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

by C. N. Crawford

  Dagon.

  His presence alone filled her a terror that pierced her to the bone.

  A long, slimy appendage slipped up her dress, climbing up her leg and pulling her deeper under the water. Another curled around her waist. She kicked her limbs, flailing in the water.

  I need air.

  Dagon’s limbs gripped her tight, pulling her deeper. Pain blazed through her lungs, and a vision rose in her mind. She was standing by the shore of Maremount’s river, rain hammering her body. Miranda stood by her side. Four rotten stakes jutted from the ground, skeletal fingers clawing out of the earth. In a blur of silver, Caine dragged Rosalind’s mother through the mud. Her mom kicked helplessly, eyes wide.

  Caine’s magic chilled the air as he slammed her mother against one of the stakes, pinning her arms.

  Icy terror trickled into Rosalind’s lungs. I know how this ends, but I don’t want to see it. She wanted to tear her eyes away, but there was no escaping the vision.

  It took only a fraction of a second for Caine to ram the nail through her mom’s ribs. The crack of breaking bone sent a shudder up Rosalind’s spine, and she gaped as her mom’s eyes snapped open.

  When Caine turned to look at Rosalind, his eyes had turned black as the void. Here he was, the angel of death, come to wreak his vengeance.

  He disappeared in a blur of silver, but she knew he was coming back.

  Why had her parents thought they could defeat a god? What kind of insane hubris had led them to that conclusion?

  While Miranda screamed, Caine returned with their father, throwing him with brutal force against the second stake. Rosalind had forgotten what her own father looked like—those narrow hazel eyes, the full beard. A strange familiarity surged in her chest.

  Her father tilted back his head, screaming, “I am the One True King! I am—”

  The thrust of Caine’s second nail cut him short. Her father’s eyes bulged, and a low moan rose from his throat. Blood dripped from his lips, and his head slumped. The life left his eyes.

  Miranda wouldn’t stop screaming—or was that herself?

  Caine turned to her again. Black wings rose from his back. His eyes were deep and dark as the opening of a cave. Her stomach curdled.

  Here he was—her executioner. She took a step back, slipping over a rain-slicked rock and falling to her back. The fall knocked the wind out of her. When she pushed herself up again, Caine was gone.

  Sobbing, Rosalind glanced at her twin. Her shoulders shaking, Miranda looked so small. Rosalind watched as her sister turned, running back for the city.

  Her father’s head lolled. The One True King, pinned to a rotting piece of wood like a butterfly specimen.

  She stood on the river’s shore, her clothing soaked. Completely alone. A bitter loneliness pierced her to the core. Rain poured down her skin, and emptiness welled in her chest. A gnawing, ravenous emptiness, like she was drowning here in the dark, under the waves. Dread trickled down her throat, filling her lungs.

  Not dread. Water.

  She was drowning—deep under the black sea, enveloped by the slimy limbs of a sea god.

  Dagon, please.

  Slick flesh wrapped around her head, covering her mouth. All the air had left her lungs, and death beckoned her closer. It would be so easy just to give in...

  As Dagon tightened his grip, she bucked and flailed in his grasp. I must get back. I must return to Miranda—to Caine. Adrenalin surged, and she fought against his grasp. She couldn’t die here below the waves, in the cold and the dark. Sometimes the buried things claw their way out again.

  Her throat began to convulse. This was what Malphas had felt when she drowned him.

  Let the magic in. Don’t fight the gods.

  As water poured into her lungs, she opened her eyes. A deep, blue magic undulated around them, like sea anemones caught in a current. She let her body go limp, imagining the blue magic filling her body. It flowed into her chest, mingling with the copper and vernal magic in a vortex of power.

  Her lungs still burned, but as she let the magic in, the feel of Dagon’s limbs around her changed; they were no longer slimy and alien. His monstrous body had been replaced by a man’s. His smooth, strong arms embraced her for just a moment before releasing her into the water.

  She turned to see him, but the god had disappeared. Around her, the ocean teemed with life, and shimmering moonlight poured through sapphire water. On the seafloor, amber and crimson urchins nestled among the undulating seagrasses. The sudden flash of beauty was so overwhelming she nearly forgot the water filling her lungs.

  She kicked her way toward the moonlight, swimming between seahorses and colorful fish. Fatigue tore her body apart. This had been too much at once.

  When her head breached the surface, she coughed and spluttered.

  I’m not even sure I can make it to the shore.

  As she pushed herself on, her mind churned. Deep in her chest, Cleo’s aura was roiling.

  Malphas nearly killed you, Cleo whispered. Are you quite sure he’s not after revenge? He was right about what he said. Demons are made for one thing—fucking and killing.

  Malphas had been right. With her mind ripped apart by terror and pain, it was hard to keep her second soul quiet. She gasped for air. Shut up, Cleo. She kicked her feet, fighting her way to shore.

  He is using you, Cleo whispered. The demons let Miranda die. And if you die, they’ll only find another vessel for their dark desires. They use people, then discard them. Don’t think you’re special.

  As she swam, her body drained of energy, Cleo’s aura began to rage like a tempest.

  They’ll let you die when you no longer serve their purpose. Ask Ambrose what he did to me.

  Rosalind’s muscles throbbed. Just when she thought she could no longer continue, her feet brushed against the seafloor, and she stood. She trudged through the waves, falling to her hands and knees in the shallow water. Sharp rocks bit into her palms, and she coughed, spitting up salt water onto the rocks.

  This is how the demons want you, Cleo whispered. On your knees. Knowing your place.

  “What happened?” Malphas asked.

  Get up, Rosalind.

  The rocks scraped her knees, but she couldn’t make herself stand yet. She heaved another lungful of saltwater onto the rocks.

  Malphas kneeled. “It doesn’t look like it went well.”

  Another series of coughs racked her body.

  Get up, Rosalind. It’s humiliating to be on your hands and knees before the shadow demons.

  She coughed up a final mouthful of seawater before pushing back to sit on her knees.

  Cleo’s aura roared through her. He’s trying to kill you.

  With shaking legs, she rose, trying to steady herself. She gripped Malphas’s collar. “I nearly drowned before I succeeded. You’re sending me to my death.”

  Were these her thoughts, or Cleo’s?

  Malphas’s eyes darkened, his fingers tightening around hers on his collar. “Did you want sympathy for the water in your lungs? I’m fresh out.”

  Cleo’s vivid memories whirled in Rosalind’s mind: the night she’d met Ambrose, and the gold rings on his fingers. He’d worn an embroidered shirt, and he’d looked at her like he’d wanted to devour her.

  “No man should be that beautiful,” Rosalind said, the words tumbling from her mouth. “I should have known he’d be my ruin.” She blinked hard, trying to clear her mind. “Stop it, Cleo.”

  Malphas pulled Rosalind’s hands from his shoulders, and looked into her eyes. “I can see that we went too far. Next time, we do one hell at a time. You need to rest in between.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. Her mind still flashed with images of gold rings and piercing green eyes. “What if Caine needs us?”

  “You won’t be much good to him when you’re hallucinating. Next time you’re starting to lose control, tell me. Go home and sleep.”

  He turned, walking off into the night.

  As Malp
has stalked off into the shadows, Rosalind glanced at the sky. She could still see the faint shimmer of Caine’s shadow magic rippling over the sky.

  Was it just her imagination, or did it seem less powerful than it once had?

  She shivered, suddenly feeling very alone.

  Chapter 23

  Drenched with seawater, Rosalind pulled open the door to her cavernous room. Her body trembled from both cold and fatigue. A breeze filtered into the warmly lit room, toying with the silver curtains and nearly snuffing out the candles.

  Miranda sat nestled into the corner of the bed, cloaked in shadow. She was so still that Rosalind nearly missed her. She’d wrapped a star-flecked blue sheet around herself, and her shoulders shook.

  Rosalind’s heart tightened. “Miranda?”

  “Where am I?” Her teeth chattered. “What happened to me? I feel sick.”

  Rosalind crossed to the bed, crawling closer to her sister. She wrapped her arms around Miranda, pulling her close. Miranda’s body felt warm—definitely alive. “How sick do you feel?”

  “Not so sick you need to smother me with your damp arms. You’re getting the bed all wet.”

  A smile curled Rosalind’s lips. “You’re awake.”

  Miranda pulled away from Rosalind, her teeth still chattering. “Yeah but… I’m confused. Where are we? The last thing I remember is being in Maremount. Drew had put a necklace on me, and… I think Caine was there. My mind is cloudy.”

  Rosalind’s chest tightened. She really has no idea what’s going on. She couldn’t hide this from Miranda forever, but she wanted to wait until she seemed a bit stronger before she broke this news. “We’re safe now. We’re in Lilinor, protected by the vampire lord—sort of. No one knows you’re here. I snuck you in, so you must stay in my room for now. You need rest. You had a… an accident, and now you’re recovering.”

  Miranda frowned. “An accident? Like a head injury?” She touched her temples. “I feel really dizzy. I think I’m dehydrated.”

  Rosalind stood, crossing to an oak table that stood below the window. “I can get you some water.” She paused. She doesn’t want blood, does she? “You do want water, right?”

  “I wouldn’t say no to wine, but water’s probably healthier.” Miranda frowned. “I don’t understand. How did the accident happen?”

  Good. Seems normal. No requests for human flesh. “You don’t remember anything?”

  “Nothing since Maremount.”

  Rosalind filled a glass of water for her sister. “Drew came into the city. You fought, and he injured you.”

  “Injured how?”

  Too early to tell her—but she’d have to do it soon. “We’ll talk about it later. We both need food, and sleep.” Someone had left a basket of fresh cranberry bread, curling with steam, on the table next to the water. At the sight of it, Rosalind’s stomach rumbled. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “Starving, now that you mention it. It smells delicious.”

  Rosalind grabbed the whole bread basket along with the glass of water, and brought them to her sister. “Ambrose still sends me fresh food every day. The other vampires resent it like you wouldn’t believe. They feel like they’ve been made into my servants.”

  Miranda shrugged. “Sounds like Ambrose wants you.”

  “What? No, he doesn’t.” Rosalind sat on the bed, sliding the basket over to her sister. “He hardly knows me.”

  Miranda arched an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything? He is gorgeous. Haven’t you noticed? I suppose maybe you wouldn’t have. You’re more focused on Caine.”

  Rosalind bit her lip. Maybe I should revisit that death-conversation idea. “You know our history with Caine. It’s all a bit twisted.”

  Miranda grabbed a piece of bread. “It was horrible when it happened. But maybe he did us a favor. I think Father was like Drew. And face it, most demigods would have killed us, along with our parents, for what they’d done to him.” She drained the glass of water, then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “Is he in Lilinor?”

  Rosalind shook her head. “He’s on a mission. He’s looking for Drew in Maremount.” And with any luck, he won’t end up lost in the House of Shades.

  “I can see by your face that you’re worried about him,” Miranda said, “but I’m sure he’ll be fine. Last I remember, we were on a cliffside, and Caine was flying through the air like an angel.”

  “True. But Drew is powerful, too. He uses gods-magic.”

  “Right. Drew told me all about that in Maremount—Descendants of Azezeyl. So what’s the plan to fight him? Am I involved?”

  Rosalind grabbed a warm slice of cranberry bread and shook her head. “No. Like I said, no one knows you’re here.”

  “I don’t understand why.”

  “I’ll fill you in later. You’ve just woken up.”

  Miranda flexed her neck. “I can’t feel my magic.” She frowned. “I can’t feel Dagon. Or my second soul.” She took a shuddering breath, her eyes glistening. “What happened to me?”

  “The accident… It sort of knocked the extra soul out you.”

  “What the hell does that mean? What aren’t you telling me, Rosalind?”

  “You’re alive and healthy, and that’s all you need to know for now. I’m sure we can get the soul back if you want it.”

  Miranda took a hungry bite of bread, eyeing Rosalind. “You smell like Dagon.”

  “I went for a swim. I’m training for a fight with Drew.”

  “Training how?”

  Rosalind let the tangy bread melt in her mouth. For a moment, her eyes fluttered closed, and Cleo assaulted her with an image: powerful hands bedecked with golden rings, sliding up a golden silk gown. Rosalind forced her eyes to open again, shoving the unwelcome images to the back of her mind. It wasn’t the time to let Cleo take over. She’d just gotten her sister back, and this was the chance to learn Miranda’s stories.

  She rubbed her eyes. “I want to know about our past. I still don’t remember anything from Maremount, apart from the thing with Caine, and a few flickers of Malphas as a little boy. I want to remember the good things. I want to know about you.”

  “You look like you want to fall asleep. You look half-dead.”

  Rosalind’s shoulders stiffened. An awkward word choice, given one of us is literally half-dead. “I’m fine. Just a little tired from my swim.” She’d just gotten Miranda back. She didn’t want to sleep just yet, not when she still had so much to learn. “Tell me something fun. I want happy memories. What games did we play?”

  “You liked the water back then.” Crumbs rained from Miranda’s mouth as she ate. “Our parents should have given you Dagon’s magic instead of me. You liked to build little ships out of wood, and then we’d go to Athanor Pond to sail them in the water.”

  The image licked at the corners of Rosalind’s memory. “It sounds familiar.”

  “I had a pet bird. A meadowlark named Poppet. When she died, we had a Viking funeral for her. We put her tiny body on one of the boats and set it alight. We let it drift into the pond, and you made up Viking prayers.”

  Miranda’s voice soothed Rosalind, and the rich cranberry bread filled her belly. She leaned back on the pillow, not caring that her sodden dress dampened the blankets, or that crumbs stuck to the sheets. It was so much nicer to be here with her sister than out in the cold, being crushed with rocks. She rested her head against the stacked pillows. “What else do you remember?”

  Miranda lay next to her. “You and me and Malphas, we used to sneak out sometimes at night. We’d lay in the dandelion beds and watch shooting stars. You always wished for the same thing.”

  “What?”

  “Indian pudding. You were simple that way. I always wished that we could live on our own, away from our parents. You, and me, and Malphas, in our own little house.”

  Rosalind smiled, her eyes drifting closed. “What would you wish for now?”

  “The same thing. Or maybe we could stay here in Lil
inor,” Miranda mused. “Except we need daylight here. And the vampires would have to stop drinking blood.”

  “And we’d free the courtesans.” Rosalind’s eyes began to slowly drift closed. “I need more stories.”

  Miranda pulled a blanket over her. “When we were little, you loved the wildflowers. We both did. We threaded them into wreaths.”

  As sleep beckoned her closer, Rosalind could nearly see the stars graven in the sky, and feel the dandelions beneath her back. Her arms stretched out over the grasses.

  Not Maremount, Cleo whispered in her skull. Fife. Scotland. We wait here for Ambrose.

  Rosalind’s eyes snapped open. Damn you, Cleo. You’re taking up all the space in my head.

  Chapter 24

  Rosalind sat in an armchair, taking a final bite of her cheese croissant. She didn’t have long to linger over breakfast today—not with her next appointment with Malphas looming over her.

  Sitting on the floor, Miranda chomped into a sugar cake, white powder dusting her lips. Warm candlelight danced over her pink cheeks, and she looked healthy as ever. Her appetite seemed particularly thriving. In fact, they’d only been awake for ten minutes, and Miranda had already chowed through three miniature sugar cakes.

  “Ambrose is wonderful,” Miranda said, “sending us all this food.”

  “It is honestly my favorite thing about him,” Rosalind said. “And at some point I need to meet Caine’s chef.”

  “When does Caine return? And what, exactly, is he doing?”

  “He’s supposed to find a seal of Azezeyl.”

  “For what?”

  Rosalind swallowed her bite of sandwich. “So we can get your extra soul back to you.” At least, that was Rosalind’s part of the plan, even if Caine didn’t know about it yet. “First, he has to find the soul in the House of Shades. And when you get the soul back, then we make the daywalkers.”

  “Right. Since the accident knocked my soul out of me.” She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense, you know.”

  Okay. I’m going to have to tell her soon. “I’m learning a new kind of magic with Malphas. And when I used it, I saw a glimpse of where Caine is—in the House of Shades, looking for the soul. Now we just have to hope he doesn’t get lost there.”