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

by C. N. Crawford

  “When I saw you in Maremount, after you drank the ambrosia—”

  “I lost my wits.” Erish cocked her head. “But they’ve returned. I can’t promise the same will be true of a human. You must decide if it’s worth the risk.”

  “I don’t yet know how to use gods-magic. Malphas is supposed to teach me, after I drink the blood.”

  “It’s shadow magic. Just think of your lover, and he’ll find a way to help you.”

  “What lover?”

  “Don’t play coy. I’ve told you everything you need to know.”

  Rosalind nodded, gripping the empty basket. “Thank you.”

  She turned again, hurrying down the earthen hall. Gods-magic. She had a choice to make, but it wasn’t much of a choice at all. She could abandon her sister to the afterworld. She could let Drew take over Boston and Cambridge, burn all the vampires, destroy Caine, and force her to be his mindless, brainwashed wife. A dead-eyed vessel for his progeny.

  Or she could drink the ambrosia.

  What did she have to lose? Her mind. And what good was that anyway, with a dead witch taking control?

  Climbing the stairs, she pulled the flask from her pocket. If Caine were here, he could tell me what gods-magic feels like. How to use it.

  How was he doing, anyway? She couldn’t tell day from night here in Lilinor, but it must have been two days at least since Caine had left. Loneliness pressed on her like a hundred rocks.

  At the top of the stairwell, she pushed through a tall oak door into a dark stone hall. Moonlight streamed through the windows, but shadows crept over the hall like long fingers. A chill rippled over her skin.

  Maybe it was time to pay Miranda’s grave a visit again. Maybe it was time to drink from Blodrial’s veins.

  Drink, child, said Cleo. Let the gods-magic flow through your veins.

  Rosalind stalked through the dark halls, the candlelight dancing over the stone floor. As she walked, the hair rose on the back ofher neck. She shivered. Why do I have the feeling that I’m not alone?

  A scraping noise turned her head, and she caught a flicker of liquid movement in the shadows. She reached down to her waist, pulling a hawthorn stake from a holster. “Who’s there?”

  “Easy there, Hunter.” Frowning, Tammi stepped from the shadows, dressed in white.

  Rosalind heaved a sigh of relief. “Tammi? What are you doing in here? I thought you were supposed to be stuck in the Abzu.”

  Tammi crossed to Rosalind, wrapping her arms around her. “I knew something was wrong. No one would tell me what had happened.” She squeezed Rosalind tight, and Rosalind hugged her back. “I just snuck out to find you.”

  Gods, it was a relief to have Tammi back. Rosalind sucked in a deep breath. “Something terrible happened.”

  “I knew it. What was it?”

  “Miranda is dead.” Rosalind’s eyes filled with tears.

  “What?”

  “Drew found his way into our city, with an army of demons. He’s turned into a complete psychopath. He burned dozens of vampires.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “He stabbed Miranda. He tried to make me do it, but I didn’t. So he killed her.”

  Tammi’s jaw dropped, and her eyes filled with tears. “No.”

  “I’m going to try to bring her back.”

  Tammi wrapped her arms around her in a tight embrace. “And how do you plan to do that?” she asked, her voice muffled by Rosalind’s neck.

  “Ambrosia. The starved succubus in the basement tells me it will work.”

  Tammi pulled away. “You can’t possibly trust her. Won’t the ambrosia make you mental?”

  “I’m already mental.”

  “You seem fine to me.”

  Rosalind shrugged. “Well, I guess I have practice wrestling with the voices in my head. So maybe I’ll deal better with madness than Drew has.”

  Tammi narrowed her silver eyes. “I’m not sure about your reasoning.”

  Rosalind clutched the flask—her new salvation. “It’s not just to raise my sister. We need it to stop Drew. He can wield a new kind of magic that’s nearly impossible to fight. And since I’m from the same blood line, apparently I can too. I need to fight fire with fire. Otherwise I’ll end up as his slave, and he’ll turn half the country into mind-controlled demons.”

  “There’s got to be another way.”

  Rosalind waved a dismissive hand. She didn’t want anyone dissuading her, now that she’d made up her mind. “It’ll be fine. How did you find me here, anyway?”

  “I smelled you.”

  Rosalind wrinkled her nose. “Seriously?”

  “Your blood smells amazing.” Tammi took a step back. “I probably shouldn’t hug you again.”

  “Right.” She lifted her flask, whispering, “Speaking of blood, it’s time for my medicine.”

  Tammi narrowed her frosty eyes. “You want to do this now?”

  “Yes. We need to get Aurora, and then we’re heading right for the Garden of the Dead. I don’t know a lot about necromancy, but I’m pretty sure it can’t be a good thing to let the body rot for weeks.” She lifted the flask. “So are you going to help me, or are you going back to the Abzu?”

  * * *

  Flanked by Aurora and Tammi, Rosalind stood before the yew, covering her nose and mouth with her hands. Aurora had unearthed Miranda again, and this time the smell of death was overpowering. Her skin had turned even more greenish, and dark blood dripped from her nose and mouth.

  “I’m not sure about this,” Tammi said, coughing into her hands. “She seems a bit… putrified.”

  Rosalind swallowed hard, trying to steel her resolve. “There must be some healing process as part of Nyxobas’s resurrection magic.”

  “There are two options,” Aurora said. “Either you get Miranda back, or you get Zombie-Miranda back. If she’s all rotten, we’ll have to put her down. Then she’ll be dead, which is no worse than she is now. So, two options: life or death. That’s all there is.”

  “Right. We have nothing to lose by trying.” Rosalind’s fingers tightened into fists. “I’m ready.”

  She unscrewed her flask, taking a sniff. She hadn’t tasted this since she’d been in the Brotherhood’s chambers. Now, the smell turned her stomach. Would this really work? Or would it merely drive her mad?

  Only one way to find out. Grimacing at the taste, she took a swig of the blood. She wiped a hand across the back of her mouth. Nothing but the cold trickle of salty blood down her throat. Gods damn you, Drew.

  But just as she began screwing the cap on, a burst of power flooded her body, rushing over her skin and through her bones. Wet marine magic, rough coppery auras… electric silver and spicy gold. Her knees trembled at the rush, and she opened her eyes again. Whorls of colorful magic snaked around her body.

  Tammi was staring at her wide-eyed. “Is it working?”

  Rosalind nodded. “It’s definitely working.”

  She closed her eyes, feeling the breeze rush over her skin, whipping her hair around her face. She’d watched Caine use this magic. He’d simply held out his hands, and let the gods-magic flow through him. But then—he was part god himself. It must come naturally to him. Right now, she felt such a stunning rush of power she hardly knew where to begin.

  At last, the tendrils of magic rushed into her body—filling her bones and blood—almost as if they were becoming part of her. She rolled her neck.

  “So what do you need to do?” Aurora asked.

  “I need to figure out how to use shadow magic.”

  Think of your lover. Erish must have meant Caine—not exactly Rosalind’s lover, but he was the last man she’d kissed. He was the closest thing she knew to Nyxobas, so close that when she’d used the power of the night god, he gave her a glimpse of the incubus’s life. And while he wasn’t her lover now, she was lying to herself if she didn’t admit that she wanted him.

  Caine was her closest connection to Nyxobas. She’d been there when he’d used his gods-magic. She knew how it felt
when his electric power rushed over her skin, how the air looked as the silver tendrils whipped out of his body. She just needed to tap into those memories.

  Closing her eyes, she called up an image of Caine in her mind. His golden skin. Those glacial eyes. Warm and cold, sun and ice. The shadows curling around his powerful body, the black tattoos marking his chest. She could almost feel him wrapping his strong arms around her, lighting her body on fire with his touch.

  Not my lover… yet.

  Dark magic coursed through her veins, and Caine’s smell, loamy and electric, enveloped her. In the next moment, she found herself in that wooden room again. Sitting in a chair, facing a dark wood wall, a blonde woman brushed her hair. A baby’s cry pierced the air, and Rosalind watched herself pick up the gray-eyed child, cradling him in her arms.

  Shadows crept over her vision, and an empty ache rose in her chest. She wanted to see that child again, but darkness stole him from her. Her stomach lurched as she reached out, trying to grasp something tangible and finding only wisps of shadow.

  Where am I?

  Now, she walked through a dark stone hall, surrounding by whispering voices. Shadows climbed the walls like fingers. A deep voice rumbled from the emptiness. What are you doing here?

  What was she doing here? She could hardly remember her name. Right now, she wasn’t even sure she’d ever existed.

  What are you doing here? the voice demanded again.

  She had a purpose. She just needed to remember what it was. A sister, one with brown eyes who smelled of the sea.

  “Miranda!” she screamed, suddenly finding her voice. “I want to fix her. To bring her back.”

  An electrifying power flooded her, rooting her feet on the earth once more. She opened her eyes, watching the silver magic flow from her fingertips. It rushed over Miranda’s body, washing her in moonlight.

  This time, the magic found its target.

  Miranda’s skin warmed, her cheeks reddening. At the sight of her sister’s fluttering eyelids, Rosalind’s breath caught in her throat. Miranda’s back arched, and the blood disappeared from her face. Rosalind’s pulse raced.

  It’s working. Nyxobas’s will is my own.

  Miranda gasped, sitting up straight, her eyes wide. Blood pounded in Rosalind’s ears, and she lowered her hands, her body drained. Miranda looked up at her and screamed; the sound pierced the air, and Rosalind’s knees nearly gave way.

  Something is wrong.

  Tammi rushed to Miranda, wrapping her arms around her. “Shhhhh, girl. It’s okay.”

  Rosalind stared wide-eyed at her sister, who pulled away from Tammi, crawling on her hands and knees. She vomited dark bile onto the grass.

  “Are you okay?” Tammi asked.

  Miranda sat back on her knees, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice husky. “I don’t feel so well.”

  Rosalind took a breath for the first time since Miranda had opened her eyes. She ran to her sister, hugging her.

  Miranda’s body felt warm through her thin dress, and she hugged Rosalind back.

  And once again, she smelled like the sea.

  Chapter 19

  As she waited for Malphas, Rosalind stood at the shore of the Astarte Sea. Waves gently lapped at the rocks, and moonlight flecked the water with silver sparks.

  She’d spent a long night, watching over Miranda as she’d slept. So after just an hour of sleep, she’d rushed off to find Malphas. Today he was supposed to teach her how to use Borgerith’s magic—the coppery, mountain aura that Drew had used the first day she’d met him.

  But that was just the beginning. Tonight, she’d also learn to harness Dagon’s power. Yet she wasn’t sure she was up for meeting the god of the depths. Tiredness had claimed her mind, and she swayed on her feet.

  When was the last time she’d slept for more than six hours? It was nearly impossible to keep track of normal sleeping hours in a city with no daylight.

  Last night, after some tea and a warm bath, Miranda had seemed almost normal again. Exhausted, but speaking in full sentences. Except she didn’t seem to remember having died, or anything about Drew’s invasion of Lilinor.

  And how, exactly, did one broach that subject delicately? “Remember that time you died? No? Well, you did. Want another muffin?”

  Rosalind didn’t want to break it to her just yet. Whatever death did to a body, it had to be a shock to the system. She saw no reason to add another shock just yet. What if Miranda’s newly pumping heart just stopped again? So during the quiet hours when she’d normally have been sleeping, she’d watched over her newly-living sister, listening to her deep breaths. She’d watched the blood pump through the veins in Miranda’s neck, and marveled at her own creation.

  Now, on the Astarte shore, Rosalind blinked hard, fighting fatigue. A briny wind rushed off the waves, and she pulled her cashmere shawl tighter around her shoulders. She wouldn’t be fighting today, and she’d worn a long dress, the color of sea-foam.

  When she looked at the dome of stars above the sea, she could see a faint shimmering of Caine’s silver magic. The shield. If she let her eyes go out of focus long enough, his magic became clearer—the stunning sterling gleam rippling over the sky.

  Cold magic thrummed over Rosalind’s skin, scented of lilies. Malphas. She turned.

  He stalked toward her, the wind ruffling his brown hair. Moonlight washed his milky skin in silver, and he carried a faded maroon tome under his arm. The sight of him tightened her chest. Sharp cheekbones, porcelain skin, cold eyes and dark lashes. She couldn’t help but think about her own hands, drowning that delicate beauty in the Brotherhood’s dungeons.

  Whenever she looked at him, the memories hit her like fist. The nail, driven into his chest. The chains. The water poured on his face, his legs kicking as he drowned. Hard to forget what she’d done, when it was staring her right in the face with those pale eyes.

  And yet, she reminded herself, his fragility was an illusion. As an incubus, steely strength coursed through his muscles.

  “Thanks for meeting me.” She glanced at the dark sea. She wanted to ask about Caine and the valkyries, but that particular vision was hard to explain without delving into the whole necromancy subject. “Do you think Caine will be home soon?”

  “That’s the thing.” Malphas’s aura snapped the air around him. “He should have returned already.”

  A sharp tendril of dread coiled through her chest. “You think something happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to see anything through scrying, because of the shield Caine created. That’s why I want to make sure we get this right. We might need to get him back. Are you willing to do whatever it takes to win this war?”

  No pressure. “Of course. I’ll do whatever I need to.”

  Malphas closed the distance between them, and she could feel the warmth coming off his skin. In the V of his shirt collar, pearly light illuminated the top of his scarred chest—marks left by Rosalind. A chill crawled up her neck, and she tried not to stare at the slashes of raised skin.

  “From what I’ve seen,” he said, “you are the type of soldier who will do whatever it takes to get the job done. Even if it involves pain.”

  Her body went cold. Okay. He’s still thinking about the torture thing, too. “What sort of pain are we talking about?”

  He leaned down, smelling the air near her neck. So close to him, his aura crackled over her skin—a sharp, electric thrill that made her lean in closer.

  “Oh, Rosalind,” he said. “I know the smell of Nyxobas’s magic. The smell of damp earth and the air after a rainstorm. So why would you smell like the gods-magic, if you haven’t used it yet?”

  Her stomach tightened. Guess the secret is coming out anyway. Maybe it was for the best. She was desperate to come clean about what she’d seen in her vision, and to ask Malphas what he thought.

  “After I drank the ambrosia,” she said, “I tried a little spell. I tried
it several times before I drank the ambrosia, and something happened—almost like I was channeling Caine’s magic—but I had no way to direct the power. It wasn’t until I drank the blood that it worked effectively.”

  Malphas stared down at her, and the hair raised on the back of her neck. No matter how much time she spent around demons, their preternatural stillness and penetrating eyes still made her want to run far in the other direction. It was an intent focus, like a coiled snake about to strike.

  Still, she held her ground. After all—she had gods-magic now, too. Maybe she didn’t need to be scared of demons anymore.

  Malphas’s dark power thrummed over her skin. “What sort of spell?” he asked.

  “Just a little one,” she lied. “I snuffed out the candles and extinguished the flames in the fireplace, like Caine does when he’s angry.”

  Shit. I hope incubi can’t tell when you’re lying.

  “You’re lying.”

  Of course they can. “Let me guess. You heard my heart rate speed up?”

  “And your pupils dilated. Your skin warmed. A thin sheen of sweat rose on your forehead. Incubi are skilled at noticing these hallmarks of arousal. Either you’re extremely turned on by talking about fireplaces, or your pulse is racing at the lies tumbling from your lips.”

  She frowned. “I don’t suppose I can convince you I have a thing for fireplaces?”

  He cocked his head, ivory light glinting in his pale eyes. “What kind of spell did you conduct, Rosalind?”

  Rosalind waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not important. The important part is…” She cleared her throat. I can’t talk about this. She needed to change the subject. “I think it was connected to Caine’s magic somehow. And I think I saw visions of his life. Maybe visions of him now.”

  A heavy wave crashed over the rocks, and briny spume misted the air.

  “What did you see?” Malphas asked.

  “I saw a woman with long blond hair. And a baby with grey eyes, the exact same color as yours. On a table by a bed lay a hairpin.” She held out her arm, running her fingers from her wrist to the hollow of her elbow. “It was the same as that tattoo Caine has here.”