Magic Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Vampire's Mage Series Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  Remorse tightened her throat. If Caine were telling the truth… She couldn’t let herself think about what she’d done—not now. She was close enough to losing her mind as it was. “But some incubi must be evil,” she said.

  “Demons don’t have the same concept of evil that you have, but if you’re asking if some demons are rapists and murderers, the answer is yes. Just like humans.”

  She forced the guilty memories deep into her mental vault. If she pored over them now, she’d never make it out of this situation with her wits intact. “Are there many like you?”

  He shook his head. “Not many, no. And even fewer succubi. Even mages hate the females.”

  “Why?”

  “When succubi feed from humans, it’s not quite as pleasurable as when incubi do it.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed hard, moving closer again to press her hand against his neck. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I thought incubi were… evil.” She drank in his clean, earthy scent, her eyes lingering on the flawless skin near his collarbone before drifting up to his full lips. They looked soft, and she couldn't help but stare. If he ever wanted to feed from her, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to turn him down—assuming he was telling the truth about only choosing willing partners.

  “You’ve been brainwashed. It’s not your fault.” He lowered her wrist. “There. It’s not always so bad when you get close to the monsters.”

  Not bad at all—horrifyingly, disturbingly not bad. Obviously, the mage’s spirit inside was leading her into dark, animalistic places, drawing her to other corrupted souls.

  Okay, fine. The truth was that Caine was just hot as hell.

  As she stepped away from him, she steadied her breath. Keep your composure, Rosalind. Somehow, the fact that he wasn’t a real monster—that she actually liked him— was more horrifying than anything else she could have learned about him. It raised questions she didn’t want to answer.

  She followed him over the old wooden pier toward the bar, and the breeze lifted her hair. As much as she hated herself for it, his warmth had been delicious, and she could almost imagine what he’d look like without his—

  Stop it. She clenched her jaw. She was on a Hunter mission, and couldn’t get distracted by his beauty. And more than that, she now had a duty to report back to the Brotherhood what she knew about incubi. Of course, people like Josiah would say that Caine was a liar, but his voice had the ring of truth in it—not to mention the fact that he hadn’t once tried to force himself on her, even though he could easily overpower her.

  They reached the shoddy old door to the bar, and Caine yanked it open, revealing a room fit for vampire royalty. White stone swooped high above them, and candles blazed from ornate chandeliers. Vampires stood around, drinking blood from champagne flutes.

  Or at least, they had been drinking moments before. Right now, they were all staring at Rosalind. In fact, it kind of seemed like the whole wrist on neck maneuver hadn’t worked.

  A tall, thin man stood behind an oak bar, his hand paused mid-pour. His fangs glinted in the candlelight. “Caine. Did you bring a Hunter into my bar?”

  Shit. Was it the smell of her blood? She scanned the room for weapons. A marble fireplace with burning logs and silver pokers. Chandeliers, and champagne flutes all over the place. I can work with this.

  “Jorge.” Caine smiled. “Would I bring a Hunter into your bar?”

  “She smells like a mage, but she’s wearing an iron ring. And by the frisky glint in her eye, it doesn’t look like she’s been hypnotized.”

  Oh. So they did notice the ring.

  Caine stared him down. “Of course she’s a mage. But a bastard fire cleric put a curse on her, and now she has to wear the ring to suppress the spell or her whole body will go up in flames. And I’m quite fond of her body.”

  “I’m sure you are. I know your type.” The bartender winked, returning to his blood Martini. “Fine. Keep the ring on. As long as you can vouch for her.”

  Apart from the fangs, the guy really didn't seem like a vampire. Vampires weren’t supposed to wink.

  Caine grabbed Rosalind’s hand and led her to the bar. She shot him a quick glance. His features were relaxed. Impressive lying—a crucial skill in any mage’s repertoire. Is there a chance he’d been lying about incubi?

  Apparently, she was supposed to pretend to be his girlfriend. She could live with that if it meant she could get her life back. All part of the mission.

  Caine led her to the silver bar stools, where Aurora was already knocking back a glass of blood.

  Blood-drinkers and demons. This was her new crowd. She took a seat next to Caine, who leaned on the bar.

  Drying a Martini glass, Jorge nodded at him. “What can I get for you? The usual?”

  “The usual. And the same for my girlfriend.”

  Jorge nodded. “Two bourbons, and two dinners of food.”

  She turned to Caine, her stomach rumbling. She didn’t have high hopes for the menu. “Two dinners of food?”

  He leaned in to her. “He hasn’t eaten food in several centuries. Don’t expect anything amazing.”

  “What are you implying?” Aurora asked. “Vampires can’t cook?”

  He stared at her. “You tried to make me ramen noodles in a tea kettle.”

  Aurora shook her head. “What’s the problem? That’s what I ate when I was a human.”

  “I guess that’s what happens when you die in college,” Caine said.

  Jorge filled two tumblers with bourbon, sliding them over the bar.

  Rosalind cocked her head, glancing at Caine. “You don’t drink blood?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Why would I drink blood?”

  “I thought mages drank human blood. From skulls. But if you’re an incubus…” She let the thought die out on her tongue. There was no way she wanted to vocalize that he gained power through sex.

  “Right. Mages drink blood. Just like we all have to glamour ourselves to hide our deformities.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “No. I’m pretty sure we’ve established that’s bollocks. I’m gorgeous, and you’re the blood-drinking human.”

  Shit. She’d forgotten about the ambrosia. Maybe it was possible. After all, Blodrial was known as the sacred god of blood. The Guardians were a little obsessive about the drink. It wasn’t human blood, but—on the other hand—maybe trying to rationalize blood drinking was not a good sign.

  Jorge dropped off two white plates, piled with food. At least, technically it was food: a pile of Swedish fish, two uncooked tortillas, a stack of American cheese slices, and a frozen pancake, artfully presented on a doily.

  It was the most screwed-up meal she’d ever seen, but her mouth watered anyway. Hunger gnawed in her stomach.

  With her fork, she lifted a tortilla, grimacing. Within the tortillas, candy hearts were stuck in a smear of jam. Red slogans emblazoned their surfaces: Love Me, Hot Lips, and XOXO. This had to be the weirdest quesadilla in the history of “dinners of food.”

  Caine handed her a blue heart: Adore me. “This one’s for you. A reasonable suggestion.”

  “It doesn’t seem fair to take that from you. I don’t think I could ever adore you as much as you do.”

  “Give me your pancake.”

  “What?”

  “There are only two edible things on that plate. The candy fish and the pancake. At least let me warm it for you.” He reached over, spearing the pancake on his fork. After he chanted a quick spell, it thawed and toasted to a golden brown. He dropped it on her plate again. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

  She nearly cracked a smile for the first time since the Brotherhood had come for her. The truth was, Caine had been helping her.

  She just had no idea why.

  She took a bite of the pancake. Sweet and fluffy. Within about twenty seconds, she’d chomped through the entire thing, before stuffing a handful of Swedish fish into her mouth. She moved on to the American cheese slices, and when she was unwrapping the final piece she
looked up to find Caine eyeing her with concern.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat that fast,” he said. “I’m a little alarmed.”

  Aurora stared over her drink. “Unsettling, really. It reminds me a little of that time I saw Horace eat a truck driver outside a McDonald’s.”

  “I haven’t eaten in a full day.” She was still grumpy, in fact. She whispered, “What do you think the chances are that a high demon will come in?”

  He shrugged. “Fifty-fifty. Might be fun, really. But if it happens, you should get out of here. Let me handle it.”

  The arrogance on this guy. “What are you going to do, toast some waffles for him? Burn his bagel until he’s cross?”

  “You’re still cranky.” Caine handed her his pancake. “Have mine.”

  He glanced down the bar, catching Jorge’s eye.

  Smiling, the bartender sidled up to them. “How were the dinners?”

  “Amazing, as always,” Caine said. “We’ll just need two more bourbons. Neat.”

  “No problem.” Jorge pulled a glass bottle from the shelves, unscrewing the cap to fill two more glass tumblers. “I’m just happy to see you with a girl who isn’t trying to murder you for once.”

  “Give it time,” Aurora said.

  Rosalind frowned. “Wait. Why is Caine always with girls who want to murder him?”

  Jorge scratched his chin. “The vampire girls get obsessed with him after he screws—”

  “We don’t need to get into that,” Caine snapped. “Has no one ever told you that bartenders are supposed to be discreet?”

  Jorge furrowed his brow. “I’ve never heard that.”

  Caine scowled. “I don’t know why I continue to be surprised whenever vampires fail to be empathic.”

  Jorge leered at Rosalind, waggling an eyebrow. “I’m perfectly empathic.”

  Given the way he was looking at her, she was pretty sure he thought “empathic” meant horny.

  Caine knocked back his drink. “Speaking of my new girl—as you mentioned, she’s not trying to kill me. Obviously, I’m quite fond of her for that reason. And there’s that little curse. It’s not a big deal, of course. But it would be nice to take that ring off her so she could use her magic again.”

  Jorge flashed a wolfish smile. “You want to get some of those kinky spells going?”

  She nearly spat out the pancake. What does that even mean?

  Caine nodded. “Exactly. So if we could figure out how to lift the spell…”

  Grinning, Jorge leaned on the bar. “You need Sambethe. The sybil.”

  Caine swirled his drink. “And where would I find the sybil?”

  Jorge let his eyes roam over Rosalind’s body. Whatever “kinky magic” meant, he seemed to like the idea a little too much. “The sybil is allied with Borgerith.”

  “Ah,” Caine said. “The goddess of the mountains. So she won’t speak to us.”

  Jorge leaned in further, looking around the bar. “You can find her in Elysium. It’s an underground club where demons get together, no matter what the alliances. Fire demons mix with night, rock mixes with sea. It’s chaos. But you can’t tell people. The gods wouldn’t exactly approve.”

  Rosalind took a sip of the bourbon. “And where would we find—”

  Something halted her sentence. A wave of shadowy magic rippled through the bar, crawling over her skin like spider legs. She glanced around. The magic was a deep red, the color of dried blood, and it smelled of moldering hemlock—a smell of death.

  “Caine,” she whispered. “We should go.”

  “Why? I haven’t even finished my drink.”

  “Because something powerful is headed right here. Something deadly.”

  Caine studied her, but before she could get an answer out of him, the bartender’s eyes flicked to the door, and his face went even paler. “Bileth,” he whispered.

  Rosalind turned to the entrance. In the doorframe stood a hulk of a night demon, his skin pale as moonlight and cheekbones sharp as razors. He must have been three hundred pounds of pure muscle, and horns grew from his skull. His eyes were empty, ivory pools.

  A shiver ran up her spine. She’d seen him before—his portrait hung in Lilinor Castle. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run. She’d read about high demons before, but she’d never seen one. And hadn’t Caine said something about smelling her blood…

  Caine slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. He whispered, “I’ll handle this. Get out of here.”

  She was terrified, but she wasn’t going to run from a demon. She was a Hunter.

  The high demon cocked his head, sniffing, then licked his lips. His gaze slid over Rosalind’s body, and Caine whispered, “Run. You too, Aurora.”

  Aurora was out the door in a split second. But Rosalind stood rooted to the spot. She was a Hunter, damn it, and this was her chance to prove herself. She wasn't going to leave Caine to fight alone.

  On top of that, it wasn’t like she could run that fast. Bileth would stop her in a second.

  In the next moment, the high demon was before them. Caine squared off with him, muscles tensed.

  The demon opened his mouth, revealing jagged teeth. “Is this Hunter with you?”

  Oh, shit. Hadn’t take long for him to suss her out. His fetid magic coated her body, roiling through her blood like a poison. But Caine's magic was there, too, cool and silvery. With their auras blazing, the two demons seemed to be gearing up for a serious battle.

  “Her? A Hunter?” Caine asked, obviously stalling. He glanced at Rosalind, his eyes burning into her. “She's a mage, and she was just leaving. Though now that you mention it, she may have accidentally ingested—”

  Bileth gripped the mage's throat with both hands, and long, ivory nails pierced Caine's neck. Crimson tendrils spiraled from the demon's fingertips, wrapping Caine in a web that pinned his arms against his body, binding his legs, sealing his mouth shut to stop his magic.

  Chapter 14

  The silver glow around Caine began to weaken, and fear screamed through Rosalind’s mind.

  Bileth's power only grew stronger, and his red magic exploded from him like a dying star. He was about to murder Caine.

  She grabbed Aurora’s champagne flute, smashing it over Bileth's head. She plunged the fractured stem into his back.

  His pale eyes swiveled to her as she grasped for another glass. This time, he grabbed her wrist, crushing it in a death grip. Holy hells, he was breaking her bones.

  In another split second, he pinned both her wrists, black talons piercing her skin. He pulled her closer, so close she could smell the blood on his breath.

  He smiled, and the sight of his long, white teeth made her shudder.

  “I like touching your things, incubus,” he growled.

  Revulsion welled in her gut as his inky red magic swirled around her head. It coiled into her mind, whispering through her own thoughts, until her body was no longer quite her own. She gaped at him, her heart beating fast as a hummingbird’s.

  The demon released her hands, but she no longer controlled them. Touch him, a voice whispered in her mind.

  She watched in horror as the demon’s magic forced her to reach out for his chest, hands sliding over his skin. Revulsion rose in her throat as Bileth propelled her closer, forcing her arms around his neck until she was practically grinding against him.

  As he growled, his magic forced her to lurch away from him. Grab the broken glass. Her hand flew out for a broken shard on the bar, and her blood roared in her ears. She gripped it hard, slicing open her flesh. Blood dripped onto the floor. The vamps gasped, scenting fresh blood.

  Bileth forced her hand to her throat. She strained against his magic, her arm shaking. The shard pierced her neck, and pain ripped through her skin. She whimpered, concentrating on the magic that invaded her mind like a noxious ink. She needed to master her fear, to shove this magic out before he forced her to slit her own throat. She shivered, trying to push his poi
son from her body.

  Nearby, Caine’s tingly aura grew stronger, filling the room. It caressed her injured hand and healed the gaping wound. With a tremendous force of will, she cut a glance his way, watching as he ripped himself free from Bileth’s magic. His body blazed with his pearly aura. In a split second, his knife pressed against Bileth's throat. At that moment, Bileth’s magic completely snapped from her mind.

  Caine’s eyes—dark as an abyss, glinting with an ancient violence—sent a shiver up her spine.

  His voice came out low and steady. “You know I hate to argue with you, Bileth. But she’s a mage.”

  Bileth’s body vibrated with barely contained rage. “Then where is her aura?”

  “I’m not allowing her to use magic now. She was getting out of control.”

  “And yet I smell the god of blood. You’re attacking me to save a Hunter?”

  Rage bloomed in her chest. The way Bileth had controlled her body filled her with intense loathing, and she wanted to hurt him.

  Right now, the demon’s attention was on Caine. She needed to help the incubus anyway. If anything happened to him, she’d be responsible for his death.

  With a racing pulse, she leapt onto the oak bar, then jumped for one of the chandeliers. She kicked her legs, swinging in a wide arc. As the air charged with Caine’s nocturnal magic, she propelled herself to the next chandelier, clutching at the silver. Below, the vamps hissed.

  “Rosalind,” Caine shouted. “I told you to run.”

  Blazing candles tumbled to the ground, and hot wax spilled on her skin as she swung from one chandelier to the next, toward the fireplace. What the hell was my game plan?

  With an enraged snarl, Bileth ripped himself free from Caine’s grasp. “Hunter!”

  The scent of rotting hemlock drew closer, Bileth’s blood-red magic curling around her skin. Panic punched a hole in her chest. He wasn’t fighting Caine anymore. He was coming for her.