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

by C. N. Crawford

  Her body shook in the rain. “Yeah. I get it.” She’d pushed things too far. She knew she had.

  But they’d all known this was a risk. Humans weren’t meant to have this power.

  Malphas turned, walking into the forest. She hugged herself as she followed after him. Now that Cleo had achieved her little victory over Rosalind, her voice had gone a bit quieter.

  And still, Rosalind craved the thrill of powerful magic.

  Her teeth chattered in the cold. She’d left her shawl trampled into the mud back there, and the storm she’d created still lashed them with freezing rain.

  As they walked back to the castle, Malphas didn’t utter a word, quietly brooding. She couldn’t tell if he was more disturbed by her lack of control, or if he was just pissed off that she’d said another man’s name while kissing him.

  She shook her head, suddenly mortified. What would Caine think if he knew that she’d kissed his brother?

  Cleo’s aura tingled over her skin as they trudged through the mud. Some of her memories still flickered through Rosalind’s mind, but they’d grown duller now, like faded film.

  As they approached Ninlil castle, she heard a sharp intake of breath from Malphas.

  She glanced up at the castle walls. There, in front of one of the gatehouses, stood Caine, his silver aura glowing like a star.

  Chapter 30

  “He’s here,” she said.

  It took only a few seconds for Malphas to get to Caine, moving in a blur of shadows.

  Rosalind pulled up the hem of her dress, running to keep up. She still hadn’t mastered the art of shadow running.

  Still, she cleared the distance as fast as she could, rushing over the muddy earth to Caine.

  “You’re back!” she shouted, throwing her arms around him, breathing in the scent of thunderstorms and earth.

  His hands found his way to her waist, but he was pushing her away. “What is going on here? What have you two been doing?”

  Quickly, she stepped away, casting a nervous glance at Malphas.

  Malphas frowned. “Come out with it. What happened? What went wrong?”

  “Nothing went wrong. I had to fight an army of valkyries, but I found the sigil.”

  “And?” Malphas demanded.

  Caine glared at his brother. “And why did Rosalind give me a panicked mental message about the shield if you were here to repair it?”

  Rosalind cleared her throat. “We wanted to make sure you were okay. I thought you were supposed to come back as soon as you could. We couldn’t see you through scrying, and using your magic was the only way to know you were making your way out of the House of Shades.”

  Caine’s aura violently slashed the air, and his gaze slid to Rosalind. “You lied to me?”

  Her stomach dropped. Damn, he’s scary as hell. “No. The shield really was thinning. I just didn’t mention the part about Malphas being here.”

  Shadows darkened his eyes. “And what of the first time I loaned you my shadow magic?”

  She swallowed hard. “That was something different.”

  Malphas pushed his rain-soaked hair from his eyes. “Trust me. I’ve asked her a dozen times. Anyway—what happened to you, Brother? How long did it take you to find the sigil?”

  “I found it after journeying through the Tuckomock Forest and fighting an army of valkyries. I spent a little too long in the House of Shades, but you should have had faith in me.”

  “You found the soul?” Malphas demanded.

  “Of course I did.” He pulled out a small disc, streaked with different colored metals—gold, silver, copper, tin. A six-pointed symbol had been carved on the front—the sigil of Azezeyl.

  He slid it back into his pocket. “Miranda’s second soul is trapped in here. Now, we just need a victim to take it on.”

  I guess Miranda is out of the question.

  Rosalind’s head throbbed. She felt like she needed to sleep for weeks. “Did you see Drew?”

  “No. He wasn’t in Maremount. Before you called me here, I was hunting for him in Boston, but he’s protected by the Brotherhood army. And more than that, Boston and Cambridge have changed. Drastically. Drew has practically created an entirely new city with his magic.”

  Malphas’s eyebrows rose. “You defied Ambrose? He told you not to hunt for Drew—that you were to return, and we’d create his army.”

  Caine shrugged. “His mind is clouded by his obsession with daywalking. I had to make my own decision.”

  And yours is clouded by your hatred for Drew, she thought.

  Caine’s icy gaze trailed up and down Rosalind’s body. “You haven’t told me what you two were doing out here in the rain.”

  Rosalind crossed her arms, her teeth chattering. Wisps of colored magic still curled from her body like smoke. “Learning gods-magic.”

  Cleo’s voice tinkled in her mind like bells. Aren’t you going to tell him what you did with his brother?

  As if hearing Cleo’s voice, Caine cocked his head. “And how loud is Cleo now? Is she drowning out your own thoughts?”

  “I just need sleep,” she said.

  Caine stared at her. “Later, when you’re not half-mad, I want you to tell me exactly what you saw when you stole glimpses of my life.”

  “Fine.” She shivered. “I’m going to go inside now. I need to check on—“ Gods below. She’d nearly said “Miranda.” She really was losing her mind. “To check on Aurora. She was quite sad about all the funerals.”

  Caine nodded slowly. But of course the bastard could tell when she was lying.

  As she turned to walk past him, he touched her arm, his gaze boring into her. The touch of his fingertips alone sent shivers through her body.

  He leaned in, whispering, “And then, I want you to tell me why you smell like lilies.”

  * * *

  Soaking wet, Rosalind walked down the candlelit hall to her room, each one of her muscles screaming in rebellion.

  For the entire walk from the Gelal field to her room, Cleo had resumed shrieking in her head like a demented Banshee. Find Ambrose. Seduce him, like I asked.

  Rosalind cringed. She’d kissed both brothers now. Would Caine understand that she’d been hallucinating the whole time, and that Cleo had taken over?

  Or, more importantly—would Caine even care in the first place?

  At least he was home. That was the important thing.

  Half asleep, she stumbled to her door, then pushed it open. In the dancing candlelight, Miranda paced the floor, chewing on her fingernail. As Rosalind entered, her sister looked up at her, eyes wild.

  “There you are!” Miranda said. “How long did you plan to keep me locked in here?”

  “What?” Rosalind rubbed her eyes. “I thought you had everything you needed.”

  “I ran out of food ages ago. We need to ask Ambrose for more.”

  Rosalind sighed. “Fine. No problem.”

  “I’ll go ask him,” Miranda said. “I’ve been desperate to get out of here. I’ve worn the floor down with pacing.”

  “Absolutely not.” Rosalind wasn’t about to unleash her sister on the castle. Not with Caine roaming around. “I’ll go. You need to stay in here.”

  Yes. Cleo cooed. Go to Ambrose.

  Between her increasingly frenzied sister and the crazy voices in her head, Rosalind wasn’t entirely sure she could keep control over anything at this point.

  “No,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” She pivoted, pacing again. “I’ll be fine until morning.”

  “Are you sure?” Rosalind began peeling off her sodden gown.

  “Yeah, it’s just this hunger. I can’t seem to fill myself. I want food and drink, and… I want to touch things. I want sunlight and grass and everything.”

  Rosalind dropped her torn gown over the back of a chair. “I guess you’re making up for those days you spent dead. Getting all the life you can get.”

  Miranda raked a hand across her stomach. “This g
nawing feeling…” she muttered.

  Rosalind’s chest tightened. At least, I hope this is temporary. She grabbed a towel from the wardrobe, drying herself off. “Well, I have some good news.”

  “Oh?” Miranda said.

  “Caine is back. He has the extra soul.”

  Miranda’s eyes widened. “He does? I want it back.”

  “I’m not sure Caine will give it to us. Malphas seemed pretty certain of that.”

  Miranda shook her head. “But I feel like something is missing. That must be it.”

  There were two people who would know exactly what this meant: Caine and Malphas. And Rosalind couldn’t ask either of them.

  Miranda looked up, blinking, as if waking from a dream. “But Caine is okay? He’s not hurt?”

  “He’s fine.”

  Miranda crawled into the bed. “Good. Look, maybe I just need more sleep. And I’m sure you do, too.”

  “No argument here.” Rosalind’s muscles shrieked with exhaustion, and her bed called to her.

  Go to Ambrose!

  “Shut up, Cleo,” Rosalind muttered. She crawled into her bed, her eyes already drifting closed.

  Go to Ambrose, you faithless whore.

  If only the lunatic in her brain would let her sleep.

  Miranda peered over at her. “And now that Caine’s back, what do you think the chances are that you can slaughter Drew?”

  Rosalind swallowed hard. Based on what Caine had said, Drew had the power to create a new city in only a week.

  And what had she done with her powers, so far? Some vines and rain. She had a long way to go before she could catch up.

  Enjoy your life while you’ve still got it, Cleo purred.

  Chapter 31

  Rosalind woke tangled in her bedsheets. All night, she’d dreamt of Ambrose. She’d dreamt of returning to the stairwell with him, running her hands over his skin. Cleo had let her sleep, but had played scenes from her medieval life through Rosalind’s dreams: Ambrose kissing her throat, touching her breasts, standing bare-chested under the starlight.

  As the dreams cleared from her mind, Rosalind sat up in bed, letting the sheets fall from her. By her side, Miranda stirred, rubbing her eyes. The smell of freshly-baked bread wafted through the air.

  Rosalind smiled. “Good morning, sunshine.”

  Miranda sniffed. “I smell food.”

  “Me too.” Rosalind jumped out of bed, padding barefoot to the door. She pulled it open and found a basket of steaming baked goods, nestled amongst fruit and cheese.

  Her mouth watered, and she lifted the basket. “Look what we have here.” She dropped the basket onto a small wooden table by the bed. “And as soon as we’re able to leave here, you can have all the food you want.”

  Smiling, Miranda grabbed a hot roll. “Good. I want to eat while sunbathing. I need daylight like you wouldn’t believe.” She ripped into her roll. “And I’d like a boyfriend, or at least a lover.”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged.” Rosalind bit into a pain au chocolate, letting it melt on her tongue. “At some point.”

  Cleo’s aura began to stir. Go to Ambrose, you faithless whore! she shrieked. Seduce him just once, like you promised.

  Rosalind winced. Sleeping for hours hadn’t helped to silence Cleo.

  Go to him, Cleo commanded. You owe me this.

  As if against her will, Rosalind felt herself rising from the bed. She crossed to the wardrobe and pulled it open. She stripped completely, then pulled out a pair of the smallest underwear she could find—sheer black with silver silk ribbons around the hips, and a bra to match.

  “Where are you going?” Miranda asked. “In that?”

  “I need to go somewhere,” Rosalind muttered, as if in a daze.

  “Where?”

  “I need to see Ambrose—”

  Cleo stopped her from telling the whole story. Miranda would only try to stop her.

  Make up a lie.

  “I’m going speak to Ambrose about giving us more food. Then I’ll find out about the daywalkers, so we can get out of here.”

  “Oh. What time is it?”

  Rosalind shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

  In a land of night, she had no clue how to keep track of the time. She pulled on a dress, a pale silver that slid over her legs, billowing slightly in the breeze. The neckline plunged. She snatched a long rope of black pearls from a jewelry box.

  Perfect, Cleo purred. But when you see Ambrose, I want you to look like me. I want him to see me.

  Numbly, she walked to the mirror. Her thoughts had become muddled, swirling with the name Ambrose.

  Flashes of stars, a wren trilling…

  She waited for him to arrive by the forest’s edge. But the soldiers came for her instead. And then, the flames.

  Through half-lidded eyes, she watched herself paint her lips a glossy red. She blinked twice in the mirror. The crimson shade looked nice with her dark hair. But of course, when she arrived in Ambrose’s room, she’d no longer look like herself.

  As she crossed to the door, she thought Miranda might have been speaking to her, but she ignored her sister’s voice, listening instead to the haunting fragments of Cleo’s memories.

  They came for me through the shadows, in their tapered hats, with metal prickers in their pockets…

  Rosalind pushed through the door into the hall.

  Time to make good on your promise, Cleo purred.

  She hadn’t brought a weapon with her this time. It didn’t matter. As she walked down the hall, the vamp’s doors stayed shut. Probably still sleeping. She looked down at her long, brown hair, staring in a daze as it flickered to pale blonde.

  I used to thread it with flowers…

  Barefoot, she padded down the hall, the word Ambrose hammering in her skull. She twirled a strand of platinum hair around her fingertips. But somewhere, under the layers of green magic, her own mind began to stir.

  What am I doing? I don’t want Ambrose. I’m not going to screw him just to keep you happy. You cannot take over my body.

  Yet her feet carried her onward. She felt as though she were walking underwater, her movements sluggish and dulled—until her gaze landed on the portrait of Lord Byron.

  Caine’s room. Even with Cleo trying to control her thoughts, she’d found a way to bring herself here.

  Yes, Caine seemed to be able to calm her magic.

  No, Cleo shrieked. You made me a promise!

  Anger simmered, deep in her chest, and she stared down at the blond hair draping over her gray gown. I’m not letting you take over completely. You had your life. This is mine.

  Rosalind focused on condensing that vernal magic as much as she could. She couldn’t go into Caine’s room with Cleo’s face.

  She envisioned the magic constricting into her body. Cleo’s glamour slowly disappeared, leaving behind her own dark chestnut hair. She swallowed hard, straining to keep the magic in check. Caine would be able to quell Cleo’s power. Whenever he touched her, it seemed to calm Cleo’s shrill voice.

  It took a few moments for Caine to pull the door open. He stood before her, wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. Her jaw dropped at the sight of his perfect body—smooth skin over steely muscle. Warm candlelight danced over his tattoos. He leaned against the doorframe, his pale eyes framed by jet-black lashes.

  Even Cleo stayed quiet.

  “Did you come to tell me what spell you conducted with my magic?” he asked. “A midnight confession?”

  Mutely, she shook her head. What was she doing here?

  Mostly trying to avoid letting Cleo take over my life.

  She swallowed hard. “I wanted to talk about the daywalker spell.”

  He stared at her. “I take it you haven’t gotten used to Lilinor’s schedule. Everyone is sleeping now.”

  She shrugged. “Are they? Someone left food outside my door, so I assumed it was morning.”

  His eyes slid slowly over her body, the thin gray dress that hugged her cur
ves. “Is that really why you’re here? To talk about our battle plans?”

  She stared at his honeyed skin, the soft curve of his lips, his powerful arms. With him nearly naked, she could hardly remember how to string a sentence together. But she was acutely aware of his electric aura, caressing her skin.

  Despite her body’s intense reaction to the sight of him, his presence had calmed Cleo’s aura. Rosalind no longer had to fight so hard to keep her under control. “And I wanted to know about Boston. You said the city looks completely different. I just need to know what we’re up against.”

  “Admit it.” He arched an eyebrow. “You wanted to see me naked. Any minute now, you’re going to feign a chill and claim you need to curl up in my bed against the warmth of my body.”

  Her stomach fluttered, and she waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You do have impeccable taste in men. I’ll give you that much.”

  She rolled her eyes, and he opened his door wider, motioning for her to enter. She strode inside, trying to keep Cleo’s aura as condensed as possible. Her gaze flicked to the round bath in the corner of his room. She’d bathed there once, enveloped by the floral scents of Lilinor, while Caine did his best not to look at her naked body.

  “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing at his bed. It stood against a wall, covered in rumpled silver blankets.

  The room was nearly bare, apart from a wooden table with decanters and glasses, and the candles on the walls.

  She crossed to his bed, settling down on his duvet. Caine stared at her and folded his arms in front of his chest. He seemed intent. “Before I tell you anything about Boston,” he said, “I need to know three things. What spell did you do the first time I let you use my magic, and what, exactly, did you see?”

  She swallowed hard. “I’m not telling you about the spell. You clearly don’t tell me everything, so you’re hardly in a position to demand the revelation of secrets. What’s the third question?”