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

by C. N. Crawford

  Seawater dripped off Malphas’s porcelain skin. “We’ll get there, Rosalind. You’ve impressed me already, more than you know.”

  “If we manage to defeat the Hunters, I’m sure I won’t be doing it alone. You, me, and Caine—we’ll create the daywalkers together, and together we take on Drew. It’s the only way this will work.”

  Malphas arched an eyebrow. “Richard and Cleo, reunited. Not sure I want to get involved in all Cleo and Richard’s drama. Perhaps I’ll avoid the soul Caine brought back.”

  “Do you think you could handle a second soul?”

  He shrugged, looking out toward the sea. “Better than I could handle half a soul.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s get you home. You still need to practice, and Caine and I need to bolster the shield in a few hours.”

  Half a soul. And there it was. Another tantalizing hint of the Mountfort secrets, with no explanation. She rose, hugging herself in the cool sea air. The waves lapped gently over the rocks.

  As she walked with Malphas along the Astarte shoreline, an image burned in her mind: her blond hair catching in the flames, all those years ago. After Ambrose had betrayed her.

  She blinked hard, trying to clear the image.

  Not me, she reminded herself. Cleo.

  Chapter 35

  Standing in her room, Rosalind peeled off her soaked dress. Seawater pooled on the floor below her bare feet, and her sister stared at her.

  Purple smudges darkened the skin below Miranda’s eyes. “What were you doing outside?”

  “Preparing to fight our cousin.”

  Miranda cocked her head. “Preparing how?”

  Shivering, Rosalind pulled on a lilac gown—with long sleeves, to keep her warm. “Malphas has been helping acquire gods-magic.”

  Miranda heaved a sigh. “Did you touch him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I haven’t touched a man in far too long.”

  Rosalind crossed her arms. She’d never had this sort of conversation with her sister, and the eerie way Miranda was staring at her didn’t make her want to start now. Still, she had to tell someone what had happened with Caine.

  She crossed to the bed, sitting cross-legged at the edge. “Well, the thing is—Cleo has been confusing me. She’s been sending me visions of Ambrose, demanding that I go see him. One of these nights, when I used powerful magic and Cleo started to take over, I ended up kissing Malphas.”

  Miranda bit her lip, her eyes wide. “What’s it like to kiss a demigod?”

  “I can’t tell you what it’s like to kiss Malphas. I was too busy hallucinating.”

  “Oh.” Miranda ran her finger back and forth over her lips, as if she was thinking about Malphas’s lips on hers. “That’s disappointing. I want to know what it’s like to be with a shadow demon.”

  Rosalind raised her eyebrows. “Well, after that, I went to Caine’s room. And that time, I wasn’t hallucinating.”

  Miranda lunged forward, a hungry look in her eyes. “What was he like?”

  Rosalind thought of the light touch of his fingers over her body, his deep kiss, the way he looked in the warm candlelight.

  And then, the positively frigid look in his eyes as he’d told her she didn’t mean anything to him.

  The memory still stung. Worst of all, she was pretty sure the experience had ruined her for life. How could she ever settle for a normal, human man after that?

  “It was pretty much perfect, until it wasn’t. He’d smelled Malphas on me, and wanted to know what had happened between us. I ended up telling him. And then he was like, ‘well, I don’t really care, because none of this meant anything, and I have tons of courtesans.’ And he basically wanted me to leave the room and never speak to him again unless it was about military stuff.”

  For a moment, it almost looked as though shadows were swirling in Miranda’s eyes. “Ah. Well. He’s probably still upset about Stolas.”

  The word Stolas sent a jolt up Rosalind’s spine. She was suddenly very alert. “What do you mean? Who is Stolas?”

  Miranda blinked, as if awaking from a dream. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I said that.”

  Rosalind’s fingers tightened “It’s very important to Caine. Where did you hear the name?”

  “I told you, I don’t know!” Miranda shouted, her cheeks pink.

  “Lower your voice!” Rosalind whispered.

  “The word Stolas was just a stray thought, floating through my head like a feather on the wind.” Miranda reached out, grabbing Rosalind’s arm. “I need to get out of here. I want to find a shadow demon of my own.”

  “We don’t need shadow demons. I thought we were just going to get out of here and get a house of our own in the woods or something. You, me, and Tammi. Abominatonia.”

  Miranda had that hungry look in her eyes again, and she clutched her chest. “It won’t be enough. You know it won’t be enough. You want Caine, even if he’s hardened his heart to you. And I want…” Her fingers tightened on her dress. “I want everything. I need to feel alive again. Don’t you understand? I need to feel the rain on my skin, and I need to feel the rush of a first kiss. I need to taste everything. And I belong with the shadow demons now.”

  Oh. Shit. Maybe this wouldn’t go as smoothly as she’d hoped. She rubbed her temples. “It’s just that Caine has some kind of prohibition against raising people from the grave.”

  “Well, you’ve got to figure something out. You’ve just found the best lover you could ever hope to find, and you can’t lose him.”

  Her chest ached. “That’s a dead end. He doesn’t want to see me again anyway.”

  “Okay, fine. But I want to see the world again. You’ve taken me from one coffin and buried me in another.”

  She took a deep breath. She really didn’t want to face Caine again after her last humiliating encounter. “I don’t know, Miranda.”

  “Just tell him,” Miranda said. “Then I can get the hell out of this grave of stone and actually see the world.”

  Rosalind bit her lip. “I suppose I could broach it gently, again. I tried before, but it didn’t get very far.”

  Her temples throbbed, and Cleo mentally slapped her with an image. Not Ambrose’s naked body this time, but Caine’s golden skin, skimming against hers.

  “Stop it, Cleo,” she muttered.

  Your sister is right, Cleo purred. Broach it with Caine. See what happens. After all, you said you trusted him, didn’t you? Are you changing your mind just because he doesn’t love you?

  Rosalind stood. Maybe it was worth a shot, at least to feel out his reaction. “Fine. Both of you, settle down.” She pointed at her sister. “But wait here, please, until I get back.”

  Miranda grunted, her lip curling. “Get me out of here.”

  Rosalind grabbed a knife in a holster, strapping it around her waist, then crossed to the door.

  As she walked through the hall, her footsteps echoed off the ceiling, and her mind flashed with images of Cleo’s death: the dancing flames, the horrified look in Richard’s eyes.

  When you’re in love, you can’t escape the fire.

  Rosalind flinched. Maybe Richard had loved Cleo, but things were a little different between Rosalind and Caine. In fact, Caine didn’t find her particularly special. He’d made that clear enough.

  She pulled open the door to the stairwell. How exactly was she going to phrase this question to Caine?

  She didn’t imagine taking her dress off a second time would do the trick.

  In the corridor, candlelight and shadows dancing over the dark flagstones. She stopped at the door near the picture of Lord Byron. For a few moments, she steeled her resolve, then knocked on the dark wood.

  After a moment, she heard his muffled voice through the door. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Rosalind.”

  A long pause. Then, “Is there a reason you’re here?”

  I don’t have a good feeling
about this. “I need to ask you something,” she ventured.

  The door unlatched, and swung open. Caine must have used his magic to open it, because he was on the other side of the room. He sat in a gray armchair by his window, sipping bourbon from a tumbler. His glacial eyes sent a chill through her blood. He didn’t exactly look happy to see her.

  She stepped over the threshold anyway, then took a seat on the edge of his bed.

  “What do you want?” Ice tinged his voice.

  Might as well dive in. “I need to know what you would do if I raised Miranda’s body from the grave.”

  “I’d kill her.”

  His words cut her to the bone. “Why? Why would you do that?”

  “Because the dead are supposed to stay dead.” He took another sip from his tumbler. “Was that your only question? I’d prefer you didn’t remove your dress again, because I have a dinner guest arriving soon.”

  Her heart constricted, and she scrambled to think of a response, but before she could get another word out, the door creaked open.

  Esmerelda stepped into the room, her red hair cascading over a stunning crimson gown.

  She shot a furious look at Rosalind. “What’s the human doing here?”

  “She’s leaving.” Caine glared at Rosalind. “Do you mind? I don’t have much time with Esmerelda. I’ll need to leave to work on the shield again.”

  His words felt like a punch to the gut, and Cleo whispered in her mind. I told you, Rosalind. A shadow demon can’t really love. Or at least, he’ll never love a human.

  Tears stung her eyes, and Rosalind rose. “Right. I’ll be on my way.”

  As she walked to the door, she tried to ignore Esmerelda’s victorious smirk.

  Maybe she’d been wrong to trust Caine. How much did she really know about him, anyway? How much did she really know about demons at all?

  Kill them all, Cleo sang. Dance in their blood.

  A part of Rosalind wanted to let Cleo take over, to see what destruction the old witch could wreak on the place, but she kept her grip on the spirit this time.

  Still, as she walked down the halls, she caught her reflection in the silver sconces: stunning long blond hair, and green eyes. Cleo’s eyes.

  Chapter 36

  Rosalind pushed through the door to the Gelal Fields, on her way to practice the gods-magic.

  Her muscles burned. Over the past few days, while Caine and Malphas had kept the shield in place, she’d been practicing shadow running—moving from one place to another like a phantom wind. Thrilling, but exhausting. On top of that, she’d been trying her hand at the other types of gods-magic, like calling vines from the earth and shooting fire from her fingertips.

  As if the magic weren’t draining enough, there was the Miranda problem. With each day, her twin grew more desperate for freedom. Rosalind had snuck her out twice while the vampires slept, so Miranda could feel the sea air on her skin, and let the salt water run over her legs.

  But it hadn’t been enough. She seemed so hungry, like she couldn’t get enough of the world.

  Today, after practicing magic all morning, Rosalind had snatched a few hours of sleep while Miranda paced the room, gnawing through cakes.

  Now, Rosalind glanced up at the cloudless sky, admiring the stars etched in the dark. She was definitely not going to think about how they reminded her of Caine’s eyes. She hadn’t seen him at all over the past few days, and she had an agonizing feeling he’d been spending time with Esmerelda. Rosalind’s least favorite vampire.

  Long grasses tickled Rosalind’s legs as she walked, and a chorus of crickets chirped around her. I’m not thinking about Caine. Or Ambrose. Or any other shadow demons. I’m just gonna focus on the storm I need to raise.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see a pale silver glow of magic, just at the edge of the forest. Caine?

  So much for her plan not to think about him.

  She crossed her arms as she walked through the fields, and glanced at the sky again, at the faint shimmer of silver magic that protected the kingdom. Already, around the moon and the Big Dipper, the shadow magic had thinned again.

  A shudder crawled up her spine. Drew was close to breaking through, and they were running out of time.

  Her heart tightened. She still hadn’t mastered most of the magic she was supposed to use. She couldn’t quite get the rocks to obey her commands, couldn’t call up a large enough flame to burn a twig. It hadn’t exactly been easy to concentrate the past few days. While she’d been practicing all the new gods-magic at her fingertips, Cleo had been invading her mind with visions of torture and burnings, alternated with Ambrose-porn. Rosalind was pretty sure she could pick out Cleo’s fondest memories: screwing in a castle, in a meadow, and up against a tree.

  Not big on beds, those two.

  As she drew closer to Caine, her heart began to speed up. Pathetic, really. She was going to turn into Cleo, obsessed with the memories of sex with a shadow demon—his exquisite kisses replaying on a loop in her mind for the rest of her life.

  She should run the other way. And yes, despite herself, her pace quickened.

  But when she’d come within twenty feet of him, she felt a flicker of disappointment.

  Not Caine.

  Malphas.

  For the best, anyway. I have no idea what to say to Caine right now.

  Pale magic curled from Malphas’s body, snaking up to the sky like silver smoke.

  She snapped a twig as she approached, and Malphas broke his focus, his pale eyes landing on her. The silver tendrils of magic snapped back into his body.

  “Sorry to disturb you while you’re working on the shield,” she said. “How’s it going?”

  “Not well. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold it in place. Caine should be helping me, but I’m not sure where the hell he’s gone.”

  “With Esmerelda, perhaps?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. So what do you think Caine is doing, then?” she asked as casually as she could.

  “Arguing with Ambrose again, I think. He won’t produce the sigil we need. And he keeps threatening to go back into Boston on his own to slaughter Drew without us. He’s certain he can solve this whole problem on his own.” Malphas frowned. “He no longer seems keen to include you in his plans. Care to tell me why?”

  “You’d have to ask him. But once I’m done practicing this storm spell, I’m going to have a word with him. Going to Boston on his own is the last thing he should do.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re looking for a scapegoat.” Dread welled in her gut. “And Caine’s the perfect specimen. He’s powerful, demonic. The Brotherhood already hate him. He’d be a great coup for them. Granted, so would you and I. But we’re going to have to look out for each other. No one is going alone.”

  “You think they could be waiting for him?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe they’re trying to lure him out—first Caine, then me. Drew knows I’d go after Caine. He’d have everything he needed: his scapegoat, his revenge, and his mind-controlled wife to torture for the rest of her life.”

  Pale moonlight washed over Malphas’s skin. “When do you think you’ll be ready to fight him?”

  A sigh slid from her. “I’m getting there. I just feel like I need a few more weeks. And I need Cleo to shut the hell up, so I can focus. She’s quiet now, but when I’m using the magic her voice gets louder. She wants things that I can’t give her.”

  “What does she want?”

  Ambrose. “It doesn’t matter.”

  As soon as the words had left her mouth, Cleo assaulted her with a vision of Ambrose kissing her naked hips. Rosalind nearly groaned at the image, and the hot flash of need that seared her body.

  Her jaw tightened. “Not now, Cleo,” she muttered.

  Malphas stared at her. “That’s not a good sign.”

  “I’ve got it under control,” she snapped. “I don’t have time to keep resting. Look, I’ve got to go pra
ctice the storm magic. And as soon as I get back, I’ll have a word with Caine about his plan to go into Boston—”

  A loud crack interrupted her sentence, and her gaze flicked to the sky. “The shield,” she whispered.

  Below their feet, the ground began to rumble. Once more, a geyser of water surged from the field by the castle wall.

  “Help me fix the shield,” Malphas shouted. “Now!”

  She stared at the moon, letting the shadow magic spiral from her body. She could feel Drew’s power just on the other side of the shield, the tendrils of colored magic snaking along the dome of shadow magic. When she closed her eyes, she saw a vortex of stars and night. On the other side of the portal, Drew’s horde of Hunters waited to invade, ready to slaughter everyone she cared about.

  Nyxobas’s magic charged her body, and she let it flow from her, mingling with Malphas’s. As the earth trembled below her, she lost herself in the surge of power, melding with the night sky and the jewel of Nyxobas.

  I am the darkness. I am the eternal void.

  When she opened her eyes again, three Hunters were crawling from a muddy portal. Filled with Nyxobas’s power, Rosalind and Malphas shadow-ran to them, flying on the wind in just a few seconds. Despite moving at an intense speed, she took in every detail of the Hunters’ faces: a woman with freckles and a round face; a man with a trim black beard, no more than twenty-two; and a bald man with a square jaw.

  They weren’t monsters, but they’d chosen the wrong side of this war. All three would be dead within seconds.

  The woman raised her gun, and Rosalind’s fist connected with her jaw—once, twice, three times, her head snapped back. Fast as the night wind, Rosalind grabbed the gun from her, turning it on the woman.

  She cocked the gun, and fired.

  One for Miranda. Two for Cleo. Three for me.

  Three Hunters fell to the ground, bullet holes in their chests.

  Malphas stared at her. “I guess you’re getting better at this.”

  She tucked the gun into her belt, still buzzing with night magic. “I guess I am.” She looked up at the shield, examine the sterling sheen of magic. “I need one more practice session with my magic skills. But soon you, Caine, and I will just need to go into Boston. I could feel Drew’s power on the other side of the shield, and he’s desperate to break through.”