She had no desire to go through that gate, but apparently she needed to speak to the Vampire Lord. This was what her life had become.
Caine paused, touching her wrist. His fingers warmed her skin, sending a thrill through her arm.
“When we go in there, someone might attack.” He reached for his back pocket, pulling out a hawthorn stake. “From what I saw earlier, I understand you know how to defend yourself.”
“Believe me. I’ve killed plenty of vampires.” And by “plenty,” she meant the few she’d just killed.
Caine led her to the portcullis, and chanted a spell to lift the silver gate. When it cranked and groaned to the top of the entrance, he led her into a long hall. Ivory rib vaults towered high above them like bones and, within steep-peaked arches, the walls were painted a deep crimson. Since her parents were apparently mages, they’d be right at home in a place like this, Rosalind sure as hell wasn’t. The look of the place sent a shudder up her spine.
As they walked through the hall, she caught glimpses of tapestries. Some were threaded with portraits of Nyxobas, the cloaked god of night. Others depicted horned demons with red eyes.
At the end of the hall, ornate wooden doors barred their path. Caine whispered another spell, and the doors creaked open into a great hall, its walls formed by what appeared to be human bones inset with sapphires, pearls, and moonstones. An array of silver weapons lined one of the bone-walls, and the air smelled of gardenias.
Vampires stood along the sides of the room, their shoulders rigid with military discipline. Horace stood among them. Of course, vampires easily outpaced humans.
Candles burned in chandeliers that hung from arches thirty feet above, casting a wavering light over the room. Horace’s cold, dark eyes darted to Rosalind, and he flared his nostrils.
But Rosalind’s gaze was most drawn to the stunning blond vampire in the silver throne: Ambrose, his face cold and beautiful as a renaissance statue. He didn’t look more than twenty-five, but as a Lord he was probably centuries old.
As she followed Caine into the hall, her muscles tensed. Her little hawthorn stake suddenly seemed inadequate in a room full of vampire nobility.
Her eyes flicked to the rows of vamps. She could actually see their desperate attempts at restraint. Horace trembled visibly, working his jaw. Apparently, her ambrosia-filled blood smelled amazing—or maybe her second soul smelled amazing. Either way, she was a rabbit in the center of a pack of wolves right now.
As she straightened, she took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to show fear. Human terror only stoked a demon’s bloodlust.
But before she could take another step, Horace’s rough nails clamped into her shoulders. For the second time that night, a demon’s fangs punctured her throat, and pain lanced her neck.
Chapter 8
She snatched the stake from her belt and slammed it into his back. She felt a sharp tear in her neck as Horace ripped out his fangs, but he wasn’t turning to ash. She must have missed the damn heart again.
Caine rushed forward, a silver sword in his hand, and swung for Horace, severing his head. Blood sprayed, and the body convulsed, twitching on the floor as though electrified. Fast as lightning, Caine reached down, ripping Horace’s heart from his chest.
She stared as Horace’s headless corpse blackened, turning to ash.
Sweet earthly gods. That was disturbing.
From his silver throne, Ambrose arched an eyebrow, his green eyes trained on Caine. “Did you just kill one of my favorite lieutenants? For a human?” His nostrils flared, and he sniffed the air. “One of Blodrial’s followers, by the smell of her blood?”
Rosalind touched her neck, and her hand came away crimson.
“Rosalind,” Caine said.
Uh-oh. Hadn’t Caine said something about getting cut?
The vampires’ bloodthirsty stares bored into her. A pregnant silence filled the room, broken by the low growling of ravenous vamps. They shifted, trembling at the effort of restraint. The pack of wolves was just about ready to feast on this rabbit.
Ambrose stood. “Control yourselves—”
From all around the room, the vampires lunged. Rosalind gripped the stake, crouching as a female vamp leapt for her. She thrust the stake upward, right into the vamp’s heart. This time, she didn’t miss, but another had already grabbed her from behind. She slammed her elbows into his ribs. She caught a glimpse of Caine cutting through a line of vamps in a whirlwind of silver and black, sword through bone. His jaw-dropping speed seemed almost otherworldly.
She whipped out the flamethrower, and as a hulking vamp leapt for her she depressed the button, unleashing a torrent of flames. Fire engulfed him, and his agonized shrieks turned her stomach. He flailed, screaming, until Caine sliced off his head in one smooth arc.
She glanced at Ambrose, but he was no longer in his throne. Her mouth went dry. He was right next to her, his fangs bared. Holy shit. She’d neither seen him nor heard him approach.
His green eyes locked on hers, and though her mind screamed run, her body wouldn’t obey. The Vampire Lord was a perfect predator, freezing her in place with his penetrating gaze. She stood in stunned silence as he licked his lips.
“Ambrose,” Caine spoke sharply. “Step back. That’s Rosalind.”
Ambrose growled, closing his eyes. His blond hair was unruffled—as if he hadn’t just witnessed a massacre in his own home. He reached out, swiping a cold finger through the blood dripping down her neck. He licked it, moaning almost imperceptibly. “Heal her before I rip her little body to shreds. She tastes exquisite.” He spoke with a clipped English accent. As he backed away, she saw that his eyes were a deep red.
Caine rushed to her, his body soaked with vampire blood. He looked like something from a nightmare. She had no idea how a human had managed to cut down a roomful of vampire nobility. Aside from Ambrose, only one vampire remained, a willowy female with dark skin.
Caine lifted his fingers to Rosalind’s neck, sending a hot thrill through her skin—an almost addictive sensation. He closed his eyes, chanting in the Angelic language, and the sharp pain in her neck subsided. As her wound healed, the Vampire Lord’s shoulders visibly relaxed, but his eyes remained fixed on Caine with a lethal glint.
“Why did you bring her here?”
“I didn’t,” Caine said. “She was supposed to stay in Abduxiel Mansion. Instead, she followed me through the portal.”
Ambrose steepled his fingers. With his perfect lips and sharp cheekbones, he could have been a model. Just like Caine. It was almost as though vampire aristocracy was determined by sheer beauty alone; maybe that was why Caine commanded such respect around here.
Ambrose’s eyes burned with ferocity. “You let her follow you here. A Hunter, who might tell the Brotherhood how to find us. And you see what’s happened. Eight of my best advisors, slaughtered. Not to mention that Rosalind nearly died. Has your mind become muddled because of your familial connection?”
Familial connection?
Caine’s mouth twitched with apparent irritation. “My mind is perfectly sound, Ambrose. I had no idea she’d be so stupid as to rush through a portal into a demon realm.”
Now that is just insulting. “Okay, hang on a second,” Rosalind said. “First of all, I’m not stupid. Apart from everything I’ve done tonight. But I was acting desperate because I needed answers. This is the first I’ve ever heard of this mage thing, and it seems that both the Brotherhood and the demons know more than I do about my two souls. And why do you all care if I live or die? No one has explained that to me yet.”
The female vampire crossed to Ambrose, handing him a cloth. The Vampire Lord wiped the blood off his hands, green eyes locked on Rosalind. “Why did you come, girl? What exactly was your plan?”
“I wouldn’t say I had a plan, as it were.” She added that last bit to sound more formal. It wasn’t like she’d ever spoken to a Lord before, even if he was a demon.
“Not a plan.” His eyes roamed over her wet clothes
, lingering on her transparent white shirt. “Just a desire.”
She flushed. She could imagine what he was thinking. “Exactly.”
“I can understand that.” He licked his lips. “And what was your desire?”
“I needed to learn why the Brotherhood think I’m a witch. I needed to know where I came from. I need to know how to get my life back.”
Ambrose cocked his head. “Your life back? Why would you want that?”
“I was happy.”
He frowned. “No, you weren’t. And now you know why you’re important. You have the potential for great power, just like Caine. In fact, you’ve just seen him demonstrate a bit of that power, when he cut down half my Council.”
Caine shrugged. “Horace was an ass, and he needed to be put down. I did you a favor. And now, I must return her to her own world. I’m going to need to open another portal.”
“I hope that when you train Rosalind, you’ll instill obedience in her even if the concept doesn’t suit you.” Ambrose’s green eyes drank in Rosalind. “Her blood tastes of hawthorn bark. Funny, that.”
How do I respond to a comment as creepy as that? It was an odd coincidence. “They’re my favorite trees.” It was the best wood for staking vamps, though now was not a good time remind him of that. Anyway, it was more than that. Her best dreams took place in hawthorn groves, the earth carpeted by white petals. “The blossoms are pretty, and they bring good luck.”
He stepped closer, staring into her eyes again. “Tell me, Rosalind. Do you dream of the forest?”
Another creepy comment, but—how does he know that? Can vamps read minds? “Yes. Often.”
He edged closer, touching her neck, and she shuddered. Apparently, vampires weren’t big on personal space. The candlelight flickered over his porcelain skin, and she caught a hint of his scent—burning cloves. “You will stay here tonight. I’ll make sure you’re safe. Tomorrow, Caine and Aurora will take you back to your world.” He nodded at the willowy female. “I’m assigning them to protect you from the Brotherhood. Your behavior is unpredictable, and they will need to watch you closely.”
“What?” Caine asked through gritted teeth. “I’m the General of your army. I just won a victory for you against the hellhounds in Uffern. And you want to put me in charge of minding a pedestrian girl?”
Asshole. It wasn’t like she wanted to spend time with him either, but his tone was more than a little insulting.
Ambrose studied him. “If you don’t like your new role, Caine, you shouldn’t have brought her here.”
Aurora didn’t speak, but the rage contorting her face told Rosalind that she didn’t like this plan any more than Caine did.
Rosalind narrowed her eyes at the Vampire Lord. “What do you get out of this?”
“Clever girl.” Ambrose studied her. “Let’s just say I’m protecting a personal interest. A mage with your powers could be useful to me some day. I trust Caine will be able to break your faith in the Brotherhood.”
Apparently, Ambrose wouldn’t be on board with her plan to exorcise the second spirit. Best not to mention it now.
Caine’s gaze was pure ice. “She’s impulsive, completely unprepared to practice magic, and deeply committed to the Brotherhood. It will be a long time before she becomes a functioning mage.”
“You know she’s not just any girl.” Lifting Rosalind’s hand, Ambrose examined her ring. “What happens when you take it off?” he asked her—but before she had the chance to respond, he slipped it from her finger.
She gasped, and her body exploded with an earthy, vernal aura. An ancient creature stared out from her eyes. A thing, taking over her body, one vein and muscle at a time. An overpowering scent of rotting leaves filled the air, and she stared into Ambrose’s emerald green eyes, his skin pale in the flickering candlelight. Such a strange, perfect beauty, life and death in one vessel.
She wanted to crush him. The thing inside Rosalind made her reach for his face, but the Lord slipped out of her grasp.
Rage ignited her body, and her legs trembled. Someone screamed in her skull—a wild, unquiet mind inside her own, and it said only one word. Ambrose. Ambrose. It was the only word in her mind now, and the thing inside her drowned out her own thoughts.
The mage inside her wanted to touch his cool, pale skin, but he kept slipping away from her. His retreat only stoked her desire. The spirit wanted to rip his clothes from his body. Ambrose would burn with her, would feel her lust and her wrath stoking the flames of the funeral pyre. The mage forced her hand to Ambrose’s neck, and some part of her screamed at herself to stop.
But that was the weak part.
Ambrose. She would shatter his bones, drink his blood, grip his pulsing heart in her fingers, she would glory in ripping out his entrails—
Someone else stood before her now, his hand on her waist, face gleaming like moonlight on water. His shocking beauty struck her dumb. The spirit didn’t know his name, but lust and rage screamed in her skull, splintering her thoughts. Her body burned white-hot like a dying star, blazing from the inside out. Her skin blistered and cracked from the heat. She wrapped her arms around the stranger’s body, quenching her blazing agony—
In an instant, the voices went still, and relief washed over her.
Rosalind. She was Rosalind, the Hunter, in control of her own body once again. Her arms tightened around Caine, and her body trembled, wracked by the remnants of pain. The spirit had gone. She glanced at her hand. Caine had slipped the ring back on her finger.
She wrenched away from him, clamping her hand over her mouth. She didn’t want to puke in front of them.
Never again. She never wanted her mind to splinter like that again. She’d been in hell.
She dug her fingernails into her palms, clamping her eyes shut. She needed to get this insane spirit out of her body. The demonic force would completely shatter her.
Caine’s arm encircled her waist, holding her up. “She isn’t ready for that yet.”
Rosalind straightened. She really hated looking weak, especially in front of the demons. “I’ll never be ready for that. This thing inside me is a monster.”
“What was it that the spirit wanted?” Ambrose’s words slid over her like cold rain.
“I don’t know,” she snapped. She hated him right now for ripping the ring off her with no warning, and she had a strange feeling the mage inside hated him, too.
Her body wouldn’t stop shaking.
This was why people shouldn’t mess around with the dark arts. Her birth parents were obviously raving lunatics.
The vampire inched closer, running his thumb over her cheek, and she shuddered. His beauty was cold and empty.
She couldn’t wait to get out of there. She wanted Josiah and Tammi more than ever.
“Never mind, little sparrow,” Ambrose said. “Delicate little thing. You will stay in Aurora’s room for the night. She can sleep elsewhere. She will be perfectly hospitable. Tomorrow, the three of you will leave.” He shot a glance at Caine. “I trust you’ll take good care of her. Don’t let her out of your sight, or she’ll betray us to the Brotherhood. She still believes in them. Begin teaching her as soon as you can. Once she’s trained, she’ll be quite useful to me.”
Chapter 9
Trained. According to Ambrose, she was a delicate little thing who required training and obedience. Rosalind wasn’t stupid enough to argue with the Vampire Lord in his own kingdom, but there was no way in hell anyone was going to train her.
She followed Aurora down a dimly-lit hall. Stone vaults arched high above like a gray skeleton, intricately carved with moonflowers and stars. Candles flickered in jeweled sconces along the walls, casting dancing shadows over the marble floor. Gods, she really wanted to go back to her little dorm room. This place was creepy as hell, and she needed to run through this whole disaster of a night with Tammi.
Her mind reeled. Tonight, her world had been blown apart.
Whatever it took, she would rip this witch’s soul
from her body. She’d felt the thing’s mind, its sickness—a demented spirit, one full of dark, twisted impulses. She wasn’t going to give up her own body without a fight.
Aurora’s heels clacked over the stone floor, and Rosalind glanced at her. The vampire wore a tiny red dress that hugged her body, and long silver earrings. She was gorgeous. While she didn’t look like she wanted to tear into Rosalind’s neck, appearances could be deceptive.
“All the other vampires tried to kill me, but you didn’t.”
“How perceptive of you.” Aurora had a British accent, just like Ambrose.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I have better self-control, and you were with Caine. I’m quite fond of him.” Her eyes met Rosalind’s. “I hope you don’t try to slay him with your witch-hunting bollocks. You won’t be able to kill him, but if you get a stake in him, I’ll have to drain your blood.”
Fantastic. Aurora already hates me.
“Of course not. He’s human. I only kill monsters.” She sucked in a breath. Best not to mention the monster-killing thing again. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Aurora halted before an oak door, pushing it open into an expansive bedroom. Moonlight shone through tall, stained-glass windows into an untidy room littered with papers, mounds of clothing, old cassette tapes, and eyeless dolls. A desk stood below the window, its surface covered with flasks of blood and bottles of amber liquid.
Aurora plucked a white dress off the floor, tossing it to Rosalind. “You can change out of your wet clothes. A white dress should be pure enough for you.”
Aurora definitely hated her.
As the vampire lit candles around the room, Rosalind changed into the tight white gown. The thin fabric was practically sheer and not great for fighting, but at least she was no longer freezing. She draped her sodden clothes over a chair to dry.
Rosalind swallowed hard, glancing around the room. Oil-painted portraits hung all over the walls, but the subjects’ eyes were scratched out. Interspersed among the paintings, someone had scrawled notes in the frantic, irregular scrawl of a serial killer. She caught a glimpse of a few words, BlOoD and RaGe among them. Instead of a bed, a coffin lined with red silk lay in the center of the room.
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