine had told her not to let anyone mess with her mind, and she was pretty sure Ambrose was doing exactly that.
And there it was again: She actually trusted Caine.
Cleo’s aura stroked her skin, raising goosebumps. You have more than one way to disarm him, Rosalind.
Rosalind tilted her head back, exposing her neck. Cleo purred in the back of her mind, and the filthy scent of blooming rowans enveloped her. Now I remember how sweet you were, Ambrose. Don’t you remember how sweet I could be, before you destroyed me?
Rosalind pulled Ambrose closer, and his beautiful lips hovered just over hers. “You said you’d always keep me safe,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him.
Ambrose pulled away. “What did you say?”
Rosalind blinked, shaking her head. “That wasn’t me. That was Cleo.”
Ambrose’s eyes widened. Hands shaking, he smoothed his shirt.
Rosalind frowned. “Can you explain to me what’s going on? Or am I not allowed to speak unless I’m spoken to?”
He straightened. “Now you understand why you must never come to see me while you’re bleeding. If I see your vulnerability, I won’t be able to control myself. It’s part of the curse of the vampire.”
“Complete domination of anyone you perceive as weak.”
“That is the heart of any demon. If you want to survive among the monsters, you must remember our nature.”
This was the first time she’d heard a demon admit that. “Surely not all demons have the same nature.”
“Some want blood; some are driven to rule your mind. We all want sex. And an incubus in particular… well, I’m sure you understand.”
She knew how incubi were supposed to work. But Caine had never lost control around her, had never tried to control her mind or force her to do anything she didn’t want. He’d been completely in control of himself, even when she’d stripped off in front of him. “I haven’t seen that side of him.”
Ambrose arched an eyebrow. “Apparently he has more restraint than I do.”
She crossed her arms. “Honestly, he’s always been a perfect gentleman around me.”
Ambrose smirked. “Then I would assume he has no interest in you. He has been with many beautiful women before.”
His words stung, and suddenly she wanted to change the subject. “Why am I here? What were we supposed to do before you went psycho-vamp?”
“I need to teach you to fight. Real fighting, not what you’ve learned among the humans. I know how you practice at the Brotherhood. You have rules—no gouging out eyes, no tearing out flesh with your teeth. You’ll have to abandon those trappings of civility.”
“I see. You’re accusing me of being civilized.”
“You fight more viciously than I would have expected. Was that you, or Cleo?”
“At least some of it was me,” she said. “I’m no stranger to fighting after the past month, and I’ve been training in combat fighting. I just need to learn magic. Do I really need to learn how to gouge out eyes, or can we get on with figuring out how to take on Drew?”
Ambrose cocked his head. “If you let that sort of savagery out when you fight Drew and the Brotherhood, perhaps you don’t need me. Maybe you need to let Cleo do the fighting.”
Rosalind bit her lip. “What did she look like? Blonde hair, pale skin, hazel eyes?”
He narrowed his eyes. “How did you know?”
“I saw her reflection. Erish saw her too, a glimpse of her when she looked at me.” She frowned. “What happened with you and Cleo?”
Ambrose’s eyes darkened. “It’s none of your concern. I need to know if you’re going to drink the blood.”
Rosalind stepped closer to Ambrose, grabbing him by the wrists. “This is how you like to have conversations, isn’t? And my answer is… I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”
Chapter 18
Rosalind strode down the dank, earthen hall, on her way to see Erish a second time. According to Ambrose, she wasn’t supposed to show mercy to her enemies. But Ambrose had a little preoccupation for total domination that she didn’t share. She could think for herself, and her own thoughts highlighted two things.
One—there was no benefit in making a captive suffer. Erish needed to be caged, sure, but they gained nothing by freezing and starving her.
And two—maybe Erish could be useful. Erish knew how to use gods-magic, and she knew how Drew operated. And she wasn’t likely to give up her secrets when resentment boiled her blood.
Rosalind carried a basket full of fresh bread and cheese, some freshly cleaned and folded clothes, water and washing cloths. Tucked under her arm were a wool blanket and a small pillow.
Dim candlelight danced over Erish’s barren cage, and the succubus sat rigid in her cell. She looked more skeleton than human. Only her dark eyes swiveled to Rosalind, glinting with anger. “Ah. You’ve come to gloat again.”
“I told you I’d speak to Ambrose about your conditions.” This wasn’t the time to ask for a bargain. If she wanted to get Erish on her side, she’d have to be patient.
“And now you’re sneaking down here on your own. Looks like he takes your opinion very seriously.”
“He’s got a bit of a god complex.”
“So you’ve noticed.”
Rosalind sat on the dirty floor, lowering herself to the same level as Erish. She handed Erish the bread and cheese. The succub
us snatched them, ripping into the bread with stunning ferocity.
As she chewed, she fixed her eyes on Rosalind. “You’re not gloating, are you?” she said between bites. “You’re miserable.” She swallowed hard. “What do you have to be so miserable about? Apart from the fact that you’re dying, you have everything you need. Beauty. Food. The attentions of gorgeous men who want to fuck you.”
“When we were in Maremount, you said that your sisters were killed.”
“By humans,” Erish snarled.
Rosalind had seen one of their heads—now petrified—adorning the city’s drinking fountain. “Well, now we have something in common.”
“Your twin?” Erish ripped off another hunk of bread. “What happened to her?”
“Drew killed her. Right in front of me.”
Erish swallowed a bite of bread. “He is a bit twisted, isn’t he?”
You don’t know the half of it. As she sat across from the ancient demon, an idea sparked in her mind. “I don’t suppose you know how to raise a body from the grave?”
“Is that why you’ve come here with this bread and those clothes?” Erish snarled. “I was wondering what you wanted.”
Rosalind shook her head. “Never mind.” She pushed the blankets and fresh clothes through the bars, glancing at Erish’s chains. “Do you need help washing and changing your clothes?”
Erish stared at her. “I’ll manage.”
Rosalind stood, brushing off her pants. “I’ll come back with more food tomorrow.” She turned, but as she began to walk away, Erish’s voice stopped her.
“Rosalind. Wait.”
Rosalind stopped walking.
“Drink the ambrosia,” Erish continued. “Use Nyxobas’s shadow magic to raise your sister.”
The ambrosia. Rosalind turned back to Erish.
“I wish I’d had the gods-magic when my sisters died,” the succubus muttered softly.
Blood Hunter (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 3) Page 12
